

The Rise of OLMAC

Book Four of

Allies and Adversaries

by

Kevin Gordon
Copyright © 2013 Kevin Gordon

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

# 1

Civilizations fall when the freedoms they value most turn to excess, and good men and women fail when vengeance rules their souls.

\- Unknown source

It was a clone. A small, unclothed, child-like bag of flesh and bones, with little fat. It sat there, and had been sitting there, crouched in between something hot and something wet for thirty-two thousand breaths. It knew how many breaths it had been there, because that was what it liked to do. 'Like' was a subjective word, as it didn't have the capacity to feel emotion. Counting breaths was the only thing it could do, besides count its heartbeats. It had no education, no conception of language. It was, more accurately, a pair of eyes and ears connected mentally to a controller. It had been alive for over thirty-four million breaths.

It had no identity. It knew only 'same,' 'different,' and 'controller.' Many others the same as it were hidden also, nearby. Sometimes it could hear their breaths, and if it was very still, and there was no noise, it could even hear their heartbeats. There were fifteen the same as it, though there used to be eighteen. It did recognize the word 'sentinel,' as that word had been used while the different pointed at it, and the other same.

It had seen many things in its life, mostly different people scurrying through dark places nearby. Sometimes it didn't even see or hear them, but it mentally sensed their presence. Inevitably, soon after, its controller would appear, and it and the others like it would be pulled from their hiding, and put back into the liquid pods they also spent many breaths and heartbeats in.

It couldn't tell which it liked better; the liquid, or the darkness. The darkness, though quiet for long periods of time, always held the potential for diversion, for more 'different' to come into its sensory perception. Sometimes it caused interference—a part of it might leak, or get stuck, or go inactive due to heat or cold. In the liquid it felt bigger, wider. Though it was more alone, when it closed its eyes, it felt . . . contentment. There was no diversion, though sometimes a controller would stare at it for a long time and its head would ache. But it would also get to see more 'same,' and it would examine them for a long time, as the others would examine it.

It was a clone. A small, unclothed, child-like bag of flesh and bones, with little fat. And it had now been sitting there for thirty-three thousand breaths.

# 2

Technology had been shown to force evolutionary change in societies long before the implementation of colvition, but never on so wide a scale as colvition. While airborne pollutants caused marked changes in the respiratory system of all air-breathing animals, it paled to the multitude of effects colvition had on the Novan.

When colvition was first implemented, society did not know how to adapt to it. Testing in schools could not be done the same, for how could a teacher check to see if a student was not accessing the answers mentally? Even mating was more difficult, as one instantly could tell what the other was thinking. As shown by the disastrous summit of 2235, few understood all of the ramifications the colvition technology would have on society. Colvition eventually forced society to become isolationist, pushing more and more of their interactions onto the virtual plane.

For the first thousand cas after colvition became the dominant method of communication, speech made several notable resurgences. And always, the speed with which one could communicate mentally negated any benefit speech had, and soon the appeal of actual speech faded into memory.

The Novan society evolved to meet the demands of colvition—since sexual partners were no longer chosen based on physical appearance, olfactory triggers or even ocular demonstrations, the depth and complexity of one's mind became the dominant sexual trait in the early roas of the cast-net. To be able to create new and unique experiences for one's mate soon became the basis by which preferred mates were chosen.

Vision has been shown to have dropped by ten percent over the past seven millennia; muscle density reduced by fifteen percent. Reaction time to unforseen events slowed by forty-percent. Bone strength deteriorated by eight percent, while brain mass and wrinkle density in the cerebellum remained near constant.

The lack of growth in the last factor, concerning mental development, can be directly attributed to the nulling effects of colvition on the Novan mind over the past four thousand cas. As there was less and less reason to use the plethora of information the cast-net provided, Novans lapsed into apathy concerning their intellectual development. Attraction of a mate became secondary, as all physical pleasures could be duplicated on the cast-net. Most male and female pairings typically occurred before the age of ten—before they received their first implant. Typically this pairing would go on to explore the cast-net together, and become joined. The curious side-effect of colvition is that joinings typically lasted a lifetime, separations were rare, though relationships were rarely monogamous. Sexual organs shrunk in size and became reduced in the number of nerve endings, as pleasure was rarely solely derived by external physical contact.

In a cold grey room on one of the platforms within Malhrer, devoid of sentiment or adornment, with blank walls and a floor without the division of tile, Nemosini wept softly, wishing she bled so there would be some physical residue of her pain. Agilia stood near her, as well as Denged. Gilc and Errece waited outside, thankfully for Nemosini, as she felt sick when they gazed upon her. She knew not what happened to the other Coss—the last she saw of them was in the Plaza. Her next memory was of pain, as if twenty drills churned ceaselessly in her mind, dredging up things thought forgotten, burrowing into every hidden space they could find. She remembered how the Iganinagi tortured people, for the most part inflicting physical pain, as it proved effective on those with poor physiques and little tolerance for pain. But here, where every neural fiber was an endless source of torment, she longed for the simplicity of a beating or the blade.

^Do you know why you are still alive, Nemosini?^

Denged cast those words to her. She learned to hate him, since her arrival. He never flinched when she screamed, never turned his eyes away as she cried or begged for mercy – things she thought she would never do. His expression never changed. He just looked at her as if she was a blade of grass; not even a curiosity, just a totally insignificant piece of organic matter. Some part of her wished he would take some pleasure, some satisfaction in breaking this woman who thought herself unbreakable. But he took no joy, betrayed no pride in his work or any sense of accomplishment in her pitiful screams. Once he let slip he disliked being with her, that he would rather be hunting the last of her people, if there were any. She could sense he wanted Theia—all his questions led to where she would be; what hideouts there were, what resources she might have, where she got her food and clothing from.

He never physically came close to her, always stood at a distance from her. She tried to spit on him several times, despite the pain she was rewarded with, yet never managed to soil his precious clothing, foul his perfect face. She began to think she would die happy if she could just dirty him in some way, bleed on his pants, vomit on his head.

^Because you like my pretty face?^ she answered flippantly as she focused her mind, working through the distracting pain, lifting her head though it listed to one side. ^Come close so I may lock lips in enchantment sweet and soft . . .^

Agilia turned to Denged. ^Sarcasm still? You would have thought it would have been broken from her by now.^

Nemosini focused for the first time on Agilia, knowing her presence here could only signal her own usefulness was at an end.

^She may be sentimental, but she is still Iganinagi,^ cast Denged, still standing as stone. ^She has training that runs deep.^

Agilia knelt before Nemosini. Nemosini didn't know what to make of her—this was the first time she met Agilia. She was introduced as a Monitor, and Nemosini knew it was almost unnest of for a non-TELREC to see a Monitor, even a prisoner doomed to death such as herself.

I didn't even notice her. To think, that is who is closest to Mal.

^It is that sentiment that has kept you alive,^ cast Agilia. ^Your compatriots are dead. Quickly, if you would like to know.^

^How did you find out where we were?^ groggily asked Nemosini. Agilia glanced up at Denged, still immobile, but his lower lip twitched, just for a moment.

^He would like to cast it to you. He has been itching to cast that fact to you that since you were brought in. If he were anyone else, you would know by now. But he is immensely loyal, and has kept his word.^

^What is it? The name of the traitor? One of my Coss?^ Nemosini coughed and chuckled, a little blood dripping on the floor. ^I have accepted that one of them betrayed my people. What of it?^

^Nemosini, we know of Suld, of SC-1,^ cast Agilia brusquely. ^I want to make sure there is nothing else in that head of yours that we need to know. We have been all through your mind, such as it is. And even with our most advanced tools, any mind can withhold a few tiny secrets, if it is effectively conditioned. We need you to lower your guard completely, so we can see.^

^And you'll let me live?^

Agilia let slip a haughty chuckle. ^Of course not! But you will die without pain, in a deep sleep.^

^And if I don't?^

^Denged will tell you what he knows, then you will die quickly. And you will die living in torment, a final parting gift from the TELREC.^

Nemosini spat at her, and it hit her left eye, thick and yellow. Nemosini laughed as Agilia wiped it off.

^Tell her.^

Denged knelt at a safe distance. Nemosini could feel him connect to her mind.

^Your daughter, Jaylind, gave us all we needed.^

As he cast the words, she could see the images as recorded by Anies of Jay in the basement, nest the words exchanged by herself and Themis.

She reeled from the shock. ^It can't be. No . . . no! Not my Jay!^

Nemosini screamed and wailed as Denged watched her, expressionless, probing into her mind, finally seeing those hidden places, and finding little of value. He kept casting images to her, of Jay and Anies together, of them watching as Kleder died, as they went through the burning remains of the cell. Nemosini moaned and wailed, falling to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Agilia walked over to her, lifting Nemosini's head by her hair.

^I am going to give a virt-life of this to the families of every child you and your people killed,^ she cast triumphantly. ^To the wife of every husband you slaughtered on the cast-net. To the husband of every woman you murdered on the cast-net. To the sons and daughters of mothers and fathers you senselessly butchered for spectacle sake. And they will thank me, and no matter what happens, they will always believe that we, the TELREC, are doing what's right.^ Agilia pushed her head back to the floor. ^Kill her, Denged. Then meet me in Control Room thirty-four.^

^Yes Agilia,^ cast Denged with a low bow. He advanced on Nemosini as Agilia left, and knelt down in front of her.

She slowly raised her head, breathing hard, her head throbbing with pain. ^So how does it end, TELREC? A knife, a laser? Ripping my mind to shreds?^ Nemosini coughed, and let out a long sigh. ^Just do it, and get it over with.^

Denged cradled her head, wiping her tears, and mucous, with the cuff of his uniform. She couldn't believe it, but she saw compassion in his eyes. He held her head in both his hands, and before he twisted it, breaking her neck, quickly ending her life, he spoke to her four last words.

"Your children still live."

Agilia sat with Qergien and Raent in control room Thirty-Four, in anticipation of Denged. He was summoned to Malhrer not only to deal with Nemosini, but to also be thanked personally by the Monitors for the destruction of the Iganinagi.

^I am disturbed, Agilia.^ Qergien ventured, cautiously.

^How so?^

Though he was a Monitor, Qergien was fully aware he was still quite new, and Agilia had much power and influence with Mal. He was never one to take chances with those of authority—Agilia learned that from a quick scan of his personnel file. She learned that while he had confidence in himself, he had little in other people, and as such rarely trusted those in authority to understand his doubts or appreciate chances he might take. So he always followed protocol, always did merely what was expected of him, nothing more. Agilia remembered Ollapa's words as she nest Qergien's personnel file.

He asked me why I was chosen to be Monitor, why Raent and Qergien were. After looking at his file, I understand less about his selection than any other Monitor in history. Qergien sat up straighter, the tension building on his face.

^I came through the ranks, Agilia. I worked alongside Listras for quite a while, and heard much of Rhonva. They were agents of strength and character, and though completely loyal to the TELREC, they possessed a moral nature underneath. These agents now with power—Denged, Gilc and Errece, have no moral character. They appear to be sociopaths, unfazed by the atrocities they commit, unperturbed by the numbers of people they kill. Though Gilc has some of the same capabilities Listras had—excelling at strategy, and possessing an extremely strong mind, she is perverted, reveling in senseless violence and delighting in torture and murder. Errece is only a TELREC because of the viciousness within her; born of the abuse she suffered as a child on the streets of Novan. They seem to be nothing more than animals, slaughtering their prey with a senseless viciousness, and it is more animals like those that Denged selected to be his Maenids. Though we have tolerated their actions for the past ten cas, and they have purged the planet of dangerous rebel elements, it has come time to disband them, to dissolve the Maenids. These cannot be the ones to usher in a new age with the Cuhli-pra; these cannot be the people we want to lead our race into the future.^

^At least they have a spark about them,^ cast Agilia, growing annoyed. ^Denged has never been one to do only the least expected of him. He may be an extreme, but he is a necessary one. What do you think, Raent?^

Though Raent was also new, she had taken to her position with relish, questioning Agilia's decisions often, almost to the point of insubordination. Agilia found herself more on the defensive in her debates with Raent, and had been considering ways to reign in Raent's disposition.

^I feel we let them have too much free reign.^ Raent cast firmly, acting always as a military commander. ^They torture and kill at will, innocent and guilty alike, so long as their objective is accomplished. Soon the Novan populace will awaken to their actions, and could be moved to open revolt. I am also concerned of the lack of input from Mal concerning them.^

Agilia thought for a moment, giving the illusion she was actually considering their viewpoints.

^This is a private matter, under our control,^ cast Agilia. ^Mal will not be informed. So long as we are careful in the treatment of the Cuhli-pra, Mal is not concerned. He has stated to me our boundaries in this matter. As for the immorality of Denged's actions, and those of his Maenids, we are approaching a time when much of the Novan population will be purged. Before or after the Ascension makes no difference. Over the millennia, Mal has massaged the population pattern of the planet, segregating those who will survive from those who will not. Most on Core and Foundation will not. That is where Denged and his Maenids function most, in areas that are immaterial to our needs.^

^Why Core and Foundation?^ asked Raent.

^They have become the motor of the Novan engine. As our people evolve, we will no longer need that motor. We will need the best genetic material our people have to offer. The most intelligent, the most creative, those with obedience and loyalty in their genetic makeup. Those have been fashioned into the makeup of Topside. Those on Core and Foundation would also pose the greatest threat to the stability of the planet.^

Qergien and Raent thought on her words for a short while.

^Are either of you uncomfortable with these plans?^ asked Agilia.

^Of course I am!^ slammed Raent as she shifted forward in her seat, becoming heated. ^These are our people, not Rell. They have a right to benefit from the Ascension like those on Topside. What right do we have to decide who will enjoy the future, and who will be casualties of its conception?^

^How naive you are, Raent.^ Agilia lashed out at her joyfully, her thoughts filled with venom and disgust. ^If Mal didn't command your promotion to this post, I would dismiss you immediately. We are TELREC. We have the right, for the people have given us the right. They surrendered their future to us seven thousand cas ago. All that matters is the evolution of our people. We will not litter that future landscape with fools and genetic waste. Those that leave this world, to go out into the universe, must be the very best, the greatest beings these globes have ever seen!^

^You were among the military,^ continued Agilia, ^you know the necessity of hierarchy, of segregating those that can from those that can't. The catalyst will catapult our people into the universe itself, to conquer and rule. Where do you think the souman sewage on Core and Foundation will fit in to that plan? Nowhere, as they would merely slow the strong and be a burden. Do you understand?^

^Yes. I apologize for my doubt.^ Agilia ruefully concealed a smile, as she could tell how difficult it was for Raent to cast those words. They all received a cast. ^Denged is outside.^

^Let him in.^

Denged entered with Gilc and Errece close behind, his billowing sienna robes in stark contrast to the lean efficiency of Gilc and Errece. There was a stillness for a few moments, as Denged stood in front of the Monitors, expressionless. Gilc and Errece scanned the room, as if they were continually hunting. They appeared almost as tall as Denged, yet stooped over a little, as if they were perpetually crouched to pounce. Agilia scrutinized Denged, an agent whose life had taken many unfortunate twists and turns.

Ahh, Denged. How much you have been through? We have spent much time rehabilitating you, after your experience with Nahlai those may cas ago. She truly destroyed a part of you, took a large portion of your soul. What do these Maenids, as you call them, represent to you? Are they reminders of what a woman did to you? Is it representative of the viciousness you attribute to women, how effective they can be at destroying a man? Or is it because you were seduced, you feel any man can be seduced, and hence, don't trust any of them?

Agilia leaned forward, her face colored in anger. ^Why have you brought these two with you, Denged? Only you were summoned.^

^They are the leaders of my battalions,^ he replied, standing unperturbed by Agilia's mood. ^And as such, they should share in any praise for accomplishment.^

Gilc and Errece straightened next to him, looking at him for a moment with pride on their faces, and respect for the great leader Denged was to them.

Do you sleep at night, knowing they and their knives are so close by? thought Agilia. Have you ever been with either, or both of them? Have you even been with a woman since Nahlai?

Agilia wanted to have Denged analyzed, but his mind was far too strong. Even after Nahlai, after she drove him into temporary madness, no mental probes were effective. When he shuts his mind down nothing, and no one, gets in.

^Very well, Denged. We, Monitors of Mal, given authority by Mal over all TELREC, officially thank you for your destruction of the Iganinagi. We also give you new information.^

^Yes Agilia?^

^Nahlai is on Novan.^

Gilc and Errece knew of her, knew of the pain she caused Denged. They both clutched their knives, a fire coming into their eyes. Agilia knew Nahlai was the one woman whose blood would soil their knives, whose body would be ripped apart by the Maenids. Denged still stood, impassive, his great face as stone under Agilia's gaze, his mind closed and dark to her gaze.

^Your orders?^ he asked.

^Nahlai has gotten close to the Cuhli-pra. Rhonva failed in his attempted assassination of her. She will not be easy to find, and Graid, the Rell Kal-Alçon, seems to protect her.^ She squared her gaze on him, assuming her most commanding pose. ^You must succeed where others have failed.^

Denged knelt before her, an action that brought a quick gasp from Agilia. Never in her time knowing him, had he ever shown anything but utter strength with anyone, striking an almost defiant pose. Now, lowered on one knee, his elbow resting on the other, his head lowered, he seemed so tragic to her. She was stunned to hear his voice, loud and sure.

"She shall die at my hands."

He raised his head, a tear falling down his cheeks, his aspect aflame with vengeance and death. He left quickly, with Gilc and Errece close behind.

What is he? thought Agilia, sitting back. Mentally, he may be our strongest agent ever, and he wasn't even a product of our genetic engineering! What worries me most is what Rhonva exhibited—the ability to channel great force through his body. Denged has shown none of that, but if he possessed such an ability, it would be far greater than anything Rhonva possessed. And yet, something has always drawn me to him. Something about his pain, about his suffering, and the strength he shows in the face of it. Her eyes fell on the doorway, wishing she could come up with a reason to summon him back, to cesct with him more.

^Agilia,^ cast Qergien anxiously, ^are you at all concerned he may discover the truth about the death of his parents?^

^Who knew about that mission? Only Rhonva, the Monitors, and Mal. There is no one left to tell him.^

^I have nest reports that Rhonva was with Nahlai for quite a while out of cast-net range,^ cast Raent. ^We have no knowledge of cescts between them.^

^True, but why tell her?^ countered Agilia. ^He hated her; that much was evident by even the simplest of scans. ^

Raent pressed on. ^What of Graid? He may have gotten much out of Rhonva, before he was killed.^

Graid, how I hate him! He is too random, too unpredictable. We have no knowledge of his strength, or abilities!

^We must capture Nahlai.^ Agilia rose and headed for the door, as the others followed. ^She will give us the information we need about Graid. Then, Denged may do as he wishes with her. Raent,^ cast Agilia, pausing for a moment, ^you will learn to cease questioning my every decision. Mal is not the only being that can put Monitors to death.^

# 3

Music: once defined as the arrangement of notes to form a melody, it evolved with the creation of the cast-net. First, emotional responses were added into old works, cuing up sadness at a particular passage, joy at another. As the depth of the cast-net experience was more fully realized, older works faded into the sands of time, replaced by works meant to be enjoyed on the cast-net. Lyrical expression fell into disuse, as great mental depth could be added to a single note. The separation between musical composition and narrative broke down, with some abstract thinkers still producing works cued to shapes, and complex thought., But for the most part, all musical composition became associated with a narrative, save for short, transitional pieces nest between programs.

In a great cavernous hall in the same building Jay resided in with Anies on Core, hundreds of the Maenids were gathered to celebrate the defeat of the Iganinagi. Mountains of cushions rose and fell throughout the space, and on them lounged many of the Maenids casting and laughing, playing with each other as predator animals do after a long hunt. The lights pulsed to the rhythm of cast-net entertainment, with many of them dancing wildly. As most of their roas were spent training and hunting their prey, they relished this rare occasion to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Among those throngs of women, Jay rest on a cushion with Anies and a few of her friends. She had been through another long roa of training. Though Jay could not become a TELREC, as most of the women called Maenids were, she could be a civilian soldier among them, almost equal in rank to a CRODAM officer. Jay found there were many civilians among the hundreds of Maenids, most with their own agendas for being there. Some were abused as children; some were devout Novans looking to purge the world of the sinners, while others simply gloried in battle, delighted in the killing. They were all accepted, without question, so long as they followed orders, and never, ever incited rebellion or discord among them.

Jay also discovered there was a tight sisterhood among the Maenids. They cared for one another, praising each other for accomplishments in battle, helping one another to learn new methods of combat. She had spent some time with Anies' friends, and they were very supportive in her gradual progression through the training. Jay assumed all the women who were Maenids would also prefer the company of women, but they were a diverse group. Throughout the room some paraded men on the ends of leashes, being whipped and kicked, while others enjoyed torturing a chained man. What Jay mostly saw was an assertion of physical power, for though men and women were evenly matched mentally, as children and as adolescents women still felt inferior physically.

She had learned much of the past of Anies' friends, but little of Anies herself. Jay was constantly digging, trying to find some way into Anies' persona, trying to find some weakness she could exploit. Anies seemed to want Jay only for the sex and as some conquest to be shown off; the last of the Iganinagi. Even now other Maenids would come over and congratulate Anies while examining Jay, nodding and smiling.

^Look—over there,^ cast Anies.

Denged entered with Gilc and Errece. They moved slowly, as all who they passed bowed low before them. Denged even extended his hand, and many women reached up and held it, for a moment. They took a circular path through the room, appearing as royalty—gracious, and aloof. He made his way through half the chamber, before sitting with Gilc and Errece at three raised chairs at the front of the hall.

^I nest he went to a meeting with the Monitors, and defied the Monitors by bringing Gilc and Errece!^

^Why'd he do that?^ asked Jay, straightening herself to get a better look.

^Because he knows how valuable those two are.^ She ran her fingers down Jay's arm, her eyes clouding with lust. ^He always treats them right. Nest his words.^

Denged stood, and with a motion of his hand, brought an end to all cast in the room.

^To my loyal Maenids: I have gathered you all here, on this night of rest, as thanks for your dedication to the cause we fight for. As I gathered all of you, over the past ten cas, I knew one roa we would stand united as a force to be reckoned with on these globes. A force bound by one truth, one purpose. Many of us have endured a youth that left deep scars in our souls. Endured unique and terrible aspects of pain and misery, on globes where there should be none. Been betrayed by those who supposedly loved us most.^ He paused for a moment, and Jay could see many paused with him. She scanned Anies for any reaction, but found none. ^But in our unity, we find strength. In our camaraderie, we find trust and support.^

^I would like to take this moment to thank Gilc and Errece for their exemplary leadership, for their steadfastness and resolve. I may have been granted authority over them by the TELREC, but I consider them, and myself, to be facets of one mind, one body.^ He raised his fist in the air. ^Long live the Maenids!^

^Long live the Maenids!^ they roared back at him.

The Maenids cheered, clenching their fists, whipping or beating the slaves some of them had. Denged sat down, the passion evaporating from his face. Gilc and Errece both drew their swords, and raised them high in the air, to the chants and cheers of the room. More food was brought in, as well as sixty male slaves, bound in chains. Jay nest something familiar about them.

^Who are they?^

^Some of the last of your people,^ cast Anies, leering at a couple of women who passed by. ^They were rounded up only a troa ago, and have been through intense interrogation. They were given to us, as playthings, to be tortured and killed.^

Jay glanced at them as they made their way through the chanting mob. They were naked, with many scars along their legs and arms. Some had the expressions of young children, their minds having been destroyed by the TELREC. Others scanned the room, hunting for some way to escape, still refusing to accept that the end had come. A foul stench came from them all, reeking of urine and excrement, mingled with the distinctive sour taste of fear. Though Jay didn't recognize any of them, she couldn't return their gaze, so ashamed was she of being there. She felt sick, with the faces of Kleder, her mother and father, and even Minnlis rising in her mind. Errece leapt from her chair to the delight of the crowd, pulling forth her blade and terrorizing the prisoners, laughing at and taunting them.

^I can't be here,^ cast Jay, feeling sick. ^I have buried my people. I need to leave.^

Anies pouted for a moment, watching some of her friends pull down and whip the slaves. She knew it was going to be a long night of pleasure, and was loathe to miss it. But her mind was quick, and thought of some new mischief. She brightened up, grinning wide, her brown eyes flashing with perverted sin.

^Let's go hide in one of the rooms nearby.^

Anies was always into the next thrill, wanting to have sex in public places, be naked and hidden right next to a LM stop, where even a stray glance would discover her. She had mentioned more than once how exciting it would be to do something here, so close to Denged. She led Jay into an adjacent room, holding Jay close, her eyes salivating over her body.

^Come on—let's go in there.^

Anies led Jay into a small closet in a very large room. Dark, it had one window covered tightly with heavy drapery. As they got in, Anies disrobed, and pinned Jay against a wall, her hands running over her body, hoping someone would discover them. Jay submitted, glad to be away from the suffering of those she still considered to be her people.

She had become more accustomed to acting for Anies, faking her excitement. While once she thought that it was men she disliked, she found quickly that she disliked the mechanical nature some performed sex with. Anies was a prime example—one who wanted a thrill, not a connection, felt lust, never, ever love.

Anies was grinding hard against Jay, her fingers in her favorite places, when the sound of footsteps drifted into the closet.

^Mmm . . . someone's so close to us, Jay.^

^Be null!^ cried Jay, pushing her away.

^I love this,^ cooed Anies, her mind filled with lascivious thoughts, running her hand over her own sex. ^It's so fucking exciting!^

Anies looked out through an opening in the door, and her excitement turned to fear as she realized who it was coming into the room. Gilc, tall and proud, came in followed by Denged.

^Who is it?^ asked Jay trying to see. Anies pushed her back hard, turning deadly serious in an instant.

^Null your mind, and fast, if you want to live.^

Anies saw Denged stop, halfway into the room, his gaze blank. He stood, as he always stood, on feet weighted with heaviest stone, his body appearing as a pillar that held up the globes. His robes hung low on him, swimming over his perfect form, almost as rags on a golden statue. A pain was on his face that Anies had never seen before. Gilc stood near him, gazing longingly into his distant eyes, her hand seemingly fighting a battle with itself. It was rare that Anies would see Denged with only Gilc or Errece—the three seemed truly to function as one. The only time Gilc and Errece were not with Denged was when he had to torture or execute female prisoners. Seeing Gilc and Denged together now kindled a memory, something Anies remembered as being out of place.

When was it, two cas ago? They were supposed to be on a moon, with the Maenids. They were close, so tight, their bodies pressed up against one another. What did she say? Was it Gilc, that was close to Denged, that they looked at each other for a long time, and only my friend saw. I remember now. She looked back at Gilc and Denged, silently regarding one another. Gilc put her hand on his face, like a lover would. She couldn't believe what she saw.

Tears ran down Denged's face, and Anies would have given anything to know why. Jay saw them also, seeing the pain on the face of this man who seemed so invincible to her before.

So, he is souman, after all, thought Jay. Something causes him pain.

Gilc raised her hand to his face.

And someone gives him love.

As her hand cupped his face, Denged's eyes closed, and he relaxed into her hand. What Jay or Anies couldn't see or feel was the torment in Denged's soul, the agony at letting down his guard with another, risking betrayal as Nahlai had done to him before. They couldn't sense the void in his life yearning to be filled, the despair beckoning for hope. Denged fell to his knees, and Gilc drew his head to her stomach, cupping it with both hands, as he wept in her arms. It was a tender scene, with Gilc stroking Denged's hair, running her hands along his shoulders. Jay and Anies each worked harder to suppress their thoughts, hoping they would not be discovered.

^Be careful, Jay,^ cast Anies carefully. ^Someone is coming.^

In the shadows, outside the room, they could see a figure moving slowly. It was Errece. She hung in the doorway, her eyes fixed on Gilc and Denged. For a few moments, they all stood this way, Denged's head resting in Gilc's embrace, Errece standing immobile, expressionless in the doorway. Eventually Errece moved off and Denged stood, Gilc wiping his tears. Anies and Jay could just glean their casts.

^I grow tired of celebrations of torture and blood,^ grumbled Denged, pawing at Gilc's back with his massive hands. ^To meet one's enemy, after a great hunt, and slaughter them while the hope of escape is in their eyes, is a magnificent thing. But to torture, and kill those who feel in their souls the cold breath of fate, brings no joy, only a sick, dark malaise.^

^It's Nahlai, isn't it?^ asked Gilc, running her hand along his face.

^Yes.^

^You never thought you would need to confront her again?^

^No. I knew this roa would come. It doesn't make it any easier.^ He moved his hands slowly up her back, feeling every muscle and crease of bone under her skin. An expression of relief spread over Gilc's face, fulfillment of a secret longing. ^My life has been one of such pain, Gilc. Not just Nahlai, but my mother and father, killed before my eyes. Do you know what I see, every time we go into battle? I see the faces of them, of my mother and father, on each man and woman we kill. It is as if I am butchering them, myself.^

He held her tighter, Anies could see his arms swell, a grimace on Gilc's face as she adjusted to the pressure. Denged then stood, looming over Gilc, looking down into her eyes, she up into his. Neither of them knew what to do, where to take the feeling they now knew existed between them. Denged lifted his hand, and cupped her face within it, feeling the sweet softness of her cheeks in the dry roughness of his hand. She pressed her face into it, closing her eyes, wanting to be even closer to him. He drew away, his mind on a past filled with betrayal and pain, damning himself for this stirring of hope.

^Enough.^ He took a moment and straightened his clothes mechanically, not looking at Gilc's face. He walked out, Gilc close behind. Anies turned to Jay.

^That was so damn hot!^

She kissed Jay, and got close to her, playing for a little while. Eventually, they made their way back out into the festivities, Anies going back to her friends, debating whether or not to share with anyone what she saw. Jay wandered around for a while, eventually finding Errece sitting alone near a few dead prisoners, kicking a body mindlessly. She sat down next to her.

^Why are you alone?^ tentatively asked Jay.

Jay had not ventured to cesct with Errece before. She could sense her mind was a simple and violent one that operated in black and white, with a few shades of grey. Errece replied simply.

^Don't know.^

Her thoughts were heavy, each word like a hammer-strike. Jay knew she must be distracted, as her mind was slightly open. Jay could sense great confusion, could feel Errece replaying what she saw in the room, could sense a part of Errece wanted to kill Denged and Gilc for their weakness, while another part wanted dearly to have a moment such as that, some connection with another, no matter how fleeting.

Errece was a product of Novan, rescued by the TELREC when she was only nine, but not before suffering a lifetime of pain, mostly because of parents that couldn't be bothered to repair the damage in her infant brain. She had floundered through her childhood, taken advantage by those who could feel her weakness. The TELREC could have rehabilitated her, but they built on that pain, turning her into the butcher she had become. Jay felt her past rise up within her as she watched Denged cry, lightening quick slashes of memory like sword swipes, faces and laughter and shouting and screaming. Jay pulled away, before Errece could tell she was nesting her thoughts.

^How long have you led the Maenids?^ asked Jay.

^You mean we? Ten cas.^

^You, Denged, and Gilc?^

^Yes. All together. Denged cast he saw something, in me. Saw loy-al-ty,^ Errece cast the word slowly, not fully understanding its meaning. ^He cast he need someone to stand with him. I was bored. And we fought a lot! I kill so many, make so many men pay for the things they do.^ She turned to Jay. ^They do such bad things, you know?^

^Yes, I do.^

^They mean, and cruel, hurt children, hurt the weak! But not Denged . . .^ Errece drifted away for a moment.

^Not Denged?^ Jay prompted her.

^Not him,^ she cast strongly. ^He always kind to us, always treat us as equal. He even took us to be thanked by Monitors! Denged strong. What does it mean to be strong, yet kind?^

Jay thought for a moment on Kleder, a strong, burly man who would not be afraid of battle, yet who felt pain at killing.

^It means to be compassionate.^

^Compassion . . .^ Errece thought on the word, what it meant, for a few moments, stopping for a moment her kicking of the dead.

^What if he weren't strong?^ asked Jay, daring to pry a little more. ^What if he were weak?^

Errece looked at her out of the corner of her eyes, almost divining what was behind the question.

^If he weak, he dies,^ she barely cast, her thoughts buried deep. She kicked the body beneath her hard, then grasped the hilt of the sword at her side. ^If he weak, he dies,^ cast Errece with more strength as she glanced over at Jay, thinking for a moment that she might have found the support she needed. But in Jay she saw a mind murky with violets and deeps reds, bathed in the blackness of the void, and when she looked upon Jay, she saw only a mass of confusion and deception.

^I need to go.^

Jay smiled to herself watching Errece leave, thinking on a future that was taking shape in her mind.

# 4

Few outside of the religious hierarchy of Rell truly appreciated the turbulence following the creation of the Kal-Alçon. For the millennia preceding his creation, the Alçons were the ruling body on Rell. Each was elected internally, and typically represented the best his or her province had to offer. Their duties mostly concerned interpretation of the texts of the Kal-Durrell, assisting in times of spiritual crises. Prior to Uonil, the position of Mentra was a ceremonial one, an Alçon assigned to take the lead in processions, to be the first to give a speech, but who had little authority over his fellow Alçons. After the directives given by the Kal-Durrell concerning expanded powers of the Mentra, the Alçons felt great resentment and bitterness. Consensus building no longer mattered, as all decisions fell onto one person. Their power siphoned off, their duties curtailed, the Alçons let their misery consume them, distancing themselves from their provinces, becoming more rebellious against the Mentra.

Columns of soldiers from posts near and far marched into the derasar in Piros, on the planet Rell, their faces silent and unyielding of emotion. Thousands of men and women who served with or under Martel gathered in formal dress, anxious for this roa of remembrance. Around the derasar, tens of thousands more stood in reverence of a fallen hero, one who saved countless lives, whose smiling face was known throughout Rell not only as a great soldier, but as Steward to the Kal-Alçon. Though not an Alçon, he was thought of as a sacred figure by much of the population, and his passing was ordered a sacred event. Flowers adorned the pillars of the derasar, great red and black carpets led into and around its walls. Tall, fiery torches greeted visitors inside, with the soft sounds of chants to the Kal-Durrell playing. A few hundred fortunate Rell were seated within the derasar's walls in close proximity to the body of Martel.

It was in that Rell house of worship that Martel was to be remembered, and seated in its small, wooden frame were most of the important agents on Rell. A small, crystal coffin lay in their midst—Martel's body revealed for all to see. The outpouring of grief from the common Rell astounded even the most jaded observer of society. So many were taught by him, so many were saved by him, so much was discovered by him. And, most of all, it was his influence that shaped and molded Graid. Some said for the better, some for the worse. Either way, all knew the Kal-Alçon favored Martel, as well as most of the soldiers and agents of Rell. Only the council of Alçons regarded him with disdain.

The council of Alçons slowly filed in, wearing ceremonial garb replete with rich blues, violets and orange, laced with silver, but also dressed in faces of condescending arrogance. Uonil stood in the back as their procession circled once around the unadorned crystal tube that housed Martel's body, humming in a low chant.

They never respected Martel, never appreciated all he was, all he did. Uonil glanced over at his wife, Rista, seated near the coffin, her head held high, her arms embracing the small child that was Martel's last gift to her. I wish I had the opportunity to speak with her more. We have so much in common; we both loved a remarkable man that Rell is all the poorer to be without.

The Alçons gathered in a circle around the crystal tube, lifting wooden staffs into the air, bowing their heads over Martel's body. Their chant rose in volume, most in the audience humming along, linking their thoughts in memory of Martel. The Alçons then stopped, and each of them struck the floor with their staffs three times, signifying the unity of Rel with Kal, then seated themselves in chairs arranged behind the coffin. She always felt they sat in judgment of others when they gathered in this way; seated as statues, they mimicked the poses of the Kal-Durrell.

I'm glad Graid is late.

Uonil moved slowly down the center of the derasar, holding high her staff. She always felt this aspect of Rell faith to be a little ridiculous—a holdover from ancient Iquitian times. She wore the thick, heavy, blue robes of her office, her youthful face framed with a hood of ornate gold lace, inset with small, precious jewels. As she made her way through the circle of Alçons, she knelt before Martel's casket, touching it once with the staff in her hand. Aloud she spoke the sacred words of incorporation.

^Il Kal uh ollht.^

^Il Kal ot hull,^ answered the assembly.

She drew back her hood, as she stood in the middle of an arc the Alçons now formed, facing the audience around Martel's crystal coffin. Their robes shimmered in the light, their colors reflected in the many facets of the casket. She gazed out on the audience, glancing over those present, seeing faces she had not seen for quite a while. She seemed to notice people more now, after her time spent in Averil. She allowed her eyes to linger on a man she found attractive, sought to build friendships with women she respected. In the few roas that she had been back, many remarked on the change within her—how much more confident she was, how much more she smiled, and expressed her thoughts. And all the while, Arciss' smiling face was never far away.

Martel, you would have been proud.

But her roas had also been filled with conferences about the battle on Topside, usually with the full council of Alçons raising their voices, their dissent, against her. The council was never satisfied with answers regarding Rhonva's power and Graid's ability.

No one saw him! No one witnessed his strength. Nahlai said it was over quickly, yet she struggled and lost against Rhonva. We know Graid is strong, but now everyone feels that Graid has been hiding his power, and they all blame me. The demonstration before the council only piqued their curiosity more. Away from Graid, their fear has faded into the recesses of their minds.

Lately, Uonil dwelled on the memory of Martel less and less. After his death, she thought she would never survive without him, his face seemed to haunt her dreams, even sometimes her waking, quiet moments. But now, she could feel the crisis time was approaching. Many players were now involved, and it took many droas each roa to review and assimilate all the surveillance she was bombarded with.

The fragments of the Iganinagi, OLMAC and Suld, Denged and his Maenids, the TELREC, and the meta! They all intertwine with one another, allies one moment, adversaries the next. It's almost as if Kolob has receded in priority for them, as they battle amongst themselves. Maybe that is how Mal wants it.

She had a meeting with Odre and Unti earlier in the roa, the two meta Graid accepted as ambassadors from their kind. They spoke at length about Mal, that they had recently discovered some new information. Uonil tried to pry it out of them, but they refused, stating they would share it when they felt it was necessary.

It's something big, something that would change all of our plans, I know it! They are so terminally arrogant. If it were anyone else, any souman, I'm sure they would have shared their information, even with the meta. If only we had meta of our own that we could send inside Malhrer. The more information we have on Mal, the greater chance we have to succeed. I feel Mal is responsible for many of the aberrations in this timeline.

She took a breath, long and deep, and remembered why she was there. There was incense in the air, smoky and sweet, given off by the torches that calmed her mind once she breathed it in. Her eyes fell on the crystal tube, glistening in the light of the derasar, Martel's face just seen over the edge. A great sadness washed over her as she remembered how it was just in times like these, when everything was at stake, when a multitude of issues and problems seemed to overwhelm her that he would comfort her, and be the pillar of strength she had come to depend on. Martel knew a thousand different ways to make her smile, had a proverb for every situation, a smile and a reassuring word for every failure. When Graid taxed her strength to the utmost, Martel would replenish it.

Oh how I miss you, you sweet man.

^As do I.^

^Arciss!^ cried Uonil in surprise. She saw him take a seat in the front row, his appearance causing a minor commotion. ^I'm glad you made it. You have become quite the celebrity on Rell.^

Arciss flashed a gentle smile. ^You know it is not of my doing. Those from Averil, known now as Trint-Averil, are spreading faster than I would have anticipated. A new spirit is sweeping over the face of Rell, breathing life back into what was thought dead. I wish I could be with them more, walk and cast and talk with them, lead them in the Castiliad. But they are strong, and have wise and committed leaders.^

^And you started it all,^ sincerely cast Uonil, looking on him with a love that a sister might have for a brother, full of respect, admiration, and even a little awe. As powerful as Uonil was, she couldn't dream of inspiring the number of people Arciss had. ^I think Graid doesn't know what to do with you.^

A cloud of despair fell on Arciss' face for a moment. ^He seems . . . distant. When I speak with him, his answers are short, and he seems confused.^

^You no longer appear weak in his eyes, Arciss. You meet his strong gaze with an equally strong one. He cannot verbally abuse you, or confuse you.^

^I think we both interact with Graid much differently than before.^

^You are right,^ agreed Uonil, nodding in assent. ^He seems smaller than before. I almost feel a sorrow for him, for the confusion I feel within his heart.^

^I feel it too. But we both still must be careful. Our goal is not to corner him, leaving him no way out. We must be his guides, must steward him along the right path, and encourage his growth.^

Valcha sat next to Arciss, and they clasped hands in greeting.

^My how you have grown, Arciss,^ proudly cast Valcha, a wide smile on her face.

Arciss nodded in thanks. ^Thank you. I feel it was your words that set me along this path. A path still clouded to my eyes, but seeming to resolve in detail in my mind with each passing roa.^

^Such is life, Arciss,^ replied Valcha, wrapping her arm around his. ^When one finally sees the end, there is no going back. An eye must always be kept on the future, but never at the expense of the present.^

Uonil rest on her staff, as Arciss and Valcha cast among themselves. Her sadness was still with her, as Martel's memory grew in strength in her mind. She tried to distract herself by reviewing theories, deductions, and projections about the mission and soon, her sadness washed away. Uonil saw more people enter the derasar and take their seats. She searched among them for Graid, and was disappointed when she saw no sign.

Where is he? thought Uonil. He knows the ceremony starts promptly at ten. She gazed around again for a sign of Graid. She of course would sense him mentally if he came in, but she often followed primitive ways, and Graid could mask his presence. Disappointment flowed over her as she witnessed an Alçon ascend to the throne, his voluminous robes cascading down the steps behind him. Uonil felt herself slip into an ocean of grief, bemoaning the inconstancy of Graid. Arciss cast to her.

^He will be here. He may be scared, even confused, but he loved Martel as we all did.^

The throne the Alçon stood in front of was ancient, almost as old as the Kal-Durrell themselves, but lovingly preserved as a permanent symbol of faith. Smoothed and rounded by several millennia of cleaning and polishing, every inch still had detailed imagery carved into it, all relating to ancient stories told before the Kal-Durrell. It was meant to be a symbol of the triumph of knowledge over ignorance, the new faith's dominance over the old superstitions. Besides that throne, little in the derasar betrayed it to be a Rell house of worship. In fact, the only symbols representing their faith were the ten pillars arranged in back of the throne, representing the ten Kal-Durrell. Each pillar looked alike, to the untrained eye, but every Rell seated within that hall would see the subtle differences, tribute to the individual personas of each prophet. They were the lords, the silent warriors standing watch over the faithful.

Drums rich and loud sounded in the distance. A thousand bells tolled, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. Outside the derasar walls, millions of people grew silent. A small ship descended out of the sky, alighting on a small pad just outside the derasar doors. Graid emerged, almost minuscule in comparison to the masses around him, but appearing fully in command. He wore a silver and white, tightly cut robe, trimmed with black. The masses outside bowed before him, as he raised one hand. He looked on them, then turned, and made his way inside.

^He makes quite an entrance,^ cast Arciss to Uonil.

She relaxed into her chair, her mind supremely relieved. ^At least he is here,^

Graid moved slowly through the derasar, each row of people kneeling as he passed by. His gaze was ever straight ahead, focused on the casket. As he ascended the steps to the Alçons, they knelt before him, their staffs erect, the golden jewels in their top still forming the arc. Graid stood in front of Uonil, who then bowed before him.

^It's good to see you.^

^How could I disappoint my faithful?^ asked Graid casually. He knelt before the casket, placing his hand above Martel's head, repeating the words of incorporation.

^Il Kal uh ollht.^

^Il Kal ot hull,^ replied Uonil.

Graid then took his place at the throne behind the Alçons, as Polintin, the Alçon who was the keeper of tradition, stood before the podium. The other Alçons, including Uonil, were seated in an arc with Graid as its center. The lament of requiem was sung, resounding through the derasar as untold millions around the planet sung it also. Graid cast as they were singing.

^Salov Valcha, and Arciss.^

^Salov, Graid,^ replied Arciss. ^I'm pleased you are here.^

Graid bristled at Arciss' tone, but hid his discomfort.

^I have heard the Trint-Averil grows. You must be proud.^

^It is not for me to feel pride at their accomplishments,^ demurred Arciss. ^Rather, I am encouraged by the awakening of our people. It is the only way we will survive if the Cuhli-pra ascends.^

The lament ended, and more music was cast to the worshipers, as Polintin cast the prayer of invocation. Uonil cast a sidelong glance at Graid, who caught her attention in his silver robes trimmed in black. The silver hung not as satin, but more as metal, strands of it falling effortlessly off his figure. His tunic seemed black as an abyss, and mirrored the unknown depths in Graid's eyes. Her mind wandered for a moment, then quickly Uonil focused on recent events, casting to Graid some of her concerns.

^There has been mush discussion over your battle with Rhonva.^

^I know, Uonil. It brings up some disturbing possibilities, and questions the accuracy of our surveillance.^

^If TELREC are hiding genetically altered agents like him, what else are they hiding?^

^Not much now. They would have had to shield it from Rhonva's memory,^ laughingly cast Graid with a malicious grin. ^I was very thorough in my scan of him. But we did lose a great number of agents. Not as much as they, but more than we anticipated. We must be better prepared should another conflict arise.^

A few more filed in, taking the last remaining seats as Polintin neared the end of the prayer. The derasar was filled beyond its capacity, with the simple benches filled with the faithful and the small arena in the rear packed with those lucky enough to be let in to stand. Uonil relaxed in her chair, and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

^I agree, Graid. You should supervise their re-education. I think you may have some . . . new tricks to teach them?^ she cast with a slight smile.

^Hunting for something, dear Uonil?^

She paused for a moment, thinking on Arciss' words about confronting Graid.

^You know of what I cast. You showed abilities unimagined on Topside in your battle with Rhonva.^ She cast firmly, with growing confidence. ^And you have been unwilling to explain the extent of your abilities! That cannot be accepted.^

Graid felt anger well within him, but suppressed it, taking much of his concentration. ^This . . . is not the place for this discussion, Mentra.^

^As long as you know it must happen, Kal-Alçon.^ She decided to switch the subject. ^Odre and Unti are proving to be a valuable asset.^

^I'm pleased you think so,^ cast Graid curtly.

I hate it when he gets in these moods. It's useless casting to him.

^What do you expect, dear Uonil?^ replied Graid, in answer to her thoughts. ^Do you think I didn't nest your cesct earlier with Arciss? Do you think I haven't nested all the cescts about me since the two of you returned from Averil? You forget there are no thoughts that escape my awareness—none! You speak about dealing with me like it were a game of strategy, and—^

^You have brought this upon yourself,^ retorted Uonil. ^You don't communicate with us, and for too long have hidden your actions behind your title, behind threats and warnings. You brush me aside as if I was some mewling sycophant.^ She paused for a moment, reflecting on his treatment of her after his competition with the meta in Castiliad, the event that sent her home to Averil in the first place. ^No more!^ She struggled not to leap at him, gritting her teeth, the frustration worn into her face, ever aware of the multitudes seated before her. ^No more.^

^Do not communicate?^ retorted Graid angrily. ^I was raised without communication, in a void without even the touch of another souman being. And now, you think I will spill my soul, trust in those who betrayed me before, who treated me as an object, as a weapon?!^

They both could nest Polintin was entering into Castiliad, and beseeched all present to enter with him.

^We will finish this later, Graid.^

There are times he shows such promise, then there are times like these. Uonil thought, deep down in her mind, so Graid could not nest. Arciss has grown to be a better leader than Graid. Sometimes Graid surprises us, like with this alliance with the meta. And his proposal to ally with the Novans against the TELREC. Why he still flirts with the sins of Novan I'll never know. I don't know if he could ever be a leader of people, but some of his ideas, such as unification, could rally our whole world behind him. And his understanding of Novan ways could rally them, too. But his power could make him a liability, and force us to destroy him, lest he destroy us. Unless he can be made whole, made to understand the potential within himself and within those who serve him.

Uonil quelled her thoughts, and entered into the Castiliad with the others. A Boolin was formed in their minds, its roots growing thick and detailed as each person reflected on the impact Martel had on their lives. Many of those present were intertwined with each other because of Martel. Even the council acknowledged the wealth of knowledge he shared with those present, the number of people he mentored, the great good he performed in the service of Rell. As the Boolin faded, many wiped their eyes, giving prayer to Kal that his soul be safeguarded.

Polintin began speaking directly to the congregation. An old man, his wrinkles furrowed deep into his face, his eyes sunken spheres in a leathery sea. The robe he wore made him seem timeless, beige and gold, with crimson trim, it glittered like a haze around him, smoothing over those wrinkles like a youthful mask, making his features less discernable, and more universal.

^This morning we gather in respect of a fallen friend, out of joy for his passage to a new world, and sadness he has left our own. I have word that the Kal-Durrell themselves send word of their sorrow over his passing.^

Murmured thought passed as all reflected on the significance of their words, rare they were at someone's remembrance.

^They have issued a statement: 'Few times in our history have we felt the death of another as keenly as Martel's death. His life force was one which exulted and bound those around him. We forgive him for his sins, and bless his journey into Kal.'^

Polintin paused so all could absorb the words from the Kal-Durrell. Uonil gazed at Rista, and saw the despair and sorrow on her face. She appeared as if all the life has been wrung out of her—she was merely a shell of what she was. Graid noticed her glance.

^I must offer my support to Rista after the ceremony, she looks as if she needs it. I can sense she is in deep confusion,^ cast Graid, as he knotted his hands together. ^She is a pretty thing, even under that cloud of sadness. Maybe I—^

Polintin cast again just as Uonil flashed a hateful look at Graid. He smiled his satisfied smile.

^When one reflects back on the life of Martel, and reviews the minds he has molded, we see . . .^

Graid sat back, already bored and restless. Ahh . . . the history lesson. I loved Martel, but he is gone. I may as well go over the mission forecasts. Graid brought the distillation of each attempt back in time forward, and the various commentaries on each one. The stumbling block is getting Kolob angry enough against the TELREC that he would take a life. Some argued that Kolob knew instinctually he was killing himself—the surroundings, items in the room, combined they triggered a latent memory. We must try this last time at night, when all will be asleep, so he won't see anything, and possibly further abstract the event.

Graid gazed around the derasar, unable to concentrate. The confrontation with Uonil commanded his focus once again.

Don't they realize what they are doing? Uonil and Arciss will push too far, and I will kill them both. Arciss has become so smug, so damned arrogant, with his accursed Trint-Averil. It was all your fault, Martel. Yours and Valcha's. It was in the middle of those thoughts that a great rumbling voice shook him to his foundations.

^Why do you hate me so?^

A look of surprise flashed on Graid's face. That was the Alçon! He was not looking at Graid, yet still he could feel strong power in his thoughts. The voice was warm, and alive, so much unlike the Alçon. Graid opened his awareness, to see if it was someone else.

^Polintin, what are you doing? Concentrate on your work, and restrain your thoughts.^

Graid closed off his mind—a tactic few on Rell or Novan could accomplish. Uonil with all her strength would be unable to penetrate this shielding. Graid then resumed his thoughts.

^Nest my thoughts!^

Graid's mind reeled as sharp pains pierced his skull, the same warm voice pounding on his consciousness, negating any focus Graid had. It took all his strength to remain composed, and even then Uonil gazed sideways at him, opening her awareness of his being, but the contact was occurring on too high a level for even her to notice.

^You are the Kal-Alçon, yet you hate the very faith you serve!^ slammed Polintin. ^Explain.^

Graid resurrected his self, and guardingly responded.

^You know nothing of me, lackey, how dare you invade my thoughts! If I were not in here, I would—^

^You would do no such thing! I could crush your mind with little effort. Feel my power.^

With that Graid felt his entire being, mental and physical, feel stifled at first, then literally suffocated. His mind couldn't move as quickly, he began to lose sensation throughout his body. Try as he might, he could offer no resistance. Then, in an instant, the pressure was gone. Relief was instant. Graid for the first time felt the need to practice prudence, felt that there was someone superior to him. It was a new sensation, and it intrigued Graid.

^Who are you?^ asked Graid.

^Look in my eyes and see who I am.^

The Alçon alighted on Graid as though it was part of his proceedings. Graid looked deep, through the haze, into the eyes sunken deep in a swirling sea of wrinkles, and for the first time in his life was truly frightened. He saw something he could not easily explain, something akin to eternity.

^Why do you hate me?^ Polintin asked again. Graid thought for a mroa, lowering his guard.

^I don't know you.^

^I am the one honoring your friend—a man who loved and respected you. Your own mind tells me you miss him dearly.^

^He was, a curiosity,^ cast Graid softly. ^And a good man, though naive.^

^Because he believed?^

^Yes.^

^And you?^

Graid thought for a moment. ^I don't know.^

^Yes you do—you believe in the technology which created you. The technology which surrounds you every second of every roa.^

This touched a soreness in him.

^Of course!^ cried Graid. ^Me, the Kal-Alçon for all my people, created in a genetic soup and born in a chamber! Do you even know what that word means? Kal-Alçon, most think it means honored warrior, but it is too similar to an ancient Novan word, pre-prophet, 'kalacon.' It means deadly weapon! I am not a being, a sentient, I am a thing! Why should I believe? I am the strongest, most perfect being our world has ever seen. And I am not born of it. And the people here don't even think of my individuality, my identity. Obviously, your way must be flawed.^

^Weren't those minds created and born? Wasn't their knowledge to create you part of the plan?^

^An old argument. Martel thought that way.^

^And?^ demanded Polintin pointedly.

^And we have no more need of the old way. I am the beginning of the new. We should repeal the Kal-Durrell's prohibition on general cloning and genetic manipulation, and forge a new race to conquer this universe. Look at what the TELREC have done! They breed a whole new race of soldiers. If I weren't here, they wouldn't need a Cuhli-pra to defeat us. I will usher in a new life without devotion, where we will enjoy ourselves without guilt, where we will sweep aside the TELREC as the scum that they are. And we will teach the Novans a thing about pleasure.^

^Like you do now?^

^Yes,^ replied Graid firmly. ^Why not enjoy my body, and those others?^

^Because I do not wish it. Not to excess.^

^I cast again, I don't know you.^

For a short time, all that could be heard was the preaching of the Alçon on Martel.

^But you have felt love,^ cast Polintin.

Graid lowered his head, and thought How did he know?

Polintin steadily continued. ^You buried that sweet feeling so deep inside, I imagine you forgot it was there. But it is. And it is a beautiful thing—a piece of joy and light. No science or technology can give you that. After ten thousand cas that is still the one constant. And with the love of one woman, one person, comes the love of others. And then, eventually, a love of all that is. And when you cannot contain your love—in those brief moments of clarity and understanding—you develop faith.^

^Faith that those you love will live long.^

^Faith that their selves will exist after death.^

^Faith in someone to watch over them when you can't.^

^Faith in me. There is so much potential in you, dear child, but you will never realize it with this self-hatred. You will never discover the power in love, in compassion. You can feel what it means to unite these people, but do you believe it? With all your heart? Decide, my son, which side you are on, what kind of man you will be. I will tell you a secret, young Graid. You are the best that has ever been, but yet, it may not be enough. I have waited a long time for someone like you, but I may need to wait even longer for another. And it will only be your obstinance, your self-hatred that will cause this to happen. Look on this man that lies dead before you, and see what made him more than you are now, possibly more than you will ever be. Look on Uonil, a child like you, but one who is coming to an acceptance of her self and of her role to play in the destiny of her people. Look to Valcha, old and seemingly past her prime, but still vital of mind, defying even your strength. And look to Arciss, one who doubted himself, who lived only in shadow, fearful of your every glance and word, who now has sounded a clarion call to his people, who has bidden them rise from their slumber to invest in themselves, and live! They have much to offer you, if you would only accept.^

Polintin had finished his statements to those gathered, and waited for Graid to rise, to lead the final procession in front of Martel's casket. Full body interments occurred about once a century—simply because of the space required. The more privileged were sent into the void on a trajectory into the sun, while most remains were simply eliminated. Graid stood slowly, his head held high, almost an expression of dominion over those beneath him. Still deep in thought, he descended from the throne and stood over Martel's casket. He put both hands on the casket, resting his weight on them, bending over to gaze into Martel's kind face. He had known that face since he was a child—the kind eyes now closed forever, that mind always faithful to the Kal-Durrell and most of all to him, as the Kal-Alçon. So often he tried to shake Martel's faith, sometimes in cruel ways. But always he persisted in his beliefs, his truths. And never did he speak against his Kal-Alçon—not in spoken thought or deep in his mind. Here was a man who loved his wife in a way few these roas do. He cherished her above all others—even above his own Kal-Alçon. He knew how deeply Martel's feelings ran for her, and never did he question them or mock them, for he knew, deep within himself, he wished he had those feelings for another.

Who was that? flashed through Graid's mind for a moment. He looked up, and Polintin still stood with the other Alçons, devoid of whatever inhabited him before, devoid of the only consciousness to openly question his worth, doubt his power. Graid turned back to Martel's lifeless body, and opened the lid of the casket, as was part of the ceremony. He gently stroked his hair, and in an audible, spoken voice, said—

"I will miss you my friend. I loved you."

Those that heard Graid's voice echoed his sentiment, as they wished they could share with others the wealth of good Martel had done during his life. For Graid, it was the highest form of respect he could give. He glanced again up at Polintin, and descended to the floor of the derasar. The sea of Rell faces lowered as he walked by, their eyes closed, their thoughts on one word—Kal-Alçon. For the first time he wanted nothing to do with them, was eager to be out of their physical and mental sight. As he opened the doors onto a world he did not know, millions of faces and minds were focused on him. He could feel their needs; hope for the future, understanding of the Novan threat, affirmations of their faith in the Kal-Durrell and him. He knew they wanted to nest words from him, even strain to hear spoken words. But Graid rushed to a waiting shuttle, almost breaking into tears at the sadness he left in his wake.

As he rose into the air, Arciss exited the derasar. Great cheers went up, men and women crying, holding a few children high so they could get a glimpse of Arciss. He stood with them; not on a platform, not raised above them, but on the same level as those who adored him. As the shuttle pulled away, Graid saw Arciss raise a hand, silencing the tens of thousands before him. He cast slowly, and strongly.

^Friends, I am overjoyed to find such rebirth among the Rell people. I know Martel, one of our greatest warriors and the first Steward, would be proud. I will not diminish his memory by casting overlong but I will cast this: I never have, and never will, set myself above you. I was merely a catalyst for this change, and I hope you all go forward, with the faith of the Kal-Durrell and the Kal-Alçon in your hearts, and awaken hope and faith throughout this troubled world. Farewell!^

Graid rushed back to Piros, troubled by his experience in the derasar. The memory of Martel hung in his mind, looming almost as a mythic figure. For so long he thought the memory of his friend had been buried, only to find it had only gained in strength and resolution. He wandered along the grounds of the capital, lingering over the immense ancient trees that lined the common paths. Shadows consumed his small figure, the moonlight spilling down silver light upon his tortured face. The grounds were misty, and he felt as if he was in a dream, one from which he could never wake. His mind reeled in a fog, making him unable to focus on one thought, or purge his mind of so much confusion.

He stood at the top of a valley, in the middle of a path that led down to his residence. It lay in a thicket of large bushes, out of which shot thin branches filled with cotton-like flowers. Trees arced overhead, and the night was being ushered in by the call of small birds emerging from their underground sanctuary. Many times had Martel visited him here as he was growing up, and every time Martel made a point of lounging in the grass as the roa turned to night. As Graid walked the path down to his home, he saw the many favorite spots of Martel.

It seemed like every patch of grass that was secluded, that had the low branches of a tree hanging overhead, was a good spot for him.

Graid turned onto the main road, and saw his home up ahead, just past five massive arches. He remembered asking Martel about them, when he was young.

"Why these arches? What's the point?"

"Well Graid, we believe that there are two parts of oneself. The part that interacts with the world, that negotiates deals, fights battles, does work, runs and plays. Then there is the other part, that protects one's family, builds a foundation, raises children, and nurtures a relationship with a woman or man. Home is sacred to us—the word carries with it a uniquely Rell meaning. These arches help the outside self transform into the inside self. These arches are gateways to what is really important. Every home on Rell, whether it be modest or extravagant, has some form of these arches."

"Why so many, and so large, for my home?"

"Because you, above all else, have the greatest duties for your outside self. You carry with you great responsibility. As such, when you return home, you must undergo the most radical transformation. Do you notice how the arches get smaller, the closer you come to the entrance?"

"Yes".

"Well it is to focus your self, a reminder that though you may be the Kal-Alçon, second only to the Kal-Durrell, when you enter this home, you are a man. These arches absolve you of your fate, your destiny, when you pass through them. Think on them carefully, Graid, and always remember to pass through them on your way home."

Graid stood before the first of the arches, wide and tall, made of rough stone, its base surrounded in tall grass. He went around it, and the other arches, skirting the main path.

You were wrong, Martel. There is no avoiding my destiny, my fate. He came to his door, and felt the strength leave him. He sat on the low steps in front, and slouched back, closing his eyes. He could feel Uonil, Arciss and Valcha approaching. Is there no solitude for me, on either world? Uonil came and stood beside him, as Arciss and Valcha looked on.

"Graid, your mind seems troubled."

"Leave me, Uonil. Though I enjoy our pleasant banter, now is not the time."

It had been a while since she had visited this place. She remembered Graid always disliked it, always said it was like a home for an old man who was no longer relevant. She sat down next to him on moss-covered steps, cold and slick as the night approached.

"Now is precisely the time, Graid! When will you trust us? When will you put faith in someone other than yourself?"

"Not now, Uonil!" cried Graid, feeling the emotion collapsing his very psyche. "Not now!" Who am I? What am I? Why do I feel this way? Anger coursed through his mind.

"You cannot push me aside anymore," lectured Uonil, feeling she was winning the battle, "not with threats of death, or temptation of sex. I am the Mentra of this world, and you will answer me!"

Graid turned, as a cornered beast, a desperation in his eyes and fatigue in his motions. He appeared as one who before would hesitate at striking a death blow, who now, cornered, was ready to use that option. Valcha laid a hand on Uonil's arm.

"Come Mentra," she said softly. "This is not for you."

Something about her words calmed Uonil, and she nodded to her oldest advisor. She stood, and cast one last look at Graid, who seemed more vulnerable yet more dangerous than ever. They both walked away, walking under the great arches, leaving Arciss with Graid. He sat down next to him, a kindness in his eyes like an old soul who knows of the cruelty of the world.

"What happened to you in there?"

Graid straightened, feeling his strength, and his viciousness, return to him.

"Nothing, my friend, nothing. I think a better question would be what happened between you and Uonil in Averil?" Graid crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, a smug smile sitting on his lips. "You two are very close now."

"Why do you speak to me like this?"

"What do you mean, Arciss?" said Graid with bitterness in his voice. "You see fit to question me about my innermost thoughts, why not expose yours for us to see? You were alone with Uonil, in that cave in Averil. She was very vulnerable. And you felt the thrill of conquest with Solti. Playing with women now? What would your old Cray say? But once you start, you can't very well stop. I know you felt her warmth next to you, knew she wanted it so badly. And in your mind, you thought of the two of you together. Even now, the thought torments you! I see it in your mind, you cannot deny it!"

Arciss sighed. "Silence, Graid."

"What?!"

"I said be silent. Don't speak until you have something of worth to say. Don't cast unless you have conceived of a constructive thought."

Graid clenched his fists, as the power built inside him.

"Clearly your creation of that roving band of whores you call the Trint-Averil has deluded you. Don't test me Arciss, or we will have another remembrance ceremony, this time for you!"

"Graid," spoke Arciss slowly, holding up a calming hand, "there was a time that your threats would have frightened me. Thinking back on it, I don't know why. It wasn't the pain that frightened me, the anticipation of some force ripping my body apart. I believe now it was the threat of your denying me the rest of my life. I think I was cowardly, willing to beg, for the right to live a life in fear. No more, Graid. I have awoken to my life, and have lived. I have found unity within myself; attained a solace you are very far from. Graid, soumans have lived with threat of death since time immemorial. They have died in ways too numerous to count. Who am I to fear death? If that is all you can threaten me with, then your power is meaningless to me."

Graid's hands glowed as night swept down upon them. Arciss reached over, and held Graid's shoulder.

"Graid, I didn't mean to insult you. I am sorry. But you have come to a time in your life when you must find a new path to follow. Something is wonderfully different about this timeline, giving us the opportunity to explore different facets about ourselves. This was not an accident. It was meant for us to do this, meant for you to do this. Come, Graid, and walk with me."

The power in Graid's hands faded away, his shoulders sagged, and a sadness tinged with doubt crept over his face. They walked for a while in silence through the fog, down narrow paths leading behind massive buildings. Graid's eyes were cast down, his mind in a sea of chaos. Arciss walked slowly, glancing every now and again at Graid, watching the emotions play over his face.

"I'm . . . I'm scared," said Graid softly.

"Why are you scared?"

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Truth about oneself seldom is appreciated from another's mouth."

"I'm scared of letting down my guard, Arciss!" he cried, desperately. "Of trusting you."

"And I'm scared of accepting your trust, Graid."

"You don't seem to be frightened."

"Yet I am," he said, stopping for a moment. "I never forget the immense responsibility I have as your Steward. But we will make no progress if we exist behind titles. I am Arciss, and you are Graid. And that is all that matters."

They walked out of the grounds of his residence, back onto the main streets of Piros, the moon hanging low in the sky. The closed storefronts kindled memories within Graid, of rushing out after training and lessons, trying to get some special treat before they closed for the roa. He remembered begging for them to stay open a while longer. He chuckled to himself.

Me, the Kal-Alçon, begging!

A cool breeze ran through those streets, and Graid breathed deeply of it. He thought back to that simpler time, before he ventured to Novan, before he was fully aware of all that was expected of him.

"It's wonderful being back on Rell," Graid said, feeling more relaxed.

"It is indeed."

"Do you know what is was like when I first emerged?"

"No," said Arciss, motioning Graid to a bench nearby. They sat, and Graid leaned back, looking at the sky.

"I was four cas old. For the first four cas of my life, I had no human contact. I didn't even see anyone else. I was in a white void, in which food and water would appear at times. I was mentally educated, seeing only words and numbers on the screen of my mind. Then, that light dimmed, and plastic-gloved hands grabbed mine, and pulled me forward. There were so many people there! There must have been only a few dozen, but to me, it was a sea of masked faces, dressed all in white. The one person held me in the air, to the gasps of those around. He still held me by my wrists. He set me down on a platform set higher than them, cold and smooth. As he set me down, my knees buckled, as I had not stood before. Another grabbed my knees, and held them in place, and I understood what to do. Both of them released me, and very shakily, I stood there. Those around me muttered some words, in retrospect, probably 'Kal-Alçon,' and knelt before me. That was my emergence; that was my birth. No one embraced me, no one smiled at me. I saw no one's lips, only dozens of pairs of eyes, seemingly expressionless behind those masks. Arciss, it was then I knew I had no connection with anyone, that I was not one of them. All the training afterward reinforced that."

Graid stopped, feeling the emotion well inside him.

"I only wanted to be held," said Graid, his voice heavy. "To be kissed on the cheek by someone, to have my hand held by another souman hand! I know I must build some connection with my people, but how? How?"

Arciss watched this man weep before him, and for a moment, knew not what to do. Then understanding settled in his thoughts, and he embraced Graid, as a friend, as a brother. Graid held onto Arciss, for the first time resting his head on another, for the first time drawing strength from another. Arciss knelt before him.

"Graid, you must sort through some things before we talk again. There is still much hatred in your soul. I am returning to Rellcine. Come to my suite there, when you are ready."

"You are leaving me?" asked Graid pleadingly. "After this?"

Arciss nodded, a firm expression on his face. "One roa, you'll understand."

Graid watched him walk away, his heart choked with emotion, his eyes growing blurry under the tears.

Graid returned to Novan, but found he could not stay in Rellcine. He stumbled along the streets on Core in a daze thinking on his short conversation with Arciss.

Who are they to create me? A man with no Kal, a son with no mother. An Alçon with no faith. Hatred? Yes, I guess there is some of that in me. Hatred of a people too weak to defend themselves. Hatred of a people too faithful to build a bridge to the sinful. Hatred of their arrogance, their pride! Hatred they could conceive me, and expect me to solve all their problems.

He wandered aimlessly through the streets in an old section of Core. The twenty block segment was one of five spread throughout the planet that had been preserved for eight millennia. Constantly restored and repaired, house under a massive protective dome, it remained as a reminder of what was. Always Iggaraouts were the centers of those ancient oases, symbols of enduring faith. Graid paused in front of a support column for the enclosing dome—a massively thick structure. It reached a mile into the sky, and with three others created an impregnable shield around this oasis.

This is who I am—pure technology. A creation of the new to protect the old. This city is useless—a figment of a past no longer needed.

Words cast to him before surfaced in his mind.

^You will fade, Graid.^

I remember your words Rhonva. Graid could still see his face before he destroyed him, seeming for a moment to look into Graid's soul, look through the veils of time. Maybe I will fade into the fabric of time, wiped away by forces beyond my comprehension.

Graid gazed high into a sky grey with the ills of pollution, feeling a weight he had never felt before. He stood, motionless, with the wind buffeting his back. He leaned slightly into it, and concentrated.

Do I really belong here, with all of them? Am I the best of them?

He allowed his mind to relax and disconnect from his body. Often he would do this, when none were around. Ever since his encounter with Odre in the Castiliad, he used this technique as a form of relaxation, a way of testing the limits of his power.

I can feel every gust of wind on this ancient world that is and that has been. I can feel every leaf lift and be blown, every single insect struggle against her strength.

A warm glow radiated from his skin. His flowing robes billowed as they were pushed from his form and blown by the wind. He clasped his hands behind him, and gazed up into the sky. His mind relaxed further.

Ahh! Now I can feel every current, every stream on every platform above us! I can feel every pebble and rock moved by every rush of water on my homeworld. I can feel every algae, every fish, every animal forage for food and live and die.

His body glowed with energy, as his robes appeared as fire around him. He rose slowly into the air, his small form at once opaque, then transparent, the colors of his clothes blending into the landscape behind him. As his consciousness expanded outwards, his body faded into the void.

I feel every being on this planet—their laughter! Such joy, such excitement! I thrill to the mother as she sees her child walk for the first time; I smile as a man's son goes out with friends, the subtle joys! The small pleasures! Oh—and I feel the sorrow, the emptiness, the pain! Why must we live this way, slaves to our thoughts?

Graid's mind went beyond the confines of Rell and Novan, beyond the planetary orbits of the Iquitian system. His mind raced through the totality of the cosmos, past planets and moons, past stars. He passed the Envoy ships that were returning, could feel the message they brought back to the Novan people. He expanded his awareness ever outward exponentially, riding along the brane of the cosmos. He ventured to the inner part of the galaxy, around and through worlds and people the Rell race would not see for many millennia.

There is so much life! What looks cold and sterile, teems with people not unlike ourselves.

Graid centered on a planet small and bluish, like Iqui appeared some ten millennia ago. His consciousness expanded around that world, learning their history, the many cultures on their world. It was relatively primitive—fossil fuels still fed their machines, the science of the mechanical was at a very basic stage. But the vibrancy of life amazed Graid, the vocal interactions, the laughter, and joy.

And the singing!

It was long since audible songs were sung on Novan, and even Rell had little vocal entertainment. Graid saw the youth of that world dance in front of a performer, heard musical instruments set people in motion.

To live, carefree, at least for a time. To have that sense of belonging, of friendship. How it has been lost among us who arrogantly call ourselves 'advanced.'

For a while he absorbed all that his consciousness encompassed, at once becoming so many trillions of people. So many perspectives were open to him, so many different ways of living, of existing. He could feel a common thread among them all; from plant, to animal, to souman, but felt he would need to break the barriers of time to understand it all. He drew back, condensing his self, his consciousness speeding back to the Novan system.

What is that? I can feel it.

Back through the moons of Novan he sped, sensing at last the massive moon called Malhrer.

I have found you, Mal.

Graid could feel ten million soumans inhabiting the metal moon walking and casting, working and sleeping. He could sense the millions of meta functioning, cleaning the massive moon. He concentrated on Malhrer, sinking deeper and deeper into it, descending through the levels of the metal enclosure.

This is Malhrer? You have concealed it well, Mal. Graid sailed through the interior of the moon, looking on the many platforms that formed the moon, seeing the atmosphere move slowly along its interior. The Ehlios passed nearby, and Graid descended into it. He saw the Monitors—Agilia, Qergien, and Raent, seated, reviewing reports. His mind hovered over Agilia for a few moments.

She is quite beautiful. Her hair hung lightly at her shoulders, her soft eyes closed, mentally focusing on TELREC issues. Graid could feel her intelligence, knew all she had been through to attain the status as Monitor.

You have had no personal life, like Uonil. You even have a favorite chair, like Uonil. He came closer to her, feeling the warm pulse of her body, the smoothness of her skin. To think, I was never to have met you. Never to have seen you, you who are second only to Mal. You are my sworn enemy, and yet, seated like this, I would love you. . .

He pulled away, sorrow filling his breast. Moving out of the Ehlios, he turned to see the sentient sun.

This is what you are? None of us would have imagined. Graid drew closer to the sun, amazed at the toroid that enclosed it. He passed through the metal structure, seeing the millions of meta climbing within its bounds, adjusting and maintaining the sun.

What arrogance! You truly do believe you are a Kal, don't you Mal? And your TELREC worship you as the primitives of old, adoring the sun that gives them life and light. He moved down, into the spinning sphere that glowed beneath him. I can feel you, Mal. Can you feel me? He moved into the sun, and all was brilliance around him. I have found what no Rell has before me. In tils, I could end the TELREC threat, once and for all.

A being coalesced in front of him. Made of energy, it radiated an intense light, denser and whiter than the sun itself. It took on the form of a man, with limbs afire with energy, with a face thin and blank. Graid solidified a part of himself, appearing as a faint echo of himself.

^You must be Graid.^

^And you must be Mal.^

Next to the energy that was Mal, a second form appeared. Glowing faintly in a dim orange, it was kneeling on the ground, its head down next to Mal. Graid thought on it, and felt they were both aspects of Mal, seemingly ignorant of one another. They took a moment to examine one another. Mal moved slightly closer, probing Graid's consciousness. Graid allowed Mal some access, enough to confirm his identity.

^I have so many questions for you Mal. Or should I say, Master Intellect? Who named you?^

^No one named me, Kal-Alçon. I am not an acronym, some mere assemblage of parts. I am the most unique lifeform the universe will ever see. It will never see another like me.^

For a moment Graid thought it to be the most arrogant statement he ever nested. Then he thought of the seven millennia of chronicles Mal had assimilated, the untold billions of lives Mal knew every detail of, and had to nod in assent.

^But even I, Graid, am merely a means to an end.^

^A means to an end? A tool, used to bridge one epoch with another? A catalyst, or even a Kal-Alçon? Do you really think of yourself in those terms, Mal?^

^A part of me does. You know, Graid, you should not be here.^

^I can be anywhere I choose, machine,^ Graid cast firmly. He advanced forward, as Mal faded back. ^I will know all you do, Mal. All your secrets will be known to me.^

Mal stood his ground, attempting to mentally repulse Graid's consciousness. Graid pressed on the consciousness that was Mal, beginning to divine some of his secrets. Graid had an image in his mind resolve of thousands, hundreds of thousands of suns, like this one, enclosed by toroids, spread throughout the cosmos, separate, yet all linked invisibly through the brane itself. Then, as soon as it was learned, it was forgotten. Graid stumbled back, aware of another presence.

^You are not allowed here, Graid.^

^Not allowed?^ Graid laughed. ^I am here. And there is nothing you can do about it. Submit to my will.^

^Graid . . .^

Graid could feel the cast of the Kal-Durrell.

^Yes?^

^You are not allowed there. You must leave.^

^Why?^ he asked, growing defiant.

^Because we command it.^

The cast carried the weight of the mind of each and every Kal-Durrell. It weighed on Graid's mind, crushing his self. He struggled against their pressure, peering with his mind to see the images of the Kal-Durrell.

^Why am I not allowed here?!^ he demanded, the power glowing in his hands. ^No more riddles, no more evasions, or hiding behind your positions, tell me! I demand it!^

The form of Mal vanished in front of him, as Graid's essence was pushed out of the sun, out of Malhrer.

^No!^ Graid clenched his fists, his visage contorted in hate. ^I will not accept this, I cannot accept this!^

He expanded his power outwards, with all the strength he could muster. For am moment, he became everything, first in the galaxy, then in the entire universe. His will pushed his consciousness faster than anything imaginable, reducing the size of the universe down to a few heartbeats. He pushed even beyond that, feeling the boundaries of time pushing him back.

I must know it all. I am so close, I need answers. And if the Kal-Durrell will not give them, then I will go to Kal herself.

He pressed against the boundary of all existence, and for a moment he flickered out of his own time—for a moment he did not exist.

Wait—I can see!

I am everyone.

I am all those yet to be!

At once he felt more powerful than anything in existence, and at the same time, knew he was a mote in the eternal scheme of things, that he knew not what true power was.

Who is . . . Honabre?

Graid could feel a warmth, could feel the essence of what was in the Alçon, in Polintin, at Martel's remembrance. There were no words exchanged, but Graid could feel the being he sensed held profound disappointment for Graid.

No—not yet!

And suddenly he reappeared again, some unknown force pushing him back in his body, which plummeted to the Novan ground. He fell badly on his left leg. Graid curled into a crumpled heap, and with heaving shoulders, sobbed.

The night faded into the gentle hues of morning, opening the world to the sounds of sunrise. Around Core billions of people rose, washed, dressed and ate, as they followed the clarion call of work or duty. The machine of civilization continued, ever ceaseless, pitiless, ignorant of the travails of an alien in its midst.

Graid stumbled through the swelling crowds, making his way back to Rellcine. He found himself looking more and more in the eyes of those around him, and to his surprise, they looked back at him. Quick glances, surreptitious lifting of eyelids, Graid knew Novan was subtly changing, that its people seemed to be more aware. For once he felt obvious, naked in a sea of people. The first rays of the sun screamed upon the landscape, revealing all that was hidden in shadow and darkness. The towers of Novan offered no solace for Graid's soul, no place to be shielded from revelation.

Onward he traveled for what seemed to be many cas, weaving though faces distant yet scared. On trans he traveled, huddled together with the masses trusting their lives to a machine at the controls. Up they rose, for a moment ascending through the Window of the World, so the tourists on board could point and stare. Then down they turned, descending fast, moving through dozens of levels of sky-traffic, feeling the sun vanish above him, as the mantle of Topside sealed him in. And as the spires of Rellcine resolved into his view, he almost felt unified again, felt a shred of armor return, hiding him from the eyes of the world. Later he stood in front of Arciss' suite for quite a while, panting, though not out of breath.

I have seen all that is, thought Graid, and yet it holds no answers for me. I have touched some part of the divine, and yet it holds only contempt for me. I am no destroyer, yet I am no savior.

The door slid open, Arciss standing in front of him.

"You are merely Graid. You have a function in this world, a need for your existence, but that is all. Does that give you some comfort?"

"I don't know," said Graid, feeling worn and beaten. "I just don't know."

He embraced Arciss, grappling onto him with his strong arms, closing his eyes, feeling as though he was slipping into a bottomless void, and Arciss was the only anchor he could hold onto.

"Come in, Graid."

Graid looked up for a moment, seeing the detail around Arciss' doorframe. It curved in slightly, an echo of an arch, and near the top were inscribed a few words.

Welcome home, lonely wanderer.

Arciss looked on Graid as he examined the words.

"What is it?" asked Arciss.

Graid smiled to himself and nodded, then walked through the door. "Just thinking on the words of someone I once knew."

Arciss watched Graid enter his home, walking as though a weight pulled on his body, bending his shoulders and his will. Never before had the Kal-Alçon been in his quarters, and somehow, they seemed small around him. Arciss thought it was as if a Kal was standing in his living room.

"Your mind is afire, Graid."

Graid sat on a small wooden chair, tense and nervous, leaning forward, rocking slightly back and forth. The creak of the legs against the floor was the only sound to be heard for a moment.

"Arciss, I have experienced so much in these past droas. I have seen and been places and things you could not begin to imagine. I have conceived of the entire universe . . ."

Arciss saw the turbulence within Graid's soul, could read it on his face as easily as he breathed. Part of him was immensely happy for Graid, witnessing this transformation occur, but another part of him was aware of the great responsibility he faced in counseling the Kal-Alçon.

"Did you see how you fit into the universe?"

"No. I have never felt more powerful, yet more insignificant at the same time. My life has always been defined by my relation to Kolob—he is what I must destroy. That has been the statement that summed up my life. Everything else was immaterial. But now, I feel . . . it is not enough. I wonder, why didn't the Kal-Durrell make me a woman, so I could seduce Kolob? Why didn't they make me taller, and bigger, instead of this small-framed man? Why was I conceived so late, so I will face him having lived so little life?"

"You speak as though you have already failed," said Arciss sadly.

He looked on Arciss with eyes of doubt, and fear, not answering with words or thoughts, but with the silence that hung as death between them.

"What is my purpose?" asked Graid, with no anger or sarcasm in his voice. "What is my destiny? Why am I here?"

Arciss was silent for a moment, then carefully spoke.

"You are, who you are. Nothing, more, nothing less. Purpose is never revealed to one, it must be discovered. Such is the journey of life."

"I feel as though I have squandered much of that journey, Arciss, on carnal indulgence."

"Graid, do you know how much you have influenced those around you?" he said, his face beaming with a wide smile. "Uonil no longer thinks of the Novans as simply an evil people. You opened her eyes, made her see the multitude of hues within their spectrum. She understood finally of the necessity of experiencing love and lust, understood the destructive and constructive power it can have over a person. Her decisions will be made from so much more experienced a source. I would never have become the man you are talking to now if your strength didn't challenge me, force me to confront my own self-loathing. The Trint-Averil would never have begun if I was that same weak, unsure man you once knew. But it is time now, for you to be influenced. You know now that you are not the greatest being in creation. I think you realize you are more man than superman. As such, you must find a bond, a connection with the people you presume to protect. You must explore what lies within yourself, in relation to those around you. You have begun that on Novan, but you must finish that journey on Rell."

"What do you mean?"

"You have found much joy with some of the Novans. You see them with kind eyes, forgive their faults, exult their strengths. Yet you haven't done this with your own people."

"After what my people did to me, after they stole so much of my life, it is difficult to want to get to know them."

"I am talking of forgiveness," Arciss said gently. Graid reeled, his hands clenched, his muscles tense.

"Forgiveness? Have you seen the council of Alçons?!" yelled Graid, gesturing wildly in the air. "They know nothing of the emotion, find no strength in it. Look how long it took for Uonil to get past her own preconceived hatred of the Novans?"

"I know, I know. You don't need to restate old problems," he said, trying to calm Graid down. "You must move past them. The Alçons are but twelve people, not the whole of our civilization. And I don't expect you to forgive them this moment. I expect you to go out, among our people, live with them, see what is in their hearts and minds, and then see if your hatred doesn't fade."

"We don't have the time."

"We have plenty of time!" exclaimed Arciss. "The moment of crisis, when we must go back in time, is not for many dcas. Have faith in Uonil and myself. We can control things here while you are gone."

"What will the Alçons say?" he asked, feeling a little hope.

"Since when did you care what anyone said?"

Graid thought for a moment. "Not until now."

Arciss felt such warmth in his heart, so suddenly he couldn't believe it.

"You know, they will make life difficult for yourself and Uonil," said Graid.

"And we will make life difficult for them. But they are not evil, merely misguided, as hopefully you will come to realize. You know what you must do, where you must go."

"Yes, I guess I do."

"If I could give you one last word of advice, Kal-Alçon?"

"Yes, Steward?"

"Leave your face, your identity with us. Leave your magnificent powers here. Go out into that world as a common man, earn your living, make your own food, clean your own space. For a while, you will set yourself above them, it is only natural. It was how you were raised. But you must fight that conditioning, if you are ever to find your true self."

"Thank you Arciss." Graid shook his hand, and pulled him in for an embrace. "Take care of Uonil for me. Tell her I will be back, and I will miss her terribly."

Arciss watched Graid leave, seemingly smaller, bereft of the arrogance and pride that inflated him before.

I wish you well, my friend.

# 5

The Montansc - a group of liberal revolutionaries who were first to oppose the creation of the Time Line Reconstructionists early in the fourth millennium PD. They believed the death of the last person to receive the download was a conspiracy, an attempt to seize power and control over Novans. They rallied others to refuse to chronicle, staging non-violent protests in front of the first headquarters of the TELREC, then called TL-Reconstructs. Though they were ultimately killed in a supposed fuel accident at their headquarters, their perseverance set the foundation for legislation that halted the TELREC growth, slowing down their encroachment onto Novan freedoms for at least a millennia. It is said that Mechle Dils of OLMAC began her quest to create the Envoy starships as a result of reading of the struggles of the Montansc.

It was a small gathering in the Iggaraout, but all were pressed close together in a room dank and dark, with exposed pipes leaking fluid overhead. It was one of a thousand makeshift, temporary Iggaraouts that Ellore knew of, and began to visit, as she took over the network Ksilte worked so hard to build.

Her first orders were simple: give up all locations and go deeper, and smaller. Find small rooms near water treatment plants, waste disposal plants, crematoriums, anyplace noisy, dirty and foul. Carry only the idols, for they shall consecrate the ground and make it holy—nothing else was needed. Denged had purged all traces of the Iganinagi that Ellore knew of, and was hunting for Ksilte's contacts now. There were constant searches, identity scans, double and triple precautions before every cast to someone she thought was familiar. She glanced at those around her, kneeling in prayer, eyes closed, exhibiting an almost Rellican sense of devoutness.

But the Iqui were always a devout people. It was the TELREC that bred that out of us. And finally, it has returned, grabbing hold in soil parched and burned, digging deep with roots that shall never again be broken.

Next to her Dobrin bent low, linked into the service with an implant scarcely four dcas old. He was thinner, yet stronger, running errands for his mother and her supporters, learning the streets of Novan like few she knew.

Dobrin is truly becoming a man, even at his young age! He navigates the cast-net like a forty-cas old. He never casts it, yet I can feel the vengeance building in his soul, the desire to hold the TELREC accountable for his ordeal, for the death of his father. How I curse them for causing a child to grow up with such hatred, deprived of innocence at such an early age.

A Designate stood in front of them. He wore the same clothes as they, the only symbol separating him from them was a small white fabric band that he wore around his right wrist. Dirty, with sunken eyes, he had presided over many such ceremonies, happy to have an audience to nest his words. He raised his hands, and spoke aloud, concluding the ceremony.

"In Holis ul-ghennis."

"In Holis ul-ghennis," echoed the audience. The rose, and opened their eyes. Most of them gathered around Ellore. A young man was the first to cast to her.

^Thank you for coming! It means so much to see you, to know the fight shall go on.^

^The fight will always go on, Yulod,^ cast Ellore. ^With or without me.^

A small woman grabbed Ellore's hand, a few tears streaming down her face.

^I'm so sorry about Ksilte—he was such a good man!^ she cried, grabbing Ellore's hand and pressing it close to her lips. ^He convinced me to come to Iggaraout, opened my eyes to the TELREC, and what they are doing. He will be sorely missed, but in your boy, I see the spark of his father's eyes.^

Ellore looked over at Dobrin. ^Yes, there is much of Ksilte in Dobrin.^

^Ellore!^

^Drull, it is so good to see you again.^ Ellore extricated herself from the small woman's clutches, to give Drull a long hug.

^And you. I nest Denged uncovered one of our cells?^

^Yes, unfortunately, a small one in Province nine. They were very reluctant to move, and left many things behind in their old location. Most suicided, but I fear a few may have been captured.^

Others gathered around her, nesting her words.

^Which is why we must be ever vigilant, ever watchful of the mind of the TELREC,^ she cast strongly, looking each of them in their eyes. ^They can be anywhere, disguised as anyone, their minds always probing for the weak and careless. The precautions now in place are tiresome to be sure, but absolutely necessary! Do not deviate from the established procedures, we must remain intact. I, like Ksilte, care for you all, and my heart shudders each time I hear Denged's footsteps, or those of his Maenids. They are vile, evil creatures, that Holis has forsaken, lackeys of the TELREC.^

^Ellore, what does the future hold for us?^ asked someone in the crowd.

^I know that is the question on all your minds,^ she replied. ^It is not enough to just worship, and build a community, no matter how wonderful it may be. Many of our friends joined the Iganinagi, and were caught by Denged and executed. I know that frightened a lot of you, but we must press forward, and build another alliance. I have heard rumors of many wanting to abandon our cause and join the Ouitiano collective and live in the false haven of their cast-net paradise. That would be a shameful thing, to surrender one's existence, to merely live in the falsehood of a machine.^

^The first, and most important thing we must do is establish a central base of operations. We must decide what our goals are to be; to bring down the TELREC? To awaken the Novan people? To discredit the Cuhli-pra? Each of these options has its own share of peril and risk. Within a dozen droas, you will know the direction we will be heading. I give you my solemn oath.^

She saw the calm spread over their faces, their questions and doubts fade away. She had seen it dozens of times before in the Iggaraouts she had visited, and would gladly spend her entire roas speaking to her people, assuaging their doubts. Dobrin clasped her hand, and cast to her the need to move on.

^Now scatter, my friends. Watch your steps, and those behind you. Meeting like this, face to face, reinforces our faith, and strengthens our resolve. Farewell!^

Ellore and Dobrin made their way out and up along service tunnels from Foundation onto the streets of Core. The crowds were thick, and pressed against the two of them as they tried to make some headway.

^Have you reached a decision?^ asked Dobrin, as he pulled his jacket tighter around him.

^No.^

Dobrin let loose his mother's hand. She noticed he had stopped holding onto her when she was near. As much as it showed he was healing after his trauma, a part of her was sad at his newfound independence.

^You know it's the right thing to do.^

^I thought merging with the Iganinagi was the right thing to do, and look what happened,^ moaned Ellore. ^So many of our people died, sacrificed in an instant.^

^You can't blame yourself.^

^But I do, Dobrin, I do.^ She sighed heavily. ^I ordered those people to their deaths. So many of our best, strongest people died. We are left now with romantics and idealists, old women looking for one last thrill and brilliant youth with courage of their thoughts but cowards with their bodies. Of what use are they? How could I let any harm come to them?^

^That's not for you to decide. They chose this path; their actions bring their own consequences. You can't be responsible for them all.^

^You don't understand, Dobrin,^ she said, trying to end their cesct. ^You are too young.^

She always did this when he had her in a corner, when he almost made her understand something. He stopped in the street, grabbing the fabric of her sleeve.

^You know I'm right,^ he cast firmly, ^regardless of my age.^

The cas swept over her for a moment, wrinkles seeming to appear from nowhere. Then, a smile.

^You do have a lot of your father in you,^ she cast, seeing an aspect of Ksilte in his proud confidence. ^Well, it comes down to two options. Do we ally ourselves with Suld, or fade away into the Ouitiano collective? There are rumors OLMAC and the TELREC are at odds; I can sense it on the cast-net. If the TELREC have discovered Suld's alliance with the Iganinagi, then he may not be the right person to get close to.^

^There has to be a third option. Something other than total surrender and the gamble with OLMAC.^

Ellore thought for a moment at the thousands of people she had at her disposal.

From all walks of life they come—scientists, laborers, politicians, students, the old and the weak, strong and healthy. There are so many of them spread so far apart. I think . . . I think what I'm really afraid of, is truly taking responsibility for them. I would welcome a man like Suld to step in, and take them off my hands. I think I need to steward them, develop them into something, on my own, while the power struggle above plays out.

^I will be their leader. We shall be known as the Montansc, in honor of those long ago who first opposed the TELREC,^ she cast, coming to a decision. ^We will wait, and find what strength we have amongst ourselves. And when an opportunity presents itself, we shall seize upon it, and make the most of it.^

# 6

What effect did clones have on the psychology of the Novan populous? First must be examined the strength and weaknesses of clones. Clones were not as strong as meta, not as smart, but the souman body was still more flexible than a meta's. Though people were uncomfortable with meta, they were even more uncomfortable with the 'living dead' which is what clones were affectionately called. Though the wealthy created them for many non-labor related uses, and the degenerate element often used them as fodder in sinclubs, they were thought of with less affection then animals. It was widely known that a meta was worth more than a clone. As such, rather than engineering a new meta, it was first determined if a clone could be used. Often they were used in services that killed them after a short period of time, or permanently injured them, which usually resulted in disposal. Though never commented about openly, it reinforced with many Novans the perception that the meta were better and more important than them, and heightened a perceived arrogance assigned to the artificial beings.

The dawn came gradually, diffuse yellows fading into orange, as one, then the two suns rose high in the Novan sky; one false, one true. Though Core never slept, kept awake by the glow of the cast-net which never faded, Kolob appreciated the ascension of the true sun above a plethora of pretenders, the rotation of Topside allowing a brief respite from perpetual claustrophobia. He didn't wake as much as he arose, victim of a long sleepless night. He made love, or had sex, he didn't know yet which to call it. It was an awkward thing for him, trying to rise to her expectations, following her directions—he was happy that at least he was entertaining her in his suite, rather than being stranded in hers with no familiar footing. On virt-lives it always seemed so easy—two players, anticipating each other, being fulfilled by each other. But in real life, where there was no option to stop, rewind, and do things differently, he felt clumsy and awkward. He had dreamed of his first night from the first moment he masturbated, dreamed of being tall and strong, of having a woman's eyes savor his form, having a woman's hands undress him, and pleasure him.

Even the transition from cesct to sex was unusual for him. They had come back, from a night in an MQ, exploring the shops, Nahlai snuggling tightly to him as they wound absently through the various levels. She surreptitiously touched him in his firmness several times in their journey, and as they got back to his suite, the color of lust blinded his eyes. Nahlai had been spending a great deal of time with Kolob, drawing him closer and closer to her, gently conjuring in his heart and soul the foundations of love. They had spent many roas walking through Core, casting to one another, sitting in plazas, watching the world go by, building bridges between them that would be difficult to break. Kolob felt more relaxed with her than he did with any other person, save Rhonva. Every once in a while he would think on his friend who had suddenly disappeared. Kolob knew Rhonva would leave for several cas at a time, once in a while, on little or no notice, so he wasn't too worried, but he did want to share his good fortune with someone else, nest another's thoughts like Rhonva's. And as Kolob sat down next to Nahlai, in his suite, carefully handing her a drink, he asked if she wanted anything else, and that was when she pulled him on top of her. It was a difficult balancing act, making out with her on the sofa, not knowing if now was the time to undress her, to let his hands explore places he had only seen and dreamt of. Luckily her hands guided his, and in moments, her clothes were off.

In the virt-lives, everything went so fast—one moment a couple would be on a sofa, the next he would be inside her, and she would be moaning, both bodies writhing in the throes of passion. But Nahlai made him slow down, made him worship her with his lips and tongue. He kept glancing back at her face, to see if she was into it, or merely bored. She moaned at his touch, ground her hips into his face, but he had lived with doubt for too long, and convinced himself that she was merely acting, that she was as disappointed in him as he was in himself.

Thankfully, she turned the tables, and began to please him. He thought everything would be fine, but soon the experience of being completely naked and exposed preyed on his confidence. Though she made him feel good, doing tricks he had never even seen on a virt-life, eventually he clumsily pushed the proceedings forward.

The night became more of a chore than a climax, as she put him through difficult paces. He struggled not to get out of breath, struggled to avoid his muscles cramping. He was suddenly doing things with his body that only his mind had done before and after a while, it began to revolt.

For a few moments, in the quiet times in-between sessions of sex, he wanted to break down and cry. His own room seemed more of a prison to him, and he was bound by expectations he couldn't even guess at. She seemed to tolerate him, accommodated his pleasure. He was satisfied—he never had a night like this, feeling the warm, soft touch of a woman under him, over him, lying beside him. But if there was one expression he knew well, it was that of tolerance. So many people had tolerated him through his life; his mediocrity, his shyness, his indecisiveness. And that was the look he saw on her face, punctuated by sighs of boredom. He felt like crying, but was too ashamed in front of her. Rhonva's words seemed to echo in his ear, as he regarded the half-naked divine creature lying in front of him. In those moments, he fully understood what Rhonva was trying to cast to him. He felt utterly out of place next to her, and wished he could have been with a woman much less experienced, a woman that didn't have so many before him to judge him against. At the outside of his consciousness he could even hear the voices cackling, roaring with laughter in the darkness, waiting for her to leave, so they could molest him.

But the night wore on, and she played with him some more, and his anxiety succumbed to her infectious joy. She seemed to divine his mood, and went slower, doing more of the work, even making him laugh as she tried to please him. Eventually Kolob let down his guard, and finally felt comfortable in her arms. They sexed one more time, a few droas before the mitter was to activate, and for the first time he thoroughly enjoyed it, finally falling off into a deep sleep afterwards, laughing at himself, proud that he was able to see the night through.

Nahlai awoke in the morning, smiling beneath half-opened eyes, her breasts lying lazily on her tanned chest. She yawned, and saw Kolob sitting up, the new mitterlight washing over his face.

^What are you doing up?^ she asked, a little surprised. ^I would've thought you'd be all worn out. Maybe I underestimated you . . .^ Giggling, Nahlai rose, naked in the full mitterlight, stretching out her lean, muscular form.

This must be what it feels like to wake on topside, thought Kolob.

She stretched, delicate lines rippling through her back, denoting muscles earned with long and hard training. Kolob watched her sit back down, running her hands along her long, sinuous legs. They were a beautiful bronze, maybe a little darker then bronze, tinged with a slight reddish hue. The red within bloomed as she caressed her legs, moisture secreted from within her skin. She did this for several mroas, coaxing the moisture out of her skin, running it along the length of her legs, down to her feet. She massaged her ankles, rubbing out a small dry spot, her skin glistening in the light.

^If there's one thing I hate, it's dry skin. I have a mental correction, so my skin will produce more moisture. But it always needs a little encouragement to do its job.^ She kneaded her thighs, then let out another deep yawn. ^So, what do you usually do in the mornings?^

^Before I met you?^

^Yes!^ she laughed, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him softly on his neck. ^Before me.^

^Usually I met with Rhonva, before I'd go to work.^

^Oh yes—that man who you were with when we were trapped?^

^Yeah.^ Kolob sat down, feeling sentimental, absently looking out the window at the mitterlight. Nahlai came over, and sat across from him.

^You shouldn't feel awkward, or disappointed in yourself, Kolob.^

^You sensed my thoughts?^

^Yes. I'll bet normally you're a tough one, but you're not used to this kind of intimacy.^ She kissed him along his shoulder. ^I didn't look too much, but I just wanted you to know, I was happy to be with you. I know you'll only get better.^

^Thank you for being so . . . understanding.^

^I only wish someone was as understanding my first time.^

^What happened?^

^I'd . . . rather not cast about it.^ She smiled, something genuine and sweet, that melted Kolob's heart. He looked into a face he only just knew, but one full of a warmth and compassion he had never experienced. He kissed her, and for a moment, couldn't nest any cast, any thoughts. There was just him, and her.

^Well, we better get dressed. We both have work to go to.^

^I suppose so,^ sighed Kolob, a little relieved the night was done, yet dreading her absence. ^Off to the editing booth for you?^

^Yes. Maybe someroa you'll come by, and I'll show you what I do?^

^I'd like that.^

Nahlai started to dress, slipping into her simple blue pants, smiling as Kolob watched her every move.

^You remember our talk about the TELREC?^

Kolob focused on her face again. ^Yeah, and the Cuhli-pra?^

^Yes. I said I would introduce you to some of my friends.^

^Oh, yeah.^ Kolob began to feel anxious. ^Did you still want to do that?^

Nahlai finished putting on her blouse, and walked over to him, slipping her arm in his.

^Don't worry, they're good people, just with different opinions. And I think you need to nest some different thoughts, see through a different perspective. These are people who have studied history with great detail, people who watch every move the TELREC make.^

^Why is this so important to you?^ he asked, feeling the good times were coming to an end. ^And them?^

^The TELREC have done an amazing job of keeping Novan's focused on pleasure,^ cast Nahlai quickly. ^They have done it by pushing aside any thought of rebellion, of doubt. Those that show concern, or suspicion, are either eliminated or re-assigned to a place where their views are not welcome. I have cast this before, Kolob; this is a crucial time in our history. This is the most important time, a point that should not be allowed to be only for the TELREC. There must be involvement from every ordinary Novan citizen. If not, we risk total marginalization of non-TELREC concerns. We risk obsolescence. There are so many groups over Novan that would rise and fight the TELREC if it came to it. You must choose a side, Kolob. You must stand up, and be counted. There is so much in you you've yet to discover, my sweet. This is one step on that journey—maybe it will fire a passion within you. There are so many wrongs the TELREC have committed, I am sure you will feel differently after this meeting.^

^I've never noticed dissension on the cast-net. I know I'm not on as much as the ordinary person, but I never sensed any of what you're casting about.^

^Examine the cast-net, when you can. Nest the short news clips between shows. You will nest short sentences about sabotage, riots, even bickering within the Leviathan. Much is going on, Kolob. Have you ever nest of the Iganinagi? They were quite active, until recently.^

^You mean those people who beheaded children?^

^Yes. Their methods were questionable, but they were the largest and most organized of that element. There are others, equally passionate, that will not use such destructive methods. But you nest little of them. There are so many people wrapped up in experiencing virt-lives, that if Novan lost twenty-five percent of her population, it would take dcas, or a full cas for anyone to notice. Do you know how many people don't even know there was an AG collapse?^

^That was the biggest disaster in a thousand cas!^ he cried.

^I know. But outside of this province, no one knows about it. It took up only a couple of sentences on a normal broadcast.^

Kolob sat down, and began to think.

Sometimes she casts as if she didn't live here, as if she wasn't a Novan. Kolob buried that doubt deep in his mind, so terrible it was to think on. I wish Rhonva was here—he always knew about these things. I wonder where he is—I'm surprised he hasn't contacted me.

His thoughts triggered a search in the cast-net, an automatic response that happened when there was something significant in news reports about a familiar person. Many downloads and virt-lives were brought to Kolob's attention. They were overwhelming, but after a short while got the sense of it.

^I . . . I don't believe it,^ he cast, in shock.

^What is it, Kolob?^ She knew this moment would come eventually, and did her best to feign surprise. ^What happened?^

Kolob took more time to nest thoroughly to one of the casts, and shared it with Nahlai.

^Rhonva's dead. Killed by Rell?^ he cast, in a daze. ^Why?^

The report stated there was attempted sabotage in a guidance control center, a familiar occurrence. According to the TELREC, the Rell often tried to blow up this or that building, only to be foiled by TELREC prescience. The report suggested the collapse of the AG platform was related. It stated Rhonva was caught in a blast that killed the saboteurs, and three hundred others.

^Damn Rell!^ he slammed, flopping back down on the bed, absently pounding the sheets with his fist. The realization that Rhonva was gone didn't even fully register with Kolob, and he sat for a while, as that fact sank into his consciousness.

Nahlai nodded to herself, appreciating the planning of the TELREC. It's an eternal game with them, point and counterpoint. They know I'm here, and have a clue of what my mission is. Well, I've got plenty of tricks for them. She watched him sit, null, his mind racing on things he and Rhonva had done. She carefully sat beside him, and brought him into her arms, as he struggled not to cry.

^He . . . he was my only friend. He, understood me, he cared about me. Why?!^

^Kolob, I'm so sorry. He seemed like a good man.^

Kolob pushed her away, staggering over to the window. He felt in a daze, as if a fundamental pillar of his existence had vanished in an instant. I never got to say goodbye to him, never got to tell him how much he meant to me. Nahlai crept over to him, and held him tightly for a moment, her hair falling down on his shoulder.

^Kolob, I must leave for work. I hope you stay home—take a roa off. We'll meet tonight to see my friends. I looked at those reports, and I don't think they are the true story.^

^Oh come on, Nahlai!^ he slammed as he whirled around, anger and sadness boiling on his face and in his mind.

Nahlai saw, to some surprise, actual anger in Kolob's eyes. Rhonva was good. He got close to Kolob. It's a good thing Graid killed him—he could've been a real threat.

^I'm sorry,^ she cast, backing away from him. ^I know you're very hurt by his death. Just . . . keep your mind open. I'll see you tonight.^

She quickly kissed him on the cheek, and left.

How could Rhonva leave me? Why did this have to happen? Kolob felt sick, and curled up in a ball on his bed. The first time I finally feel alive, the first time I have actually done something, I have no one to share it with. Kolob thought about everyone else he knew, and the only people he could even think of were those he worked with. Her friends? Her friends?! My only true friend just died, and all she wants to do is tell me how wrong I am. He sat back on his bed, feeling nauseous and dizzy. And she's all I have left.

He moaned aloud, rocking back and forth, the feeling of his room being a prison never stronger. For the first time in his life he realized how little was in it; his room, his work, and a few stores he liked to frequent. He went to no clubs, hung out with no friends, had no home filled with a mother and father who loved him and worried about him. I have Inklon, Nahlai, my friends at work. This is the entirety of my life. He wrung his hands, trying to hold back his tears, but all he could see in his mind was Rhonva's smiling face as he pointed out a pretty girl, or his hand clapping Kolob on his back, as he encouraged him to get out more. I wonder if he left any messages.

Kolob mentally went to Rhonva's message bay, looking for a departure message. Most people recorded some kind of farewell, for friends, and relatives, in case something happened.

There it is.

An image of Rhonva came into focus, smiling, looking at Kolob.

^Well, Kolob, if you're nesting this, then something has happened to me. Though I know I had many friends, and even more lovers, I want you to know I truly appreciated you as a friend. You gave me honesty—something most Novans have forgotten how to do. I hope you don't feel too alone, maybe you have even found someone who has an interest in you. Whatever happens, I wish you the best. Trust in the life the TELREC gave you, and live it to the fullest. Hopefully you miss me more than the lleldin, but just in case, here is the location of a large quantity I hid away just in case. I'm sure it will last you quite a long time, long enough for you to find a dependable supplier. In fact, one of my friends, Dhenne, is quite capable. She is discreet, and even attractive.^

The message shimmered, and the image seemed dimmer, and grainier.

^I must cast you something, if this is truly the last thing that you will nest from me, and this message would only be cued if my death were confirmed, and its content is stored on a secret, secure server. It must be brief, for this is encoded very deeply, so no one else will nest these words but you. Trust in yourself, Kolob. I believe in you, and in your abilities. Never let others tell you what to do. You possess great power, my friend, and when the time comes, you must do what is right with it. I only wish I were there to help you. Whatever I have done, I did in the service of our people. But a large part of me regrets some of those things. I know you don't understand this now, but someroa, you will.^ The image shimmered again, back to its previous quality. ^Goodbye, Kolob, and good luck!^ With a smile, and a flourish, Rhonva's image disappeared. Kolob rolled over, and let our great heaving sobs for a long time.

# 7

Cloning on Novan fell into disuse after cast-net technology became omnipresent. The only reason for clones was to provide the rich with a living bank of body parts. There were limited experiments with the transference of information from a souman's brain to a clone's, but few had faith that one's 'self' could be transferred, no matter how appealing immortality was. With the refinement of the meta, the use of clones in construction and warfare faded. Overpopulation on Novan made the creation of clones impractical. It was only until the creation of the 'blue pill,' a pill that could chemically carry instructions, that the TELREC began using clones again. Clones created by the TELREC had minimal mental activity, as their brains were comprised mostly of shielding. They consumed little, existing in a hibernation between missions. They lived off small pills, got their instructions from small pills. Invulnerable to mental assaults, and almost undetectable by mental scans, they were used mostly in covert operations, lying in wait for extended periods of time. The TELREC also created a soldier clone, called a 'grunt,' with extreme genetically enhanced strength and endurance, meant to supplement the meta in any confrontation with the Rell.

^Where are they?^

Uld stood in the middle of an abandoned factory, deep in the bowels of Core. He was surrounded by dozens of extremely muscular Grunts. They stood slack-jawed and blank-faced, their whitish skin tinged the color of death, all dressed in loose fitting brown and black clothes with drool oozing from their mouths.

^They were here,^ replied Inilc, a TELREC assigned to help Uld. ^By the accounts of the Sentries, they should have been meeting here now.^

^Call them out.^

All was silent for a moment. Then, out of the shadows, emerged fifteen small child-like figures. They were expressionless, like the clones around Uld, all with the same face and body. They moved with an eerie precision, as if their motive responses were governed by an artificial rather than souman mind.

^Access their minds.^

Inilc paused for a moment, growing wearing of taking orders from a civilian. The Monitors cast to him that it would be difficult at times, that Uld was as arrogant as he was necessary, and he had to agree with them now. He turned and focused on the Sentinels, nesting their surveillance reports.

^They were here, eight droas ago. They should be here now.^

Uld had been tracking down the remnants of Ksilte's followers, the Montansc, for the past several roas. The celebrations he threw grew tiresome, and he felt ready for a new challenge. He wanted Ellore, and knew the best way to get her was to capture some of her followers.

^Any luck with chronicle traces?^ demanded Uld impatiently.

^No. They are being very careful.^

^And so am I. Send the Grunts back. And order the Sentinels to proceed to the next target co-ordinates.^

The Grunts turned, and marched in columns back out a nearby entrance. The Sentinels faded back into the shadows, silently. Inilc sat down nearby, as he had grown tired of Uld, tired of his pathetically open, disgusting mind.

^I hope you appreciate all that the TELREC are doing for you, Uld.^

Uld whirled, then calmed himself, glanced down at the ground for a moment, crushing some glass with the heel of his boot.

^I hope you appreciate all that I have done for you,^ he replied, an eerie calm in his thoughts. ^All that I continue doing for you! Denged may have eliminated the Iganinagi, but the Montansc represents the last organized resistance element on Novan. Once they are purged, safety of the Ascension will be guaranteed.^

^Suld and OLMAC still factor heavily in that equation.^

^And I wish I could help you with that!^ cried Uld, kicking a glass bottle into the distance. ^It would give me great pleasure to dethrone the mighty Suld, crush him under my heel. He lied to me, to my friends for so long, making fools of us, while all along he was no better than Ksilte.^ He balled his hand into a fist, punching the other as he cast. ^If he had any children, I'd take them and rape them on a virt-life. If he had any family, I'd chain them, and sell them to the worst fleshival in creation. But I must focus my anger. Ellore must come first. I need her, want her body to violate and profane.^

Inilc stood and clasped his hands behind his back, spreading his legs apart in a soldier's stance, trying to be patient.

^I don't need to know this, sir. I don't want to know this.^

Uld paced around the room, his body proud, and taut. He walked with a new confidence, an arrogance now that he was in control of the Leviathan. Most of those who were not TELREC lowered their heads in meeting him, knew of his power and influence. Uld relished every moment, in the back recesses of his mind, scheming of a way to have the TELREC bow before him. The clothes he wore were a very echo of the TELREC uniform, cut with the same tight pants and shirt, with an open robe worn on top. He kept it all in black, looking as one of them, but not one of them. Better than them. He stopped and faced Inilc.

^Do you think you are better than me?^

^No sir.^

^Do you think your morality to be superior to mine?^ demanded Uld, a mania spreading on his face and in his thoughts.

^No sir.^

^After all, morality is determined by whoever rules at the moment. Wouldn't you say?^

^I have no opinion on that statement, sir,^ evenly replied Inilc. Uld stopped and faced the TELREC, an evil smile on his face.

^Arrogant little shit, aren't you?^

Inilc met Uld's gaze, debating whether or not to break his stance.

^No sir.^

Uld nodded his head. A vehicle pulled to a stop nearby. Uld could sense who it was, as an aura of anxiety and doubt suddenly descended upon him. He thought often of how he would be able to face Denged, as he knew it would someroa have to happen. Denged and another TELREC walked over, with two female prisoners in tow.

^Denged!^ Uld nervously smiled, trying to shake off his fear. ^What brings you down here?^

He stood over Uld, null, looking down at him with eyes of disgust.

^I found what you were looking for.^ Mentally, he commanded the two women to kneel in front of Uld. ^They have knowledge of Ellore. It just needs to be broken out of them.^

^Finally, some real amusement, after all these roas of searching and hunting and waiting!^ exclaimed Uld, a sick joy returning to his thoughts. ^Let's get to work.^

Uld slapped one of them hard, blood flying across the room. He picked her up, and threw her down, bringing a stifled cry from her mouth. Her hands and feet were mentally bound together, and her mouth was mentally shut along with her ability to cast. He felt the fear leave him, as he took control of this woman's body, venting all his frustrations upon it. Uld picked her up by the feet flinging her high in the air over him, bringing her crashing down in front of Inilc, who stood absently looking on. The darkness that would have masked his violence seemed to amplify it, the scarce light exaggerating their shadows, a faceless play performed on one of the walls nearby. Inilc's gaze never flinched, and Denged merely watched with a resigned disgust.

^You know, it's truly a wonderful thing those gene-hancements. It gives you strength you only thought possible in a virt-life fantasy.^ Uld stood over the woman, a few of her ribs now poking out of her chest, her eyes filled with tears. ^Release the gag on her mouth and mind.^

Denged allowed her the ability to cast and speak. Uld ran his hand along her breasts, finally digging his hands in her pants, rubbing where it was soft and warm.

^What's your name, sweet thing?^

She summoned the strength within her to spit in Uld's face, chuckling a little in spite of her fear. Uld leaned hard on her mind, squeezing her name out.

^Ail-jat, is it?^ asked Uld, squeezing her privates with terrible strength, making her lose control and scream for a moment. ^Well Ail-jat, I need you to cast me what you know about Ellore, and her irritating followers.^

She dumbly shrugged at him. He stepped back for a moment, then lunged forward, catching her off-guard, pinning her hand beneath the heel of his boot. He ground hard on it, and she grimaced at the pain.

^Now, my pretty, before I get really upset, cast me what I need to know!^

Ail-jat was the daughter of a man executed by the TELREC for chronicle offenses. She grew up secluded, but in her heart harbored great anger and resentment towards the TELREC. She eagerly helped Ksilte, and now Ellore, gladly doing anything they asked of her. After a mroa of Uld's boot molesting her hand, a few words finally came haltingly from her bloody mouth, but she spoke them firmly aloud, with eyes of steel.

"You must be one great coward, you pathetic little man."

Uld stepped down hard with his dress black boots on the woman's hand. The sound of breaking bone and pressed flesh could be heard as he twisted his heel back and forth over it. She cried out, shaking and sobbing.

"Do your worst, little man!"

^When I start, I won't be able to stop,^ he cast with an evil grin, as he pulled out a long knife. ^Cast me what I need to know!^

She thought for a moment, watching this man dressed as some TELREC businessman, tall and thin with a little gut, blood sprayed up and down the legs of his black, creased pants, an evil grin revealing cold, white teeth, bounce like some demon in front of her. She had seen much on the cast-net, seen the perversions the Novans called entertainment, even saw the Iganinagi slaughter and behead innocent adults and children, but never before had she seen such pure evil, such distilled hate. The way his feet were turned, the shape of his knees, the color and texture of his hair, seemed to brand him as surely as if the word were burned into the skin of his forehead. A part of her was deathly terrified at him, but a stronger part knew that no matter what, surrender should never be allowed to evil such as that.

She sealed off her mind to him. Uld flew into a rage. He lifted up her arm, and hacked away, sweat pouring off his forehead. First her hand, then her lower arm. Then he went to work on her legs. Her screams resonated through the hall, seeming to come from everywhere. In moments, she was reduced to a bloody pile of flesh that Uld kept stomping on with his boots. Through it all, as she faded into unconsciousness and death, she never let go the hold over her mind, and all her secrets died with her on that bloody floor. Uld turned to the other prisoner, fear welling in her mind.

^Now, it's your turn.^

He advanced on a smaller girl, named Hassous, but was stopped midway, unable to move forward.

^Uld,^ cast Denged, barely moving a muscle, ^I didn't waste my time bringing you these two to have you squander this opportunity. You should know physical torture is the least effective method of extracting information.^

Uld's anger was at a fever pitch, the lust for blood had consumed his mind.

^Let me go, Denged,^ he warningly cast. Denged arched an eyebrow.

^What did you cast?^

He walked over to Uld's motionless body, the other TELREC backing away, with more than a little fear on their faces.

^Let me go!^ ordered Uld. ^I have work to do. If you don't have the stomach, I—^

Uld suddenly lost control of his arms, as they were drawn tightly behind his back by Denged's mind. His legs rose and fell, like a soldier's on parade, as he moved close to one of the corners in the room. No matter how hard Uld tried, how much he focused his mind, Denged's control was absolute and unflappable. Uld was brought to a stop, then forced to drop to his knees.

^I think you may have forgotten, for a moment, in the heat of things, who you are dealing with,^ cast Denged, as he mentally made Uld bend over, his face turned downwards. ^I might not have the stomach?^ he asked, echoing Uld's question. ^I think you don't have the stomach.^

Uld began to vomit, slowly at first, then uncontrollably. Great heaves wracked his body, contracting his stomach. When his stomach was emptied, blood started to come up. Never had Uld felt like that. He felt Denged would make him vomit his very stomach and intestines up.

^I think that's enough.^

Denged made Uld fall forward into his own mess. And no matter how hard Uld tried to right himself, Denged kept his head in the worst of it, forcing Uld to swallow some of it back in. That made him vomit more, and before long, Uld broke down and cried, begging for release. Finally Denged released his mental hold, and Uld backed himself frantically up against a wall, struggling to get breath in his lungs, trying to null the pain.

^Remember who we are. We are your masters. From the lowest soldier,^ he glanced at Inilc and the other TELREC, ^to one such as myself, we are all your betters. Each of us demands respect. Now,^ cast Denged, as he turned to Hassous, ^cast me what I need to know.^

She held her head high, her chin proud, her eyes clear and defiant.

^No.^

Denged smiled, and focused on the woman's mind.

^Cast to me . . . what I . . . need to know . . .^

Any defenses she thought she had vanished in an instant. She knew if he commanded her to sing, dance, to do back-flips or to suffocate herself with her own hands, she would be powerless not to do it. In tils, she cast all she knew of Ellore, where she was meeting, what the safety protocols were.

^Thank you.^ Denged turned to Inilc. ^Wipe her mind, and send her back.^

^Yes sir!^

^What?^ Uld managed one word as he struggled to recover, kneeling in his own vomit.

^Did you cast something?^ asked Denged sweetly.

Uld turned away. Denged walked over, and stood above him as Hassous was taken away, Uld instinctively cowering further into the corner filled with his vomit and blood. Uld remembered the aura Denged could project, but never before did he feel anything as strong as he felt now. He couldn't look up, the fear of death was so omnipresent in his mind. Paranoia, confusion, despair, they all swirled in his mind, making Denged seem to be a Holis who, with the smallest of effort, could wipe him away. He stood there, his eyes burrowing into Uld's mind, his mind breaking down barriers, plowing through obstacles. And when he was done, when Uld's mind lay bare to Denged, Uld curled into a ball, sobbing, begging to Denged. Denged saw what lay at the kernel of Uld's consciousness, his prime motivation for all he had done, and wanted to do, and it made him sick.

^Please don't,^ begged Uld, with tears in his eyes, his nose and face still covered in vomit and mucus. ^Please, I'll do anything. Please . . . please . . .^

^I don't care what you do to Ellore. I don't care what you do to Suld. But understand, there are limits to what chaos and vengeance you may wreak on this world. Be content with what you have, who you are, or one roa I swear I will take it all away. My Maenids have a special place for you in their hearts, for all the brutality you have shown towards women and girls, and would spend roas ripping the flesh from your body, feeding you it before you died.^ Denged bent forward a little, wearing what seemed to be an expression of pity upon his face. ^You truly do hate women, don't you, for what was done to you?^ He paused for a moment, thinking to himself. ^I guess, in a way, we actually have something in common.^ He stood, motioning the other TELREC back to the vehicle. ^Now clean yourself up, and take care of Ellore. This will be the last time I help you—^

He bent down again, as Uld looked him in the eyes.

^—the last time I spare you.^

Denged walked away, and all Uld could do is be extremely thankful.

# 8

Since meta technology was abandoned after the Ascension, it is unknown whether the meta, in addition to having developed sentience, developed any mental powers. It was known they had an independent colvition server, and some meta were shielded against mental attacks. What is not known is if they could initiate mental attacks, if they had developed any powers of telekinesis. No sentient meta of Uplarin were known to survive, save one, whose fate to this roa remains unknown.

Strong thunder echoed the chaos in Graid's mind, as he made his way through the streets of Piros. Rain threatened; dark, deep clouds of menace massed high above. Around him, diligent shopkeepers brought in their varied wares, struggling to balance waiting for one more possible sale against the ruination of their merchandise. A few happy children darted excitedly back and forth, elusive prey hunted by their doting mothers, begging them to come in before the storm. They glanced at Graid as he passed and saw only a lonely stranger, as no traces of the universally known face of the Kal-Alçon were visible. His aspect was darker, his brown cheeks a little heavier, his hair curled tightly into small knots. His grey eyes still carried an imperial bearing, his mouth was still in a little of a sneer. But something about this new face relaxed a part of him, as he no longer felt like himself.

He carried very little; a small, worn sienna sac with a change of clothes, some meat and roots wrapped tightly in salted cloth, a small bottle filled with delicious spring water, and one of his favorite books with words elegantly printed on aged parchment. He wore what most working folk wore who worked in the country: thick, simple blue canvas pants, a long, tan shirt, and light leather boots with removable insulation for the cold Rell weather at night. He knew the old Graid would have laughed at him, so much did he cherish the fashionable and expensive. He began to realize that those clothes were a distraction from his mind and soul, a way to forget the pain within.

In sheets a chill rain suddenly fell, slowly at first, then in great round droplets that drenched him and his clothes quickly. He picked up his pace a little, wanting to make it to the outskirts of Piros before he stopped to rest. Darkness brusquely advanced shoving aside the light to make way for the time of lovers and sleep, save the outposts within the houses he passed. He glimpsed in them every once in a while, seeing mostly men and women sit down to eat, draw heavy curtains, and relax on wood and straw chairs in front of some entertainment. It had been a long time since Graid experienced such quiet—no cast, no noise from trans or supply ships. Just the elegant simplicity of the rain, monotonously pounding the tarred roofs and worn, wooden shutters around him, dancing on the concrete and smooth cobblestones beneath him. He heard it gather in small rivers, wind its way cleverly through the streets, working ever downwards into the sewers below. Some trees afforded him some protection, their leaves dancing in the approaching moonlight.

Kolob likes the rain—it's a constant in all timelines. I never really understood it until now. It's as if I am alone among the press of civilization, the rain shielding me from their presence.

He made his way up and down several hills and valleys, covered with increasingly isolated homes, as the rain began to dissipate. For a moment he considered using a motorcar and traveling along the major thoroughfares, but knew this way was for the best.

I won't watch things speed by. Arciss thinks I need to experience Rell? Then I will see everything it has to offer. A small building up ahead caught his eye. That looks promising.

A lone, low, dark building sat as a kind of watchman at the top of a gentle hill, beyond which could be seen miles and miles of open, green fields, through which a small road wound its way. On the lower level of the building light spilled out of thick, murky glass windows, flickering as patrons within walked back and forth. The stone it was built with resembled ground and dirt, and long, sturdy vines enveloped the entire facade, making it appear as if it was a part of the planet itself. Graid stopped at its door and glanced back to see the whole of Piros spread beneath him—thousands of lights twinkling in the moonlight, the sky clearing as a cool breeze pushed the storm further north. He could see the capital derasar, and thought on Uonil for a moment.

I hope she can handle things without me. She has grown a great deal, but this may be her greatest challenge.

Laughter and music could be heard from behind the door.

Well, it's time for my journey to begin.

The sign above the doorway read 'Nubraaci,' which meant 'the fondest point of a circle' in ancient Iquitian. Graid took it as a good omen, and decided to venture a visit. Warmth and light billowed out of the doorway as Graid forced himself inside, along with a dank odor of people and food, strong drink and wet, heavy clothing. Dozens of people sat at small, round tables talking and laughing, eating and drinking. All manner of Rell were before him—men and women, the fat and slim, old and young. An instinct too old to break took his eyes to the most attractive women in the group but strangely, they did not return his glances. He made his way through the press of people, an unusual experience for Graid, as he was used to others automatically deferring to him and moving out of his way. Eventually he sat at a long wooden bar near a small stage. An old man was just getting seated at an instrument to the side of the stage that Graid recognized as a viyus, arranging the chair and his clothes. Behind the bar a thin bartender moved quickly and efficiently, servicing the many patrons that clamored for drink and food with a wide smile and raunchy quips for his regulars. Graid got his attention, and the bartender paused for a moment after racking a few last glasses.

"A draw of olla, please," requested Graid, putting on his most courteous smile. It was met with a smile in return, but it was grim and serious, as the bartender deftly scanned Graid in an instant.

"Have you lottment?"

It took a great deal of composure not to betray his shock.

"Of . . . of course." He produced a small silver coin. "Is that enough?"

The bartender, a slim, wizened old man who looked as if he had drank one too many in his time, with pock-marked cheeks and small yellow eyes picked it up, and rolled it around in the light.

"It'll do."

Graid held his head aloof for a moment, half-expecting some acolyte to bow before him but as he turned and glanced around, no one paid him any attention. Even those seated next to him were more interested in their drink than him.

"That is quite a storm," he said to no one in particular, in a voice proper and ill-befitting the establishment he was in, "it almost swept me away! I guess I must look like I dragged myself out of the ocean! It is a good thing it is warm in here—I am sure I'll dry out quickly."

A man next to him glanced up in his direction, then back down to his drink. Graid sat back, scanning the room as the bartender brought his glass of olla.

What a sad sort of people here. They all seem run down and pathetic. I guess Arciss' Trint-Averil has missed the capital itself! The old man at the viyus began to play a few notes. Maybe he will lift their spirits.

The old man seated at the viyus leaned into the instrument, arranging his legs within the cord-like flexible strands within the lower portion. His hands, and arms, slipped into two wooden ovular openings, where they rest among thicker, more substantial strands. He lowered his head, connecting his mind to the instrument and as he did so, Graid was able to sense some opening sensations he wished to communicate. His arms and legs then moved slowly, creating long, layered musical notes, echoing the sensations in the mind. Graid knew the melody—it was a variation on a chant in praise of the Kal-Durrell, a chant every schoolchild knew called the 'Inundation of Exultation.' He played it slowly, his hands rounding off the edges of notes as his limbs added depth and texture. Mentally, Graid felt a joy tinged with remembrance, like thinking on a child who died at an early age. Colors and shapes bended in his mind's eye, cascading down with the notes played. Graid saw the patrons sitting around him looking wistfully at the old man and the viyus, each supplementing the feeling with memories of their own. The old man moved deliberately, every gesture slow, but in keeping with the tone of the piece.

He is good enough, but why is he so slow? This is meant to be danced around, the notes taken quickly, and sprightly! It is meant to be a song of joy, not of sad remembrance. He plays it too heavily—I guess you can't expect too much more from such an old man.

He brought it to a close, and warm applause greeted his conclusion, as almost everyone in the bar nodded appreciatively at him. He stood, and took a low bow, seating himself at the bar, as many reached over to grasp his hand and thank him for his playing, casting to him of the memories his playing conjured in their minds, memories they thought long forgotten. He appeared to be the essence of generic, of medium build, average tone of skin, and eyes that seemed shuttered under grey, bushy eyebrows. He had a face Graid knew he wouldn't be able to remember once he left. Graid ventured over, standing next to him.

"You were quite good."

"Oh, I used to be even better," the old man replied, wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked flushed, and Graid could tell his adrenaline had been pumping, combating what must have been some anxiety about performing. "Old age does things to you, you know."

"I could imagine. My name's . . . Aidlev."

"Well, it's good to meet you, Aidlev," he said, taking a deep breath, as the color settled on his face. "They call me Brel. What brings you to the outskirts of the mighty capital city?"

Graid welcomed the conversation, and as the old man offered him to sit, he accepted. "Just going on a journey, and this was a good starting off point."

"Do you play the viyus?" asked Brel, leaning back against the bar.

"Yes, I can, fairly well."

"Well, give us a demonstration," he said with a friendly smile, gesturing to the chair in front of the viyus. Graid looked around at the people who could care less about him, at the bartender who doubted him.

"Yes, I think I will."

Graid motioned to the bartender about the viyus, and the old man grudgingly nodded his head, used as he was to many amateurs taking their immature hands and mind at it. Graid sat down, arranging his hands and legs within the instrument, recalling the many lessons he took while he was quite young, before full immersion into the wonders of the Castiliad. Graid thought of the rain earlier, and chose a piece composed some three millennia before, a short collection on the fickleness of the weather. His small limbs danced within the viyus, his hands and fingers running up and down the translucent brown strands, bending and twisting notes, creating a thick mesh of harmony and dissonance within each phrase. He projected the fading yellow of the sun, and the greys and blues of the rainstorm, punctuated by lightning and thunder. He pushed himself to the limit, handling the instrument with a virtuosity rarely heard.

Now we will see if they notice me.

He finished, adding a difficult flourish to the end, and was met with polite applause. He rose, turned to face the audience, and saw the same disaffected faces he sat down to. No one rose to greet him, no one shook his hand. He went quickly back to his seat, near Brel, who clapped for him and gave him a polite bow.

"That was very good. You have excellent technique."

"Thank you," replied Graid, a little irritated. "They don't seem to think so."

"This isn't a group of musicians, who delight in the performance and skill of playing notes." Brel patted Graid on his knee, like he was his own son who just lost a sporting match. "These are real people, Aidlev! They didn't come to be dazzled by dexterity and adroitness. You had great complexity to your notes, but your thoughts were very shallow."

"What?" demanded Graid, surprised and a little angry.

Brel laughed. "That wasn't meant as an insult! What I mean is that no one could connect to your work. It was meant as show, as something to be admired, rather than related to," he said, as Graid calmed a little. Brel wrinkled his face examining the young man, seeing all the emotions played out on the canvas of his face a little too obviously for a common man. "These people are here to be distracted from life, to experience something wonderful. At least, that is what an experienced viyus player can do. But that player also has to have something to say, something in common with the spectators. He needs to connect with them, relate to them. You said you were going on a journey?"

"Yes. To connect with those very people."

"Well that's good to hear. I admire you're commitment to such a noble goal. We are a wonderful people, maybe a bit to grounded in our faith, but with those like Arciss, and the movement he started, balance will be restored. Stop back here, when you are finished your journey. I think you might have something truly wonderful to share! Just don't forget what you are searching for, Graid. Or do you truly know?"

Brel stood laughing gently to himself, walking out the door into the night. Graid turned, and looked in the mirror, wondering how he knew his true name.

No, my face is totally different. Maybe he gleaned some errant thought—I've got to be more careful.

As the sun was creeping over the horizon, dissipating the thick glacial clouds from whence they came, Graid started off down the hill, putting mighty Piros further and further behind him. He traveled on rustic side roads meant only for walking or pedaled machines, winding through fields and trees. He felt great temptation to cast to Arciss and Uonil, to update himself with current surveillance and analyses, but prevailed against it. He felt no fatigue, so he moved quickly, almost at a run, hoping to venture deeper and deeper into the Rell he only slightly knew. In the first roa he covered what others could only in a troa, passing by the outskirts of four towns along the way. He could sense the Trint-Averil had been through them, as joy and happiness reigned within their people. For some reason, he wanted to go where they had yet been.

The wide fields quickly turned to hard ground, pocked with rough weeds and tough brown and grey bushes, as mountains loomed up ahead of him. An extension of the Drugghid that ran through Averil, they were as a great barrier, separating both halves of the province he was in. Small clusters of homes and villages could be found near the path he walked, their people tending small fields nearby, or heading towards the main paved road, venturing into their bigger cousins.

He reluctantly spoke to those he passed by, knowing that if he were to become familiar with Rell, he would need to become more familiar with his people. Farmers and laborers, miners and those escaping the congestion of the city, they all seemed open at first. But as Graid spoke, they seemed small and petty to him, mean with short tongues. Graid would speak of the voyage he was on, how he wanted to see the world, and they would shrug, or murmur something in response. He developed a distaste for those people, in that first roa, growing tired of their dirty clothes, small houses and small minds. He quickened his pace, running into mountains cold and tall, happily seeing more animals than people.

I don't know, Arciss, I don't know. It seems like these people don't want to be known, certainly don't want to know me. Under the multitude of stars he lay down, his hands on his small chest, wishing for something wonderful to happen. In his restless pre-sleep, his mind drifted on memories of Selva, the sweetness of her body, the glow of her smile. He spent many a night with her, but now, for some reason, her image didn't keep him warm, or calm his mind. He was used to her, and he knew she was used to him. But in a place stripped of all the distractions Novan had to offer, Graid knew he would have little to cesct about with Selva.

We never did cast much, and when we did, it was about sex, or pleasure. I never could cesct with her about my life, about my troubles. And she never seemed to want to know. He thought back through his past for a moment. Have I ever known someone I could be so open with, so candid? Someone who would lie with me, under these stars, and be content listening to me, as I would be listening to them. Then again, I wasn't that kind of person then. It's barely been a dcas, and I think I've already changed. How amusing.

He rolled over, and went to sleep.

The next roas were spent covering ground, pushing through the great rocky chasms that framed the Drugghid, making his way through sudden streams and patches of dense forest on the other side. This range, the Clji, stretched for many tils in front of him, cut through by hundreds of tight yet deep rivers and dozens of smooth lakes with pure, crystal water that lay open all its secrets to the lucky traveler. The trees stretched high as if titans were reborn from ancient myth and the smell of their leaves permeated his body. He slowed his pace, listening to the birds sing in the roa, watching the small brown and green animals scurry back and forth in the underbrush, stood quietly as large furred creatures trudged through the rivers in search of food. It was at the bank of a lake that he now stood, watching a family of nusad bathing, taking long gulps of water. Three large ones, two others that seemed to be female, and an assortment of children gathered in the center, taking over the lake, for no other animals dared come near them. Their massive green-furred arms arced in the air, splashing water on each other in play and in bathing, as the males sharpened their long claws on rocks near the bank. The children danced around the adults, hiding under the water for as long as they could then springing up in a spray of water, chirping with what could only be laughter. For a moment, Graid wanted to expand his mind, experience life as they did, but resisted, feeling for a moment that it would be a form of violation. He peered down into the silvery surface of the lake, at his own reflection dancing beneath him.

Is that me? He had been traveling for a while without cleaning himself, and his face was caked with dirt, his hair matted close to his head. He lifted an arm to smell himself. I have been out here too long. No wonder people turned away from me. I need to bathe, and groom myself. He dunked his face deep in the water, feeling its coolness run down his neck and chest, washing away the oily grime. It took a while but eventually he felt cleaner and saw more of a glow in his reflection in the water. His muddy shadow drifted away from him, fading into the reeds and sand. A few of the cubs noticed him bathing, and one ventured over towards him. It took slow, careful steps, looking back to his friends who watched in silence. As it came closer to Graid, he became still, watching it plant one paw after the other in the water, trying to be quiet. It drew close to Graid, its nose rising in the air, its mouth opening slightly to taste the scents around him, revealing short yet sharp teeth that were just beginning to be useful.

You might not like what you smell, my friend.

Suddenly it stood up, rising as high as it could, its front paws extended in the air. It could only manage four or five feet, but it roared as hard as it could, baring small teeth and little claws. Graid smiled for a moment, then feigned terror, running back into the forest, as he heard the others roar along with the small cub. He stopped at a small hill, where he could still see the glittering lake and the small, brave nusad as it returned to its family.

Lying against a tree Graid slipped into a light sleep. In his dreams, he thought of all the worlds he had visited, all the people he had connected with. Seemingly on every other world, the cycle of birth and family was the core of their existence. On some, technology and advancement, power and wealth overran this cycle, replacing it with greed and envy, sloth and sin. It was on the more primitive worlds Graid felt a balance, though a harsh one. He dreamed of a world technologically advanced that had a balance, where family and love overrode the desire for wealth and power, where knowledge and curiosity flourished, where development of the mind was married with development of the body and where the people rose to be those of Kal instead of mere souman beings. He woke with the sun high above him, hearing the nusad make their way through the forest, headed for cool shadows and long rests.

Balance. That is the key. I feel as though we disturbed that balance, long ago, and all we face, Rell and Novan alike, is rooted in that mistake. My own creators ruined that balance with me, and I must solve it, before I could hope to solve the balance between our two worlds.

As he pressed further northwards, he could feel the slight chill of the approaching winter. The trees were growing thin, the bloom of flowers losing their radiance as all around him prepared for the long cold embrace. He sat by a river that had begun to freeze over, leaving only its center fluid. Graid sat within the folds of a tree, nestling into a natural cocoon of grass and leaves. He drifted in and out of sleep, feeling his thoughts grow more still, more in tune with everything around him. He watched as an unghot crawled slowly towards the river. Small, with a thick brown coat of tough, spiky fur, and an often disagreeable disposition, it dragged a branch filled with dead, small rodents hooked onto its spines. He watched it sniff around the banks of the frozen river, prodding hard with its nose. Something caught its eye, as it began to beat on a small spot with its paws, thick with hardened callouses. A thin layer of ice broke, and it pushed its way in, dragging the branch of rodents with it. Graid watched as its silhouette could be seen beneath the icy surface, scratching and pushing.

What are you doing, my friend?

The unghot emerged, and ran quickly back into the forest, leaving the dead rodents inside. A little while later, Graid woke to the rustle of leaves. Almost a dozen unghots were making their way towards the spot in the ice, dragging along their own branches filled with dead rodents. They all crammed into the icy tomb, going back and forth, bringing leaves in from the shore. After a while, all was quiet.

You're settling in for winter, aren't you? I've heard of animals that can survive being frozen alive, to be thawed with the spring, and come back to life. No predator will find you in there, and even if they did, they certainly couldn't reach you, could they? Graid smiled. To disappear from sight, becoming all but dead to a deadly foe, and wait for a new roa of warmth and promise. He thought for a moment of the Rell, of Rellcine, hidden under the surface of Novan. If we buried a shelter, deep in Novan, just in case, some part of us would survive, should the worst occur. He looked back on the river, forgetting where the unghots buried themselves. One's eyes must always be open, their mind always receptive to new ideas. Salvation may come when least suspected, answers buried in riddles ancient and complex.

He stood, stretching out his arms, letting out a yawn. His nose picked up the scent of something roasting far off.

Maybe it's time I rejoined civilization, for a while.

Graid labored with careful steps, climbing a steep rockface with few footfalls and many frozen patches of ice. The sun was out, but it was a stingy beast, sparing little heat for the mountainside he travailed on, yielding dominance to vicious cold air currents that swirled and stung. Every once in a while he would pause and look back, the great verdant forest sprawling beneath him with three wide rivers slicing quickly through its body. There were no boundaries to be seen—the world yawned beneath him as a lazy companion, quiet, yet pulsing with life. There was such depth to this vista; trees, with roots that dug deep into the earth, rivers and lakes with depths could not be seen that held the teeming masses of life. He felt that with each step, he could see it more as a totality, gain some keener understanding of its workings. He saw the ice melting from the mountains into the small streams, flow into the lakes and oceans, saw the trees siphon nourishment from the banks of the water to grow the multitude of fruit that fed the animals living nearby. He felt the rain and thunder, the heat and dryness, and now, the cold chill. He never appreciated nature that much—saw it more as a dressing or adornment for his quarters. New to him was this concept of the cyclical nature of life, of birth and rebirth. On Novan time felt more linear—buildings never died, they were maintained. People may die, but another almost identical in appearance would be born somewhere on the massive planet. Life was churned and digested on Novan, a constant taken for granted. Here, every leaf was precious, every bush used for cover and every branch used to mount an assault on prey were equally indispensable. Graid didn't know where he fit into this mechanism of creation, but he at least was beginning to understand it.

It felt good to Graid to use his muscles for something other than training, focus them on constructive purposes rather than destructive ones. The action of climbing was a satisfying one. It required careful balance, excellent sight, good hearing, and an intuition that was acquired rather than innate. Twice he almost fell the full length he climbed, once only saved by dumb luck. The old Graid could easily have sailed above the mountain, or destroyed it with a few blows of energy. But he learned so much more approaching it like this. He came to understand the mountain and himself as well. One could only think so much, before the rockface demanded attention again. Even now, he slipped—

Whew.

—and only barely gained his balance. The Drugghid was nothing compared to this range. Graid knew any other climber would need at least three roas to come up this way. Around him many birds circled, curious as to his intentions on their territory.

I'm sure you fought hard for your nests, wherever they are. I'll not disturb them. I just need to make it around them and a little further to the top.

He reached up a hand, and could find nothing to grab onto.

Could it be?

He clambered up, throwing his legs over, balancing on a thin ridge half the width of his body.

But it is beautiful.

He had reached the top. Beneath him was the Valley of Fellmis, where silver mists of water danced as thousands of delicate ribbons, shaped by a unique alignment of gravitational forces. Graid could feel his hair moving, his skin grow clammy, his sense of balance shifting as those forces came to bear on him.

Hello.

He looked under his hand, and a few small flowers bloomed in the seclusion of a ravine cut deep in the rockface. A brilliant blue, with flecks of yellow, they held his eye for a moment.

"Amazing, aren't they?"

He turned, startled. It took a while for him to find the source of the voice. It was a man, reclining nearby.

"Yes, quite. How long have you been here?"

"For a little while. It is a marvelous view, watching the ribbons dance. Is this your first time?"

"Yes." Graid climbed down a bit, to a wider precipice, and sat down, his legs dangling over the side.

"I remember coming up here as a child," said the man. In his middle age, his hair grey hair was fleeing his head, leaving a great deserted wasteland above his forehead. He was a tough, sturdy fellow, hardy in appearance, with sun-weathered skin and forearms that were thick with daily toil. "It's a long walk, from my village to here, but well worth the time. My mother and father would set out while the morning was still dark, laden with food made the roa before. It would be an all roa adventure, making our way up the mountain, washing our hands in the icy coldness of the river, finally to sit on the rim like we are now, and lose oneself in the spectacle."

"You are fortunate to have grown up with such loving parents," Graid said wistfully.

"Yes, I suppose so. These roas, children are rare enough, which is a shame. A shame not to show this to more young eyes, to fire their imaginations."

Graid felt some bitterness well in his soul.

"But being up here is not for talking," said the man. "If this is your first time, you should sit back. You better prop your feet against something—you wouldn't want to slide down there!" Graid did as he said, maneuvering around for a while before he found a comfortable, safe position. "That's better. Now, relax your body. Relax your muscles and skin, relax your very bones," he said in a low, gravely voice. "Bring the mistress of sleep just in your arms, feel her touch, but not her full embrace. Close your eyes, almost, just so you can see out. Gravity does small miracles here. You'll find you fall asleep, while your eyes stay open. And the dreams you'll have, well, they're nothing short of spectacular."

Graid did as he said, relaxing his body, letting his eyes draw almost closed. The shapes he saw below, the ribbon folding and dancing, seemed to harmonize with his mind, fall into the same rhythm as his body. They made a noise, a song, as they curled and twisted deep in the valley, their mile-long strands dancing over the unseen ground. Graid forgot about the old man, forgot about Arciss, and Uonil. But a little of what the old man said next stayed in his mind.

"When you're done, when you've had a good long, rest, come visit us. We're a small, poor village, but you look like you've been wandering for long enough, and need a place to call home for a while. Circle around towards me, and follow the rim till it breaks. At the base of the mountain on that side, between the two rivers, you'll find us."

For the rest of the roa, Graid lay entranced by the oscillations of the gravity ribbons. His mind followed the strands, and began to associate thoughts with those strands. As the strands interconnected, he found the thoughts merging, giving him new perspectives on old problems. Under it all the void yawned, black and mysterious, waiting to swallow the ribbons as they fell too low. His thoughts invariably led to that void, and as he woke, he found himself more comfortable about what might lie within. He was slow to rise, as darkness had covered the land, making the spectacle beneath him all the more brilliant.

I truly could get lost here. But I need to move on.

He navigated carefully in the dark, making his way around the rim as the old man said. The ribbons faded behind him, but their light glowed in the darkness, appearing as some great fire roaring over the horizon. Graid found the break in the rim of the mountain range, and saw off in the distance a few lights of the village the old man spoke of.

Again back into the company of men and women. They look to be a simple lot—nothing but fields around, with little contact with the major cities. The roads look paved, but barely worn. I'll bet they still use beasts to carry their burdens. There must be a hundred thousand villages such as this spread throughout Rell, barely changed since their conception after the Great Migration. Small people, with small minds.

His descent into the village was a long one—he steered around its perimeter for a long while. The fields held great tall stalks of corn, rising ten feet into the sky. He saw hundreds of different kinds of flowers, blooming along riverbanks, dancing among the leaves of the trees. He could hear some machinery as the sun peeked over the horizon, smelled the delicious aroma of roasting meat, and frying roots. He ventured onto a paved road that took him by a few humble yet comfortable homes. He spied a few people in those houses—quiet, simply dressed folk eating first meal, or working within their houses. He finally came upon a man just putting his tools onto a cart, and having a hard time with it.

"Hello there!"

"Hello." The man still had his back to Graid, busy with his work.

"What's the name of this village?"

"You mean, you don't know where you've come into?"

"No, that's why I asked," replied Graid, trying to keep his good humor.

"Then maybe you shouldn't be here."

Graid nodded to himself, trying to think of a different way to get what he needed. "Well, what's your name?"

The man still fussed with his tools, and seemed to not even hear Graid, when finally he absently replied. "What's yours?"

Graid gritted his teeth, and tried harder to keep his calm. "They call me Aidlev."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who calls you Aidlev?" asked the man, now engaged in moving some stones from in front of the wheels of his cart.

"Those who know me."

"And they couldn't tell you where you were going?"

Graid's patience was nearing its end.

"Is everyone around here this intractable?" he demanded, almost shouting. The man turned, as he finished securing his tools to the cart. Graid saw his balding head with grey hair, and grinned as he recognized him. "It's you!"

"Excuse me?" The man raised a suspicious eyebrow as if he just heard pure, distilled insanity.

"I've met you before. On the mountain. Near the gravity ribbons."

"You must be mistaken," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"No, no, you were there," Graid firmly replied. "You told me how to get here, to this village. You told me of your parents taking you up there when you were young."

The old man thought for a moment. "I haven't been up there in ten cas."

Graid rolled his image over in his mind.

"I suppose I could have been wrong," Graid said, beginning to doubt himself. The old man came over, and scrutinized Graid.

"No, no, you might be right. That place has a funny way about it. It seems to keep a memory of those who have visited it. It's something with the electromagnetic waves, and the distortion of time, or something. I don't know. All I know, is sometimes you see people who aren't even still alive. The mountain's like a thief, stealing images of those it likes, keeping them in its hold."

Graid looked at him warily. The old man laughed.

"It is an odd place, but a beautiful one. My name's Ilahon. Maybe the mountain will steal your image, and one roa, someone else will swear they met you on that ravine."

"It's good to know your name," said Graid, a little relieved, now that progress was being made. "Tell me, is there any work around here?"

"Why, are you looking for work? You look like a wanderer."

"What do you care?" retorted Graid flippantly. Ilahon just looked at him. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. I need a job, because I need to eat, and a decent place to sleep."

"Now that sounds reasonable," he nodded, smiling. "A friend of mine is looking for some help—someone to do errands, fix a few things, clean up a few things. Sound like something you could do?"

Graid wanted to tell him all that he could do, how far beneath him it was to do errands for another. But another part of him remembered here he was not the Kal-Alçon, was not anyone of consequence. And in that sense, he should feel lucky to have any work at all. No one here knew him, for all Ilahon knew, he could be a criminal.

"I'll be glad to help him."

Ilahon began to pull his cart, then stopped and turned to Graid. "You seemed pretty angry back there."

"And you seemed pretty irascible and intractable!" cried Graid, thankful to finally vent his frustration.

"Quite a vocabulary you've got, for us simple folk. Well," replied Ilahon slowly, "sometimes we don't always get what we want, right away, if at all, in one's lifetime. A true judge of a man's character is how well he copes with that fact."

Graid straightened, as he knew wisdom when he heard it. He bowed low to Ilahon, who nodded approvingly.

"Follow me, Aidlev, and I'll introduce you."

Ilahon led him through the small streets leading into the center of the village. He seemed to know every bump or hole along the way, pointing out such obstacles to his amused companion. He related stories of the inhabitants along the way, pointing to houses large and small, telling Graid of the children he helped raise, the troublemakers, the brilliant ones, the rebels. He spoke about the great floods two cas ago, and the terrible summer ten cas ago, that killed two of his dear friends. He moved slowly, but with legs able to climb the steepest incline, arms able to lift all roa. Graid wanted to ask about his life, whether he had a child, or a love. But he enjoyed listening to the old man, enjoyed hearing all about this village, and the threads that tied it together.

"But I think the saddest thing was the death of Wejholl, one of the Alçons."

Graid bristled at the name. "You had an Alçon, from here?"

"Yes. He grew up, just around the corner, over there," said Ilahon, pointing to a nearby thicket of low homes. "I remember he used to take the children up to the gravity ribbons, once every dcas. Even as a young man, Wejholl had a tremendous sense of duty, and responsibility. You know his mother died when he was only five? His father's spirit broke, after she died. They had four children, and Wejholl worked three jobs to help support them. He saw to it that his brothers and sisters got an education; even helped them move to the larger cities. A great many people were sad when he went away to become formally educated and enter training to be a sub-Alçon. His father begged him not to go, and for two full cas he didn't. Finally I remember myself and a few of my friends happened to be sitting with his father late one night, watching the wind blow, if you get my meaning, and we spoke long with him about it. By the morning, he relented, and wished his son well. As his son progressed, his father seemed to come to life again, seeing this youth become a man, and a handsome one at that. His father even rejoined to a beautiful woman."

"The proudest roa for this village," continued Ilahon, "was when Wejholl became an Alçon. You just wouldn't believe! There was no one left in their homes the roa he came back from Piros, after being ordained. And he didn't even change! Oh, he may have grown a bit outspoken, but he always spoke from the heart. He always said what he thought was right, no matter how ill-received his words were. His father, well, I have never seen a man more proud and overjoyed than he was that roa. He died soon after, and we all mourned his death with Wejholl and his brothers and sisters. He lived such a wonderful life, I won't even go into all the things Wejholl did for the village, and for countless others around here. I think lately he had grown a little disillusioned, lost hope and faith in his people. If only he had lived to see these followers of Arciss, this Trint-Averil. We never found out how he died, it was only said he brought shame upon the Kal-Alçon."

"I think I heard of that," said Graid quietly.

"Now tell me, what is that?" demanded Ilahon indignantly, stopping in the middle of the street, almost as if he expected an answer. "Can shame starve a man, or cut a woman, or kill someone? Shame is an intangible, and not worthy of a reason to kill, kinda like being killed over wealth or property. Certainly not a worthy death for a man that did so much. I don't know anything the Kal-Alçon has done; all I hear are promises of what he will do. We had to bury Wejholl as a common man, without honor, without ceremony. I believe, in his heart, he would have wanted it that way; never was he one for extravagance. But we would have wanted more. We would have wanted to honor him in death, to show his spirit how much he was missed. Even Martel, a man never given the title of Alçon, got a proper burial. But I've rambled on too long," he said, pulling his cart again. "Look, we've almost arrived."

Graid thought hard on his words, about the Alçon he killed in a fit of rage. A man he never took the time to know, a man he dismissed in his mind, because he had the title of Alçon. The only good of the news was that Graid knew where he was now—the village of Vujora.

Ilahon set his cart outside a small store, putting a couple of stones under the wheels so it wouldn't roll away, and they walked through a crowded yard, with all manner of wares hung from long ropes attached to tall poles and strewn in old wooden carts, a lot like Ilahon's. They walked through doors old and weatherworn, and the inside was even more crammed—every square inch filled with foodstuffs, tools and hardware, shining as if just polished, line and rods for fishing, arrows and dozens of bows for hunting. Out through a door at the rear of the store could be seen rows of farm equipment, gardening tools, construction supplies. A few dozen people could be seen throughout the store, milling about, trying out this or that.

"Xiow, are you still doing this all by yourself?!" yelled Ilahon good-naturedly. A middle aged man, a good ten cas younger than Ilahon stood up from behind a counter.

"Ain't no one who wants to help me!" quickly retorted a heavy-set man, with long, red hair that shockingly stood out next to his deep-brown face. His belly seemed to be almost a muscle, so firm it was. He wore no shirt, and Graid desperately wished he would've reconsidered that particular fashion choice. "They all get confused, can't figure out what's what and where it is. You know, I've had so many people's sons and daughters, nieces and nephews workin' for me I feel like a some damn professor teachin' a course no one can finish."

Ilahon laughed. "You always make it more difficult, thinkin' someone can learn all your store in a droa."

"Work's work, and you shouldn't get paid unless you do it right," quipped Xiow, as he cautiously examined Graid. "Why you askin'—you got somebody else's child?"

Ilahon joined him in examining Graid. "Are you somebody else's child?" he asked softly. "Well, no matter," he dismissed, turning back to Xiow, "I think he'll do the job for you."

"He's not even from around here!" he cried, still reluctant to commit to the new worker. "How do I know he won't leave after a troa?"

Ilahon prodded Graid to reply.

"I may only be here for a couple of troas. I can't promise more."

Ilahon went around, and threw an arm around Xiow's shoulders. "Well now, you could use the help at least until you find someone permanent! Besides, if you're nice, he might want to stick around."

Xiow grumbled as he shuffled some things on his counter.

"Well, as long as you know this ain't no Boolin in a derasar, sittin' around thinkin' all the time. I get things in everyroa, and I expect my place to be neat! Can you vouch for him, Ilahon?"

Ilahon nodded knowingly. "I think so. He still has a lot to learn, but he means well."

Xiow crossed his arms and let out a long sigh, knowing he couldn't refuse Ilahon when he pressed. "When can you start?"

"Right now!" he replied, standing tall, with his hands clasped behind his back. Xiow laughed.

"That's the spirit! But you need to get cleaned up—I can smell you all the way over here. Go down the street, round the corner, and in the middle of the block, on the left side, a good friend of mine has a few rooms to rent. He'll take you on faith, with my word. And I'll take you, on Ilahon's word."

"A lot of people are counting on you, Aidlev," said Ilahon.

"Then, I guess I better get to work," replied Graid, feeling happy for the first time in a while. He gave Xiow a low bow. "Thank you for your kindness, and faith."

"Well, were not some damned heathen Novans, stealin' and sinnin' and killin'. You get cleaned up, and I'll see you tomorrow. You have a long roa of work ahead of you."

Ilahon watched Graid walk off, his arms crossed, and beamed with pride as if he were his own son.

# 9

Mining Master Mark 6: oreships that were the backbone of OLMAC's mining fleet, sixth iteration of the original design. Each oreship had the capacity to hold ten thousand meta, up to one hundred mining pods, and one trillion cubic meters of mined ore. Equipped with thirty thermal lances, one ship could carve up a moon in a roa's time. Powered by the latest in micro-fusion technology, its engines were buried deep inside, able to withstand the worst meteor shower. The TELREC originally protested its creation stating it looked more like a battleship than a mining vessel. OLMAC possessed six hundred of those ships, and rarely did they leave the Novan system.

Suld walked with Aeolle through the streets of Gan-Elldon, showing her around the majestic city that was his life. It appeared plain to Aeolle, devoid of the cast-advertisements, the flashing lights, the garish dress and lascivious displays common on Novan. But she knew she would need to get used to it.

She decided to stay with Suld after his support of the Iganinagi was revealed. No longer could she tolerate the activities of Uld, no longer keep up the deception. The night she spent with Herdl, after revealing her self to Suld, was a turning point. He was weak, and could not control his mind in the throes of passion. She saw things, evil, sick things that he had done, and that he yearned to do again. She wanted to kill him, slit his throat right then, rather than let him go on murdering children, killing their souls, then their bodies. But she was weak, had seen too much in her life to know that Herdl was merely an extreme, there were many others like him, who only required the opportunity to become him.

Suld had much work to do after his confrontation with the TELREC. Meta enhancement was accelerated; all his oreships were recalled from moons and asteroids and placed in a defensive orbit around Gan-Elldon. Most had already been re-fitted with weaponry and enhanced shielding, and those features were now enabled. He had been planning for just such a contingency, and the work was proceeding smoothly and quickly.

Of greater difficulty was the relocation of all remaining Iganinagi. There were many who wanted to remain on Novan, who felt leaving was a final surrender. Theia could convince some of them, but he had to be involved to show them and explain to them how and where they were needed, that the fight would continue, but not in the underground, not in the shadows. That the time had come to be bold, and stand up to the TELREC.

He also had Ellore on his mind. He had not forgotten what Aeolle told him about Uld's desires, and had assigned several agents of his to monitor Uld, to shadow his movements. What they reported back to him confirmed the strong desires of Uld. He was getting close, but never quite had the correct intelligence he needed to capture her.

It will only be a matter of time. I must get her off Novan.

Reaching her was also a difficult task. She learned well from Ksilte and the fall of the Iganinagi. Ellore was never in one place for more than a roa, and her cells were constantly relocating. The fact that most of them led ordinary lives deepened their cover. They only met to worship together, to plan and train. Uld would find remains showing they had been there, but that was all.

Aeolle grasped Suld's arm, and intertwined hers with his as they walked.

^I know you don't care for me like that Suld, but I am a long way from home, and I need some of your strength,^ she cast softly. He smiled at her, running his hand over hers.

^What do you think of Gan-Elldon?^

She looked around at the silver and white structures that almost touched the top of the shield dome. It was a sight to see such buildings of light framed against the blackness of the void. Around her people laughed and walked casually, their eyes meeting one another, actually seeing each other. Grass and trees co-existed with the concrete and steel, with large fields breaking up the space. Great arches linked the buildings, spanning several ticks. Everywhere they went, people nodded to Suld and smiled, acknowledging Aeolle's presence.

^I feel as a queen here!^ she cried with joy. ^It is beautiful. It has a perfection that is quite peaceful, not arrogant or challenging. You said some find this place cold and sterile?^

^Yes.^

She beamed, wanting to whirl in his arms. ^To me, it seems to be full of life! Not only with the flowers and trees, but the people themselves are alive in a way not possible on Novan. I often thought Rell would be a place like this.^

^Someroa, I would like to visit Rell. I admire some of their qualities.^

^Where are we headed?^

^To meet Theia. She has come with the last of her people, relocated from Novan. It will take a while to assimilate them, to train them on our crafts and teach them how to live here, but I am convinced that together we will be a formidable force against the TELREC.^

^You are lying,^ she cast, flatly. He stopped, and stared at her. ^Suld, I told you before—I know you! I can sense your thoughts, even if you don't want me to. You feel pity towards Theia, maybe even something akin to love. You know a couple of thousand people will make no difference in a conflict between the TELREC and OLMAC. It will be a war decided more by meta than souman. I'm not a jealous woman. I'm just happy to be here, away from Uld.^

He broke down in a quick laugh, giving her a long hug. ^I have never known someone that understood me as well as you! Not even my wife saw through my thoughts as you do. Yes, I guess I do feel pity towards the Iganinagi. Aiella, their former leader, was a great friend of mine. I pledged much time and resources to helping her, and I feel I owe that to Theia also. Love?^ he queried, with doubt on his face. ^It's still too early.^ He glanced down at Aeolle, and saw the same wry look in her eyes. ^Alright. Yes, I guess I love her. I haven't fully accepted it myself, but I will admit that I care for her.^

^But I sense, not as a lover?^

^No, more as a sister.^ Suld's gaze hardened, as he thought on all the faults of Theia. ^She is still young, and needs much guidance. Come on, enough of this probing into my emotions.^

A large ship descended slowly into the dome of Gan-Elldon, passing through several dozen defensive emdec batteries which slowly tracked its every movement. Four of its thrusters fired, casting yellow reflections along its bluish hull. Suld noticed it was newly damaged by emdec fire—several indentations could be seen along its length, and its rear section trailed thin black smoke. Suld mentally accessed the ship's log, finding the TELREC attacked it soon after it broke the atmosphere of Novan. Hundreds of technicians paused in their work to examine the ship, and Suld could glean their worried casts.

^I don't think your world will ever be the same,^ cast Aeolle, holding Suld's arm a little tighter.

^You may be right about that.^ He steered her quickly through the small crowds, into the voidport. They made it just in time to salute Theia as she and her four remaining Coss disembarked. Suld strode to her, and grasped her hand, glancing at those with her.

^It is good to see you again. Welcome to Gan-Elldon, my friends.^

^Mechle, this is Euis, Omana, Triss, and Curhuls,^ cast Theia with great pride on her face. Omana stepped forward, a tall woman possessed with strong muscles. She towered over Suld, yet exhibited a courteous deference to Suld.

^Suld, we are honored to stand with you, and thank you for your hospitality.^

^Manners, from the Iganinagi?^ ventured Aeolle. ^Looks like much has changed.^

^What's she doing here?^ angrily demanded Theia.

^Oh well,^ drawled Aeolle. ^Maybe I spoke too soon.^

^I don't question your associates, never question mine.^ Suld took a moment to stand before each of her Coss and grasp their hand, look them squarely in their eyes. For a moment he thought of how strong the Iganinagi were, of the twelve Coss who stood with Theia as the TELREC invaded. She seemed smaller now, and he could feel resentment at needing his help, his shelter. The four in front of him also showed a little defiance, yet were obviously humbled, understanding the necessity of being there. Suld stood for a moment watching the many ships land carrying the last of the Iganinagi.

^We have much work to do,^ he continued, ^now that all of your people have finally made it to safety. We must get all of you trained on our fighters, on our weaponry. We will provide you with extensive void training, as I am told none of you have combat experience in the void. All of you are focused warriors, but the battle will not take place in the close quarters you are used to. Each of you eventually will be given a battalion of meta to command, and will work alongside my generals should conflict occur. For now, Theia, you will be in command of a squadron of dromons—quick, powerful ships that you find will suit your method of combat. Your Coss will each be trained on one of those ships. It is imperative you start battle simulations as soon as possible. I need you and your Coss battle-ready in three roas. We will upload the necessary information into your minds—it is up to you to develop the experience necessary to take advantage of that knowledge. I fear the TELREC will not waste time in attacking OLMAC. For now,^ Suld motioned to four men standing nearby, ^these men will give you a tour of Gan-Elldon, going over our basic defenses, and show you to your quarters. We will assemble tomorrow morning to begin training. Understood?^

^Understood,^ they all cast. The Coss were led off by Suld's people into a waiting trans. He turned to Theia, nodding approvingly.

^They seem to be quite focused.^

^They are the best of the best,^ Theia cast. ^They will learn quickly, and teach others quickly, and soon, they will not be a hindrance to your forces.^

^That's good. Any word on Ellore?^

Theia nodded. ^I have it on good word that Denged was able to capture a few of her people. This happened less than four roas ago. He has met with Uld, and now Uld is proceeding with his forces into province ten, moving with great speed.^

Aeolle turned to Suld. ^What are you going to do?^

^Break Uld in two,^ he cast grimly. ^Are you coming?^

She gripped tightly onto Suld's arm. ^Try and stop me. ^

Theia looked at the two of them, a little perturbed. ^I will come with you,^ she ventured, stepping forward.

^Theia, you are needed here,^ cast Suld, gently pushing Aeolle aside. ^Your people need you at this time of transition. Uld is mine, and Aeolle's concern. General Ruggert will give you a personal tour of our defenses.^

^How are you going to deal with Uld, and all his forces, with just the two of you?^

Suld smiled. ^I have a little surprise for Uld.^

# 10

The first orbiting platform was completed in the cas 2679. Spanning three miles in diameter, it was hailed as a magnificent achievement of the roa. Built in low orbit, then gradually lowered into the upper atmosphere, it was the first of hundreds of platforms to be built to accommodate the growing population. Many were destroyed in the great Novan/Rell war, but as the Rell began their great migration, they were constructed with a vengeance. In the cas 3998, in advance of the fourth millennia celebrations, twelve were linked, and lowered close to the orbit that Topside would reside in. That grouping, which covered merely a hundredth of the planet's surface, was the beginning of ExterNovan. By 4800, one-third of the planet's surface was covered by what was called the Second Foundation. Over the following two millennia more and more platforms were built and joined, while development of the massive mitterlights that would illuminate Core were begun. The last platform was linked in 5750, and by then Topside, as it was then called, became a permanent fixture in the Novan culture.

^Be careful, Dobrin. Watch that pipe.^

^I see it, mother,^ he cast irritably. Dobrin ducked his head down low, covering his back with a clear protective plastic. A whitish foam covered an intricate network of pipes above him, dripping caustic yellow fluid that smelled rank and foul and left a bitter taste in the nostrils and tongue. The liquid glowed a little, helping the travelers see in the darkness, a trail to guide their steps. All around them the smell of waste was thick and sour, choking their throats, making movement slow and painful.

^I thought you said this time the Iggaraout would be closer to the surface?^ Dobrin grunted, as some debris fell on him, getting in his hair, and a little in his eyes. He angrily brushed it away, spitting to make sure none got in his mouth. ^Somewhere clean.^

^I know, I know. I lied.^ She turned and smiled at Dobrin, who weakly smiled back.

^If the smell was all there was, I could deal with that. But I'm getting too tall for these little adventures.^

He had seemed to sprout overnight, growing three or four decitils. She had to bandage his head more than once, as he kept forgetting to bend down further. The last time she found black bugs in his hair—tough, angry ones that burrowed a little under the skin, making removal painful and difficult. She had to get away for a mroa and cry, and cursed herself for subjecting Dobrin to such a pitiful lie of a life.

He'll be alright, he's a strong boy, just like his father, she thought to herself. And more than anything, he wants to see the TELREC pay for his father's death.

Even now he pushed ahead through the stench, through corridors filled with thick pools of stagnant, vermin-infested water, around damaged containers replete with toxic waste from long ago not because of his faith, but because it was the only constructive way he knew to take steps to vengeance. She may have been leading him and fifteen others to a temporary Iggaraout, but he was taking a few more steps to confront the men who killed his father.

Ellore couldn't believe Hassous was back. Earlier in the roa she stumbled in the temporary headquarters, asking where the meeting was tonight. Ellore almost cried, she thought Hassous dead. No, she responded, Ail-jat was caught and killed by the TELREC, but Hassous hid, and quieted her mind like she was told, and the TELREC passed her by. As they now crept deeper and deeper into Foundation, making their way through the darkness, doubts Ellore kept quiet screamed in her mind. The TELREC are too focused on finding her to miss a quiet mind, especially one as untrained as Hassous. She seemed to lack some detail when Ellore scanned her mind, and that worried her most of all. She shared her concerns with Dobrin, and though Dobrin agreed to go on with the meeting, he had his mind fully open, scanning the area around them, monitoring the cast-net. Nijil, a close friend of Dobrin's, well respected by Ellore, stayed with him, enhancing his scan with her own.

^Do you know what topside is like, Dobrin?^ she asked, moving up closer to him.

^No, I'm afraid I don't Nijil. Have you been there often?^

^I was lucky, as the first place I worked was in a cast-station on Topside, near a small bit of land filled with trees. Though I haven't been back in many cas, I keep those memories and treasure them as my most prized possession. I open my mind to you.^

Dobrin nested the images in Nijil's mind. The clean air, filled with a sweet moisture from open areas of water, great white clouds untainted with pollution, the blackness of night that felt of freedom and joy, filled with the galaxy close but far, rising like a great Holis, keeping watch over them all. He had been growing closer to her over the past few roas, casting with her long into the night, as Ellore watched them nearby. Nijil was a little older than Dobrin, but she respected him immensely, and seemed to warm his heart each time they cast.

^Stop!^ he suddenly cast to all, and they froze in place. Something caught his mental gaze, hanging just outside the periphery of his awareness. He concentrated, and heard a small sound, like flesh moving against metal. Slowly, carefully, he moved his way between Nijil and another next to her. Several thick pipes ran along the corridor they were traveling, with an opening just wide enough to squeeze through.

Though I may have grown taller, I'm still just as thin, lucky for me.

He squeezed his way through, smelling something different as he did. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, and as they did, he ran the smell over in his mind.

Blood.

As he made the connection, a small figure came into resolution in front of him. It was a pale-white, child-sized figure, crouched tightly in a space too small to be believed. Its foot was slipping on something, and Dobrin could see it had cut its leg at some point, and the blood was trickling down, making it lose its grip. It moved like a broken meta, absently pulling back on its leg, mindlessly fighting against gravity. Dobrin breathed a heavy sigh, as he knew what he had found. He crawled back out, and after he held his mother by her shoulders, he finally cast to her.

^Sentinels.^

Her face snapped in a second. Plans she came up with since they first started meeting her followers came into focus. She ordered them back along the corridor, had them silence their minds. She had them burn the knowledge of others in their minds as she and Dobrin allocated much of that information to a space ready to be destroyed. She could nest fear quickly consumed her entire group, and she couldn't blame them, as she was probably more terrified than anyone.

^Do you think we'll make it out?^

^I don't know, mother,^ cast Dobrin, struggling to focus his mind against his growing anxiety. ^Hassous' mind must have been scanned, then wiped. If that's the case, Uld is nearby.^

Damn him! Ellore couldn't understand his fixation with her. They had only met twice, and she felt she wasn't a remarkably beautiful woman. Uld could have had any woman on the planet, experienced any virt-life he chose.

But I want you.

She stumbled, feeling the weight of Uld's mind.

^What is it?^ asked Dobrin, giving her his arm for support.

^Uld.^ She steeled herself against the nausea building in her throat, and cast to the group. ^All of you, we're at the junction. Four paths—split, and run!^

They did, groups of four running down four different corridors, Dobrin taking a quick moment to wish Nijil well. He then ran with all his might, steering his mother down a corridor to the right, one from which he sensed the least enemy activity. They ran quickly and silently through a forest of debris, every step a danger of falling through half-rusted floorpanels or tripping over the webs of exposed pipes and wires. The darkness smothered them, stoking their fear and stifling their breath. Through half-collapsed tunnels and semi-flooded storerooms they fled, struggling to keep the terror in their minds at bay, straining with their eyes to see more than a few tils ahead.

^I can sense them, mother,^ he panted. ^Grunts, moving fast. They have split up, with three closing behind us.^

Ellore gleaned their position. ^Move faster Dobrin.^

She could nest Uld taunting her, laughing at her. He rolled over images in her mind—sick, depraved thoughts and sensations. She tried to shut him out, but she was focused too much on running. Dobrin knew something was distracting her, could see it in her halting movements.

^Focus, mother. We cannot be caught.^

They tried to move faster, but the Grunts were created for the hunt, to chase their prey and dispatch it quickly. Oblivious to pain, or fatigue, they gained quickly on Ellore and Dobrin, taking great lunging leaps over and through the ancient wasteland.

^Dobrin,^ she cast, slowing down, ^there is a service conduit just up ahead. It will be difficult, but we must try to go into there.^

^Alright. Drop back, so I can try to pry off its cover.^

They switched places, and soon they were at the entrance. Dobrin dropped to his knees, wrapping his hands around the lip of the circular metal cover. The ground was caked with dust that seared his nostrils, forcing him to cough. The cover was slick with mold, black and thick. He dug in, and pulled with all his weight, slipping several times on the ground before he was able to get a good footing.

^They're almost here!^ she cried. ^Shift over.^

She took the other side, and together, they pulled with all their strength. The metal cover groaned, and with a few more tugs, soon came off. Shadows could be seen rounding a corner behind them, the sound of guttural groans punctuating the silence, reverberating around them. They both froze for a moment out of fear, then Dobrin regained his senses.

^You first.^

Ellore scrambled inside, trying to find her footing in the darkness. Her foot found the first rungs of a ladder, and hurried down.

^Come on, Dobrin!^

He backed himself in and then caught sight of the first grunt. A massive creature, seven feet in height, with shoulders built high with muscle, it seemed to glow from a sickly light within, with pale skin that reminded him of lessons he took on the primitive races of Iqui. It slowed, searching quickly around the corridor, two others falling in behind.

^Move, Dobrin!^

He tried to move down quietly, moving his hands off the floor panel, but it shifted against the concrete floor. The sound drew the grunt's attention, and it dropped down to search the floor. Dobrin came to his senses, and started down the ladder. He cursed himself for not having the time to move the cover back in place. The three grunts circled the entrance, which was too narrow for their hulking bodies.

^Where is this leading?^ he asked.

^I don't know. but if it's away from them, and Uld, it has to be better.^

Overhead, a pounding shook down dust and debris, each strike accompanied with a grunt or groan. Ellore and Dobrin moved down quicker, the slick ladder shifting against their weight. Small rocks soon fell from overhead, as the sound of metal being torn filled their ears.

They can't be that strong . . .

They paused for a moment, listening, and soon heard footsteps on the ladder above them.

^Dobrin, pull up your sleeves like this,^ she cast him an image of what she meant, ^and grab onto the sides of the ladder. It's slick enough that we might be able to slide down. Put your feet on the sides. We need to make some headway.^

^Alright,^ he cast anxiously.

Ellore balanced herself on the sides of the ladder, and started to slide down. Slowly at first, then with building speed. She could hear Dobrin doing the same thing above her.

I only hope the bottom isn't too far away . . .

A dim light could be seen beneath her and in the center a small metal platform, overlooking hundreds of massive containers.

^Watch out!^

Above her, she knew Dobrin had slipped. She fought her maternal instinct and pulled in, watching his body fall past her, knocking her hard in the shoulder. She almost fell off, but was able to maintain her hold.

^Dobrin!^

A loud thud was heard below.

^Dobrin! Answer me!^

She slid down, as fast as she could, hearing the footsteps above her grow louder, the ladder shaking violently.

^Dobrin!^ she slammed, trying to glean any thoughts from his mind. She finally sensed his mind was still alive, could feel his breathing.

^I'm here.^

She got to the bottom, and turned him over. Blood oozed from his mouth, and his legs were twisted unnaturally beneath him. He slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the pain.

^Go on, mother, you're too important. Leave me . . .^

In his mind, he could nest the cries of the others, feel as they were torn apart by the grunts that chased them, killed by expressionless beasts shaped as men. He could even feel the last gasp from Nijil, as she reached out to him, wishing him well. Dobrin braced himself for the inevitable.

^I will never, never leave you, Dobrin,^ cast Ellore, sobbing. ^Where you go, I go.^ She held his head in his arms, watching the huge, pale-skinned beasts above come closer and closer.

^I love you, Dobrin.^

^I love you, mother.^

Darkness came over Ellore, as great hands swept her away, her mind silenced by an unseen force.

The next thing she nest was a cast from the last person she ever wanted to see.

^Ellore, it is so good to see you again!^

It took a while before she could open her eyes, whatever drug or mental agent they gave her was slow to wear off, and made her more susceptible to bright light. When she did finally get her eyes open, she wished she were blind. Uld stood above her, a little thinner to her eyes, but all the more menacing. Wearing close-cut white slacks and a tight, navy-blue shirt, he almost looked to be someone else to her, someone respectable. That is, until the gleam of his polished black boots caught her eye. Then, she understood he was merely playing at respectability. At his side was a sienna-robed TELREC and the three grunts that pursued her.

^Why did you run from me Ellore?^ he asked with mock sincerity. ^I only wanted to take the greatest of care of you. I mean, Ksilte's death must have been such a blow to you, you need a man, to give you some support.^ His sarcasm made Ellore sick, and she desperately wanted to wipe his arrogance away. ^Why, I remember seeing him on the ground, just before he died.^ Uld stooped, making a grand flourish over the body of her son. ^Oh, and look, it's Dobrin! I showed him images of your son, before he died. He was so very happy to see them.^

Dobrin lay on the ground, next to Ellore. He was conscious, but couldn't move much. He did manage to mentally lash out at Uld, using whatever strength he had against him. Uld shook a little, then smiled, laughing softly as he struck out with the back of his hand, knocking Dobrin unconscious. Ellore leapt to her feet and tried to attack him, but a grunt held her back. She kicked at the beast, bit deep into its arm, all to no avail.

^Impressive,^ cast Uld, resting his boot on Dobrin's left hand. ^The little boy must really hate me. I think he would do very well back in the fleshival. After all, that virt-life I have of him has made me so much lottment, I really can't believe it!^ he cried, beginning to sweat. ^Everyone wants to see it! Young and old, sisters and brothers, it has become the one thing that is pulling this forsaken world together! You make for great theater, my young friend. If not for your mother, I'll bet you would enjoy making a few more. Why, a couple of big, burly TELREC, some chains, and, oh yes, I really liked the bestiality angle. It made for an interesting diversion. If only I could find that TELREC you loved in that virt-life, so she could make a guest appearance . . .^

^Leave my son alone!^

Uld came close to Ellore, holding her face as a vise in his thin, bony hands.

^No, my dear, my love. If you had given yourself to me willingly, before, I might have spared you son. But you put me through so much . . . trouble,^ his mind flashed back to the punishment he received from Denged, ^and I need to make you pay. Kurd!^

Kurd stepped forward, out of the shadows. ^Hello Ellore.^

^Shackle them,^ commanded Uld, ^and muzzle their minds.^

Kurd bent down to attach a device to Dobrin, as Ellore racked her brain to try to figure a way out. She saw the metal bracelets go on her son, his legs clamp automatically together as the magnetic field was initialized. Kurd then attached a small circular device to Dobrin's head, and was about to turn it on, when the door slid open behind them. Uld whirled around in anger, as he realized who it was.

^Suld.^

Suld stood before them, fury and murder in his eyes, looking as vengeance unleashed. He glanced over at Ellore and Dobrin, then at the grunts behind them.

^Uld.^

Uld calmed his mind, a gentle smile returning to his lips. ^I must congratulate you on coming, in the nick of time, as they say. A true hero, to save a damsel in distress. How chivalrous.^ Uld scanned the area, but could only sense Suld. ^Where are your soldiers? Where are your Iganinagi friends? You see, I have my friends here.^

The TELREC next to Suld nodded in greeting. ^You must have excellent mind-dampening technology, Mechle of OLMAC.^

^Yes I do, TELREC, just for times like these.^

^Oh Suld,^ cast Uld, ^don't forget to greet my other friends . . .^

More grunts returned after dispatching their prey. Fifteen of them now stood behind Ellore, their hands covered with blood and flesh. Ellore desperately wanted to move away, as she could barely stomach the notion that pieces of people she once knew were strewn about their bodies. The smell was offensive, and Ellore was glad Dobrin was still unconscious.

^So, did you really come here alone?^ asked Uld, suspecting some trap.

^No. Aeolle?^

She came out from behind him looking a little nervous, but resolved. ^Yes Suld.^

^Oh look, a reunion of friends.^ Uld stepped forward a little, examining Aeolle. ^I can't say this is completely unexpected, after seeing you two at my party. I may have been a touch inebriated, but I still was able to notice some things.^ Uld affected a clownish frown, pressing his hands together. ^Why, my sweet? After all I gave you, after all the pleasure you had and could have had?^

^Pleasure at the expense of the weak?^ she demanded, the mature woman within her becoming visibly apparent. ^No longer can I, will I, sit idly by as you and your friends abuse the innocents of this world.^

^Your words smack of the delusions of Suld,^ cast Uld, spitting on the ground. ^And suddenly I even think on poor Ksilte, for his name did sound like someone who spit!^ He laughed to himself, happy that others were forced to share in his amusement. ^So is that why you took Herdl away from his playthings? I knew it smacked of morality. If there's one thing I can sense, it's morality. It stinks like the worst waste-reclamation plant, glows like fission fuel waste. It's not too late, you know, Aeolle. You can come back to me, to the winning side.^

^I'd rather die with them,^ she cast grimly, ^than live with you.^

^Fine, have it your way,^ cast Uld with a casual shrug. ^I'll crush you like the rest, under the heels of my boots, and won't so much as pause to wipe the stain from my shoes.^

Dobrin slowly came back to consciousness, trying to move his legs absently on the floor. Ellore rushed down, cradled him in her arms.

^Well Suld, how is it to end?^ Uld appeared bored, as he was hoping for more of a fight. He absently ground his boots on Dobrin's hand, seemingly oblivious to his torment. ^Would you like to die here, at my hands, or be taken into custody by my friend in the brown and gold?^

^Uld, this is between us. Deep down, I think you know it always has been. Ksilte was a good man, but not really a worthy competitor for you. Admit it—you were overjoyed when you found out where my allegiances lie. It gave you the excuse to make me a target, to dream of facing me.^

^I think you overestimate yourself. But yes, I am more than happy to destroy you, to bring down the once mighty OLMAC.^

^Then keep your Grunts chained, and let's have at it.^

^Agreed.^

The grunts allowed Ellore to pull Dobrin off to the side, as Suld and Uld circled one another.

^Oh, first, I need to do this.^ With a sudden motion, Suld concentrated on the TELREC, mentally attacking him. The TELREC struggled for a moment as his mind folded in on itself. He quickly collapsed into a pool of his robes, his face distorted in pain. ^No sense having any unwanted prying eyes as we settle this.^

^Full of surprises, aren't you?^ Uld grappled with Suld's mind, as Suld did the same. They also fought physically, each trying to knock the other to the ground using feet and hands. Uld was a master at deceit and guile, and used every trick he knew to try to get a mental foothold in Suld's mind. Suld merely threw up massive defense after defense, preparing to absorb a lot of damage.

Uld smirked at his ploy. ^A rather simple strategy—trying to wear me down? You think that physically, you are slightly superior? Well, I have a surprise for you.^

Uld boldly grabbed Suld and casually threw him against a wall, his bones audibly creaking under the stress. Suld shook his head, his mental defenses holding, but still feeling a little shaken, looking at Uld in astonishment.

^Yeah, I've gotten myself a few gene-hancements.^ He preened for no one in particular, straightening his shirt, humorously admiring his physique. ^Just in case an opportunity such as this should present itself.^

Suld tried to outmaneuver Uld, rolling on his side, trying to get back on his feet, but Uld was too quick. In a moment, Uld had Suld by his neck, and lifted him into the air.

^I was debating whether or not to use my knife on you, but I thought you should feel some broader pain first.^

With one hand on his neck, and another on his waist, Uld threw Suld, head first, into a corner of the room. Louder cracking sounds could be heard as he fell, and he lay a long while in the shadows, mentally willing his CMS system to repair some of the damage. Uld patiently waited, flexing his muscles and mind. After a few mroas, he advanced on Suld, who struggled to stand up.

^Now, I think it is time for the blade.^

Dobrin tried to lunge forward, but Ellore and Aeolle restrained him. Uld's short blade gleamed in the light, almost as brightly as his teeth, serrated with vicious points along its length. Suld moved slowly in the darkness, his body broken. Uld watched him stand, crouched over, with eyes of hatred and malice.

^Come to me Suld,^ he taunted, feeling the end was near. ^I so lust for your death cries, my old and dear friend.^

Suld rushed at Uld, trying to ignore the pain in his neck and chest. He went on the offensive mentally as well, battering down some of Uld's mind. But before he realized it, Uld was digging into Suld's shoulder with the knife, twisting his blade around as blood gushed forth.

^Hurts, doesn't it?^ he cast softly. ^Nothing is as effective as a blade! Not particle weapons, not projectile weapons. The blade is nothing short of beautiful. It can be used to prolong life, or hasten death.^

The space suddenly seemed dark and close to Suld, reeking of the smell of flesh and death. He backed away, but Uld grabbed his jacket and yanked him close, shoving the blade into the side of his chest. He went quickly, in and out, as Suld moaned in pain.

^This really must hurt—I can see it on your face! You see, if Dobrin over there had your strength, maybe he would have fared better against me. He has a reason to want to win. But why are you here?^ he asked, leaving the blade fully inserted for a moment. His cheek touched Suld's, as Uld inhaled deeply the smell of Suld's sweat and blood. ^For the wife of a friend? For a whore who is well past her prime? Poor reasons to throw one's life away.^

Suld pushed Uld away, staggering back, the floor growing slick with his fluids.

^I am here . . . because never again . . . will I stand by idly as people like you soil our planet!^

^How noble,^ wryly retorted Uld. He leapt with lightning speed, in an instant slashing Suld again on the same side of his chest, bringing him down to his knees.

^And I am here, so that never again will I hide in the shadows. With you gone, I will assassinate Iant, and take over control of the Leviathan.^ Uld glanced over at the body wrapped in brown and gold robes. ^Then maybe even the TELREC.^

Aeolle screamed. ^What are you waiting for, Suld? End this!^

Uld ran at him again. Suld tried to dodge, but Uld was too fast. He sliced along Suld's neck, cutting deep, almost to bone. Suld collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily, feeling his life flow away.

^What did she mean, my friend?^ demanded Uld. ^Another surprise? Well, I think it's too late for you.^

Not now, not now! What of Mechle Rulsi, what of Ksilte? I cannot die. My damned pride. Why did I let it go on this long? He turned towards Kurd.

^Now.^

Kurd stepped forward. ^You shall not die, Suld.^

Uld whirled on Kurd in total surprise. ^What?^

Kurd reached out an arm, and grasped hold Uld's neck. Uld futilely tried to fight back, shoving his knife in and out of Kurd, slashing at his arm, but after a few moments, understood what the problem was.

^You . . . you're meta!^

Kurd nodded with an ever-widening grin. ^Correct. ^

The Kurd-meta threw something at the grunts, small metallic devices that scurried up their wide, muscular legs, burrowing within. Their bodies shook for a moment, then collapsed, the life quickly ebbing away.

^Micro-meta. Saved, for just such an occasion. Why did you wait so long, Suld?^

Suld tried to sit up, but kept slipping on his own blood. ^Human pride. You wouldn't understand.^

^You thought you could beat me?^ Uld laughed. ^You're pathetic Suld. You can't even face me man to man. You're not worthy to run OLMAC. So many of your ancestors were strong and vital, almost heroic in stature. What a disappointment you must be to them. How you soil their memory.^

Through the entrance came several more meta. They knelt down and worked quickly on Suld, closing his wounds, attaching two devices to his head, as another freed Dobrin from his bonds and tended to his wounds. Suld slowly stood, regaining his strength. One of the meta connected with the Kurd-meta.

^Suld, we have information.^

^What?^

^TELREC forces are attacking Gan-Elldon.^

Uld laughed, so hard he fell to the floor. ^I get it now!^ he cried, still furiously trying to break Kurd's hold. ^They used me as a diversion, and when they got you off your damned moon, when they knew you'd be occupied, they struck! Oh my, and for a moment, you thought the battle was over. You may have tricked me, but you won't fool the 'RECs! You'll die, you disgusting waste, no matter how many mechanical friends you have.^

^How curious you now champion those you would eagerly replace,^ cast Suld, feeling his strength return.

^I have no allegiances, other than to myself, and my few select friends,^ retorted Uld. ^Of whom, it seems you have compromised. I shall have to be more careful, when I return.^

^You will never return to that disgrace you call a life,^ cast Suld, advancing on Uld. ^Never.^

Ellore could see the murder on Suld's face, and rushed to stop him.

^Why did you come here?^ she cast desperately. ^How did you find us?^

He pushed her aside, and went over to Uld.

^What're you going to do?^ Uld cast, with a smirk on his face.

^End this.^

Suld reached out his hands, and closed them around Uld's neck. He worked on Uld's mind, stifling it, beginning to shut down his CMS system. Ellore watched him for a moment, debating with herself about what to do.

^Suld, why did you come?^ she asked again. He ignored her, as he worked on Uld. ^Why?!^ she slammed, trying to break Suld's focus.

^I came because of Ksilte.^

^Why because of Ksilte?^

^Because Ksilte was a kind, intelligent, gracious man,^ cast Suld, forcing himself harder on Uld, ^who only wanted the best for his people, especially for you and your son.^

^Would he have wanted you to do this?^

Uld never closed his eyes. He kept focused on Suld, keeping the same smirk on his face, even as his face started to turn blue.

^Do you know what he would have done to you, Ellore?!^

^Yes, I saw what he wanted to do. He cast those things to me.^

^He would have sold your son back into the fleshivals, destroyed his adult life as he destroyed his childhood!^

She gently reached out to him. ^I know Suld, I know. But there is too much viciousness on Novan, too much murder and death. If you truly want to begin anew, start a new future for our people, it must begin here.^

He desperately wanted to break Uld's neck, even felt the strength building within his hands and arms. The very smell of the man disgusted Suld, as if all the foul things he had done made their presence known in that smell. As much as it pained him, he released Uld, his arms slumping at his sides. Ellore took Suld's hands carefully and gently as two meta took hold of Uld.

^Ksilte thought you were a strong and great man.^

Suld wrenched his gaze away from Uld, looking at Ellore for the first time, seeing many things that made clearer Ksilte's love for her.

^Ksilte was the great man,^ he said, holding her tightly. ^I miss him, and I was only just getting to know him. He promised he would bring you and your son to Gan-Elldon. He loved you, so very much.^

^I know. He was my life, and I was his. Thank you so much for coming for me and my son.^

Ellore returned his tight embrace, finally feeling relief and hope, weeping softly in his chest.

^How damn touching.^ Uld spat blood on the ground. ^I'll bet you wish that TELREC was here, little boy, so she could kiss you and fuck you.^

Dobrin viciously lunged at him with all his strength, punching him in the stomach, and chest, while Uld laughed a sickly laugh. Suld regretfully pulled him away.

^Enough, Dobrin. There will come a roa that his kind will not exist, when the people of this world have had enough of sin and depravity, and cry out for their salvation, cry out for love to reign where hatred thrives, cry out for a unity of man and woman that will be everlasting.^

^Oh save me from your pompous, self-righteous preaching!^ cried Uld, trying to pull away from the Kurd-meta. ^This world will never beg for your hateful morality, for your cowardly piety! The souman nature is one to seek out what is base and low. High-minded ideals such as yours would need to be forced on them, and eventually, you and your kind would turn into the very dictators you seek to overthrow!^ He laughed viciously, sending a shudder of fear even through the Kurd-meta. ^Ellore might hate me, shit, even Dobrin might hate me! But if they weren't hurt by me, if they were allowed to grow up as other Novans do, they would worship me. They would buy my virtlives, patronize my fleshivals, sell their very sons and daughters into—^

In an instant, Suld brought the side of his hand down on Uld's head, rendering him unconscious.

^Finally,^ cast Aeolle. ^I was getting sick of nesting that filth.^

The Kurd-meta lifted Uld onto one of its shoulders. ^We must return to Gan-Elldon.^

^Agreed. Ellore, this is Ciluo. He replaced Kurd, who was terminated several dcas ago. He is to be trusted, and will take care of you.^

Suld turned to leave, but Ellore held onto him, a determined look in her eyes.

^We're coming with you.^

Suld shook his head. ^Not now—when you have healed. This fight has been a long time in coming, The TELREC want to destroy me? They will face the entire might of OLMAC, every ship we ever built, every meta we have at our disposal, every piece of weaponry created over the past millennia. From the depths of my heart I summon forth all the collective wrongs of all the generations of Novans who came before me, born into unwitting slavery, unwilling manipulation. They shall be avenged, on this roa, at my hands and the hands of those who believe as I do.^ He turned to Ciluo. ^Are you, and your kind with me?!^

^We are. The meta stand with OLMAC.^

^Then may the TELREC fall. May we stand side by side on Malhrer, over the broken, inert carcass of Mal!^

# 11

Around the twin globes, I'll search

above all others, you come first.

Sweet love of mine, sweet love of mine.

When I find you corrupted woman,

don't you run, don't you struggle

You'll be mine, love of mine, you'll be mine . . .

\- popular song about the hunt for Nahlai by Denged

^Why do you tolerate him?^

Denged nest Gilc's words as they descended into another complex of suites, deep in the heart of Vieol, one of the few remaining cities on Novan. Vieol was an ancient city, created several centuries before the first downloads of Novanism. It was also the smallest of the three remaining cities, filled with more separatist elements than any other community. Many times the Monitors beseeched Mal to allow them to destroy the city entirely, but Mal always rejected their requests. Somehow it never drew the ire of the TELREC, never drew increased CRODAM patrols. Whatever elements lived there, knew how to keep quiet. Stealthily Denged, Gilc and Errece made their way through the labyrinth of its architecture, without the Maenids, as Denged wanted the Maenids to intensify their training.

The celebrations sickened him. Those his Maenids had, and those he nest about that Uld had, both made him physically nauseous, for they seemed too similar for his liking, too much as if they were both different aspects of the same foul creature. They also suggested a battle had been won, that an end was near. He knew it not to be so. He could feel it in the cast-net, the growing discontent, the festering malaise just under the surface. He had finally gotten detailed reports of Rhonva's battle with Graid, and didn't like what he found out. Suld was preparing for battle, and Denged knew that OLMAC would prove to be a formidable opponent.

It's not the time for celebrations. It's time for reassessment, time to quantify and categorize the strength of our opponents.

As Ellore consumed Uld's thoughts, so Nahlai consumed Denged's. She was his every waking thought, the first thing and the last thing he thought of every roa. It became great battle within himself. For so long he was able to distance Nahlai in his mind, able to abstractly hate her. Now, with the possibility of facing her real and near, he began to have doubts about whether he could kill her.

Errece could sense it. She had grown more distant of late, hanging a little further back when they traveled. She was quick and curt in her thoughts, her looks becoming furtive and full of suspicion. Denged wanted to cast with her, find out what was wrong, but knew better. Errece more than any other responded to strength, and despised weakness. She thought in absolutes, and could not live in any grey area.

^Why do you tolerate him?^ pressed Gilc again as they opened a door to a suite, supposedly a residence of Nahlai's. Chronicle irregularities pointed to this and several other locations as possibilities. As the door slid open, several figures could be seen scurrying inside, their minds closing shut. Denged strode in, a tired expression on his face, his long sienna and gold robes flowing open behind him.

^You will be still and null,^ he ordered. ^You must comply with the TELREC.^

Denged saw one of them reach for a small emdec weapon. In moments all of them lay unconscious, sprawled on the floor, casual victims of Denged's power. Errece came forward, her knife drawn, and peered into their minds.

^They are . . . Iganinagi.^

Denged stood over the bodies. ^Kill them.^

Errece plunged her knife quickly in and out of the bodies as Denged slumped against a wall. Gilc joined Errece, slicing and hacking at the bodies, as she cast to Denged.

^Why won't you answer me?^

^What do you mean?^

^Why do you allow Uld to live?!^ she demanded, viciously severing a man's jugular.

Coincidentally, Denged had been thinking on Uld recently, off and on. Something didn't seem right to him. Not Uld—he seemed as hateful and full of malice as ever. It was the circle Uld kept. Something was wrong about them, and he couldn't quite nail down what it was.

I just haven't been paying much attention to Uld. I don't want to pay much attention to Uld.

Gilc and Errece stood, wiping their blades. Denged looked at both of them.

^Did you nest about Ilgin?^ he asked.

^Yes. They were about to leave to meet with him.^

Denged whistled. ^Imagine that, he finally would consent to a meeting with the Iganinagi, and we just happen to stumble on their emissaries?^

^You suspect a trap?^

^Yes, but we've handled many that were much tougher before.^ He pulled out his emdec weapon. ^We will fulfill their obligations.^

They strode out quickly, moving back out into the tight streets of Foundation, Gilc coming alongside Denged.

^You want an answer?^ he asked, growing irritated.

^Yes!^

^Uld is not important. He is not a Rell, not a subversive. He's a Novan, one who lives his life according to the freedoms we have granted them.^

^He has delusions, Denged—I know you can sense it! He won't be happy until he rules even the TELREC.^

^Then he will fall, as all others have who have shared his dream.^

They made their way through the crowds to a nearby hoverport, where they boarded a small TELREC transport. They sat, as the meta at the controls brought the craft into the air, then ascended into the thick, slow-moving traffic of Core. Denged glanced for a moment out the window at the Novan landscape, and for a brief moment, wanted to hold Gilc's hand.

Why do I do this to myself? What does it benefit? It seems as if the more I struggle to deny it exists, the more it strengthens within me.

They landed halfway around the planet, and began their descent into Foundation. One of the older sections of the planet, large steel and iron doors still separated many of the levels. Now home to hundreds of thousands of apathets, addicts and isolationists, it once was a great basin that housed much of the water for the planet. The three of them descended in a tight lift into the great metal shell that formed the lowest populated point on the planet. It stretched several thousand tils before them, illuminated by thousands of barely-functioning mitters. The air was close and damp, as some water was still stored in smaller compartments along its length. After almost a droa in the lift they finally reached the bottom, standing on one of the lowest points on the surface of the planet.

^It's been a long time since we came down here,^ cast Denged, surveying the area.

Errece nodded, looking around, scanning the area. Denged glanced up at the great cavernous metal ceiling hundreds of tils above. For a moment, the massiveness of the world impressed itself on him, and he could almost nest the thoughts of the untold trillions living above.

^He is supposedly two ticks ahead, waiting in a side chamber,^ he cast, focusing on the mission. ^Let's move.^

They broke into a run, racing through the landscape, hurdling over the dead and dying, moving with a blinding swiftness between the debris of long ago. Gilc watched as Denged ran, her eyes drawn to his form—perfection in motion. She so wanted to throw her arms around him and drag him down, take him in the bowels of the world.

When she first met Denged, she knew not what to think of him. Gilc was young, barely sixteen cas when she was disciplined for the last time by a TELREC board of review. She couldn't stand the formalities of being a TELREC—the submission to authority, the accountability, the standards she was supposed to live up to. She joined because of what happened to her in her youth, to try to break the foul beast of the fleshivals that consumed her alive. She had seen her mother, her father both laugh and jeer as others bid on her body, saw them take virtlives as others had their fun with her. She suffered merciless beatings by her father, vicious emotional abuse by her mother. She felt as an object for most of her young life—and object that no one wanted for very long. Joining the TELREC got her out of her home, got her a different place to live, and for a while, she found great joy from it. But the TELREC never wanted to punish people as she did. When she came across those who savaged children, she would vent all her anger, all her pain on them, slicing into their bodies and minds with joyful vengeance. When she was finally dismissed by the TELREC board, and was packing her things, Denged came in, a totally new man, unknown to her. She looked up, and saw his placid, child-like face looking down at her.

^Leaving?^ he asked.

^What's it to you?^

^I've seen you, nest the reports about you.^

^And?^

That was when he came close and in that moment, she felt his strength, felt fear consume her whole. Her arrogance, her attitude disappeared in that moment. Then, the aura faded, and there was just him and her.

^I am assembling a group that will do what others won't. A group that will rid Novan of what festers on its soil. And when we catch those who hurt the weak and the defenseless, we will show them no mercy. No TELREC laws will stop us; no Rellican morality will hold our blades. They will feel, in their final moments, what they have forced others to feel.^

She was an absolute to him from that moment on. No words of doubt or dissent, never did she balk at an assignment. The thoughts of those early times came back at her now. She stopped running, and Errece and Denged soon stopped as well, coming back to her.

^Why haven't you dealt with Uld?!^ she cried, looking up at him with defiance for the first time since she became a Maenid. Denged came close, the aura of fear sending Errece away quickly, making Gilc struggle to stand straight.

^Denged . . . no,^ she cast, refusing to back away. ^You must answer me this! You promised when I joined you, that we would crush those who abuse others. We dealt with many, in those early roas. More and more, we deal with revolutionaries, insurgents, do more TELREC bidding, while Uld, Herdl, and those like them run free!^

The aura faded, and Denged lowered his head.

^I . . . I am sorry.^

Gilc almost collapsed nesting those words. She came close, and embraced him.

^I'm sorry, Denged.^

^You shouldn't be. I feel that, more and more, the Maenids have become this thing, this machine, that needs to be fed. They need challenges that the perverted cannot give them. They glory in killing them, but take no satisfaction in it. As for Uld, well, the Monitors have stated that we are forbidden from killing Uld.^

Gilc was utterly shocked and dismayed. ^Why?^

^I do not know,^ he grumbled, frustrated. ^He must fit into Mal's long-range plans. There are so many things going on, Gilc, that I cannot figure out. Too many schemes, too many hidden agendas.^ He straightened. ^When we first started, it was fine to strike out in a new direction. Now, I just want to be a soldier, I need my boundaries well-defined.^

She pressed her thoughts next to his, opening her mind in an intimate way. ^I understand.^

Gilc took up his hand in hers, holding one of his mighty hands in both of hers. The warmth was a narcotic to her, the sensation of living flesh and blood, pumping in sympathy to her own. His skin was rough to her, even though she had been though just as much—handled just as many weapons, climbed just as many walls and ladders and dark, dank places no one civilized ventured. She could feel every crease, every wrinkle as she held him, lightly running her fingers over the ridges that housed his veins, thick with fluid. She looked down at his hand, a hand that had killed so many, that had pried open so many doors and portals, that had saved her and every other Maenid countless times. She needed both of her hands to support its weight, it seemed to have been created on another world it was so dense and heavy. And yet, with the image of his eyes in her mind, his hand seemed gentle, and yielding, one that would never be raised against her, one that would only protect her. She ran her thumbs along his wrist, feeling the breadth of his bone and muscle, navigating through the tiny hairs on his skin as if she knew their every place. This was her moment, this was his surrender. She held him like this sometimes, lately more often than before. And all he could do is stand, subdued by her power, arrested by her touch. She may never have laid with Denged, never have allowed her hands and skin and eyes and tongue explore the beautiful depths of his body, but in this motion, in this microcosm of sex, she did to his hand what she longed to do to his body.

^When, Denged?^ she asked, almost begging.

^I . . . I do not know.^

She looked up into his eyes, her eyes now, for they were, for that moment, her possessions. In their minds, she came to him, and held him as a lover would, her arms circling around him countless times as he lost himself in her form. Their lips locked, their tongues blending into each other, as their mouths consumed each other whole. They became one body, one form, a union of mind and soul. Denged stumbled back, recoiling as if in pain, yet Gilc held onto him, pulling him close, holding onto his hand with all her strength. Eventually she let him go, felt the friction of his palm resist the departure, the gaze of his eyes move reluctantly away. Errece came back, motioning to a corridor up ahead.

^Can you sense that?^

Gilc and Denged both focused on the corridor.

^Two hundred, maybe three hundred people,^ replied Denged, wanting to rearrange his clothes, feeling indiscreet and vulnerable. ^Ilgin is there. You two move in directly, I'll circle around, and come in through an access panel in back.^

Gilc reluctantly moved off with Errece, both masking their thoughts. Denged moved quickly down a small walkway, making his way into a low, dusty service duct. Discarded clothing littered the duct, and it stank with excrement, as it obviously was used as a toilet and garbage receptacle. A few rodents scurried by, and as he moved by them, he began to feel a strong pressure on his mind.

Must be a few traps in here.

As he moved forward, the pressure grew in intensity, becoming first and irritant, then weight that he struggled to bear. Never before did he feel such a weight on his mind.

What is this? It can't be mechanical, and yet it doesn't feel organic. Denged felt his every step grow labored, struggled to make his mind draw breath into his body, pump blood to his heart. What is this? I . . . I . . .

Suddenly, he felt his consciousness separate from his body, felt as if he was Denged no more.

^Have you ever dreamed, Hols?^ cast an unknown source. Denged couldn't tell where the cast was coming from, or if it was even a cast, so close to his own thought-patterns it was.

^What? Where . . Where am I?^

^Have you ever dreamed, Hols?^ again asked the mind, in some eerie echo of Gilc's pleading. Denged tried to move, but he felt no connection to his body. Somewhere, in a distant part of his mind, he could see two portals that probably were his eyes, but they were too far away.

^Who are—^

^Have you ever dreamed!^ demanded the mind, sending a violent tremor through Denged's consciousness.

^No . . . yes, maybe,^ he replied haltingly. ^I don't know, I don't remember.^

^You used to dream, Hols. Before it all began, before it all happened to you. Then you had a few, terrible dreams. Then nothing.^

^What's it to you?^ demanded Denged, trying to assert himself.

^You are quite singular, Hols, the last and greatest of your kind. Unlike the others, you feel little remorse, or doubt.^

^I am not of doubt. I am of purpose, and accomplishment.^

^Don't you ever want to improve yourself? Change yourself?^

^I am who I am, and who I will be,^ cast Denged firmly. ^To suggest otherwise, to think otherwise, would not be who I am.^

^A curious philosophy,^ replied the mind. ^Reminds me of Uld. He is a very singular man also! He never doubts himself, never questions his actions. If he is thwarted in his pursuit of a goal, he becomes patient, and bides his time, confident in the knowledge that eventually he will attain his goal. It is a common trait among predators in the animal kingdom. And he has achieved his goals, so far. As have you, my Hols.^

^How do you know so much about me? Why do you call me by that . . . other name?^

^Don't you know the answer to that question?^

Denged analyzed the patterns of thought, the unique aspect of the cast words. ^You . . . are Ilgin.^

^Yes, Hols. I have spent much time with Mal. I have learned of things not even the Monitors know about. I know the genetic breeding program that brought you into existence. I know of the sentient suns . . .^

^The what?^ asked Denged, shocked for a moment. Laughter filled the void Denged was in.

^I'm sorry, my friend—you aren't supposed to know of that!^ cried Ilgin, terribly amused. ^At least, not yet, that is. Dreams have a unique ability to heal, Hols. They let the mind work through problems it couldn't solve in the roa, couldn't solve with the waking mind. You could say we all have two aspects to our persona. The rational one that moves our body, makes us cast and nest. And the abstract one, that looks at life in stark terms of black and white, and yet, with images based in riddles. I have spent much of my life, since Mal, since the death of my son, studying dreams. Even collecting dreams. Don't you remember me? Then again, why would you? I didn't even know of you, for so long . . . Then, to see you, a broken man, almost dead, after what she did to you. It amazed me then that you loved her with so much of yourself—such an unNovan way to be. You have this magnificent mind, Hols, yet it is so oddly constructed. You can withstand terrible amounts of pain, control even the strongest of minds, and yet, sentiment is so very deadly to you.^

^What of it?!^ gruffly asked Denged, irritated at the unwelcome analysis.

^Getting angry, are we? Not used to being so much not in control, are we? It reminds you of that point in your life, when you watched your parents die, and you were too young to do anything about it. You did have some dreams about that, didn't you? Or rather, nightmares about it. You blamed yourself mercilessly, didn't you? Never will you allow yourself to be in that position again, will you? When you won't be able to defend those you love.^

^I don't love anybody.^

^The correct phrase would have been 'I didn't love anybody since she hurt me, until now.' You see, I think that's changed. I watched you three come down here. It takes so small a body movement to reveal so much to my eyes. What would you do for her now? What could you do? You can't move, you can barely cast. I could take a knife, and slit her throat open, watching the blood run down her neck.^

Denged struggled, forcing his mind to search for his body. He pushed and pushed, and eventually could finally feel his chest, his arms, his hands. He balled them into fists, and struggled to lift them.

^Very good,^ cast Ilgin, in sarcastic approval. ^I always said you were the best; after all, you come from a rather illustrious pedigree. It might take you the longest to figure things out—you are so awfully short-sighted. Is it that you prefer to remain ignorant about the globes around you, of fear you couldn't comprehend what was going on? Well, no matter. This knife has no hidden agenda, no motivation to search for. It does my bidding, and I command it to slice flesh.^

Denged's mind burned with hatred, his fists shaking violently up and down. Sweat glistened on his skin, as his face was contorted by the struggle his mind was waging.

^There was so much work to be done on you, my dear Lundin. So much reconstruction, so much of your consciousness to resurrect. You were right to change your name—you're just not the same person anymore. I always wondered why Mal rebuilt you, why Mal cared so much for you. After all, we had long since fallen out, Mal and I, and it was a great risk Mal took in bringing me to you. Then, one roa I witnessed Agilia come in, and see you, and I understood why. Just a small moment in time, a brief expression, and it all was made clear.^

Brief fragments of memory surfaced in Denged's mind, punctuated with the remembrance of terrible pain and brilliant light. He faintly remembered a small team who were assigned to oversee his rehabilitation, and one roa, Agilia's presence beside his bed. He recalled great secrecy, his complete isolation in some small, white room.

^But I do prattle on, spilling all my secrets before the time is right! You're just helpless, Denged, just as before. Perhaps I should wake your dear Maenid up, so I can hear her scream as I drain the life out of her. Maybe I should record a virt-life of the whole ordeal, so I can play it for you as you sleep. I know Uld would get some satisfaction, even with her dead body. He does hate her so. I actually don't know if he fears or hates her more, all I know is that he would take sweet vengeance on even her corpse.^

Something happened inside Denged. His mind seemed to break, some barrier within fell under the intense strain. He let out a primal wail, as if newly born, clarity for a short moment soaking his very soul. His hands burned with energy; they glowed before him. Denged could feel the power within them, could feel he had shifted to another level of existence.

^I wasn't done with you before, Denged. Now, I am. Bury me deep in your mind, Hols. So deep, not even Mal will sense what I've done. At least, not until it is time . . .^

^Denged!^

He blinked, and he was still in the service duct, his body collapsed on the floor, Gilc leaning over him, a terrible fright on her face, She quickly pulled him out, and he slowly recovered, Errece hovering close by. He staggered, then leaned against a nearby wall.

^What—what happened?^ he asked groggily.

^Are you alright? You seemed to fade for a moment. You mind went null.^

Denged staggered around, rolling over the fading memory of being with Ilgin. He looked down at his hands, and though they appeared normal, he knew now there was power within them, power within his mind as yet unrealized. Errece came next to him.

^I sense a number of people, a few levels down. We should—^

^We will leave them be,^ cast Denged absently, his mind still far away.

^What?!^

Denged lowered his gaze on her, and Errece knew to be null.

^There are some things, Errece, that you will learn should not be disturbed. Ilgin is not meant for us, and we will not find Nahlai with him.^

# 12

Source-Humans (slang soumans): designation for non-clones, for humans born of a woman. Source-clones (slang sclones): single clone created from a single genetic donor. The terms were coined in the 2200's, as clones enjoyed a high level of inclusion with the Novan society. Several times sclones murdered their source, following an innate desire to be unique. After a widespread plot was uncovered to murder thousands of soumans, and the Long Plague of 2236, where six million died from a mutated virus that originated from a sclone, sclones were outlawed. Around the same time period it was discovered that clones had the best chance of succeeding when their basic genetic makeup was constructed from multiple sources. Not only did this seem to fortify the new being, but it reduced the chances that the clone would seek its prior identity, or that others would seek to impose an identity upon it.

Never in her life did Theia imagine she would be in a place such as Gan-Elldon. Ruggert, a general in the OLMAC militia, accompanied her on a tour of the gleaming city, and with every turn and step she found something that awed and humbled her. The city was like a perfect original, from which all on Novan was poorly based. There was space between the buildings, gleaming glass that reflected the stars, and moving through it all a people that waved to her as she passed, who laughed and spoke with one another. After a while, she thought them all foolish to build such a utopia, until she saw the strength beneath it all.

She and Ruggert boarded a small hovercar, and flew over fields filled with black voidships, all bristling with emdec cannons and teeming with battle meta. She saw low, wide hangars filled with thousands of blue and grey fighters, been through the massive banks of defensive emdec platforms. They landed, and he paraded their arsenal for her, comprised of hundreds of thousands of emdec rifles and pulse cannons the likes of which she had never seen.

General Ruggert was a short, squat man with broad shoulders. He was downright garrulous in his descriptions of the various military and social aspects of the mighty city. He also gave her a quick lesson on military tactics as they related to defending a city like Gan-Elldon. She rarely had to defend a position much in her life—the life of the Iganinagi was a transient one, successful because of the ability to relocate on a whim. But Gan-Elldon was a crown jewel, a symbol of not only technological advancement, but of its people, and their commitment and faith in an ideal. And as Ruggert cast of defending Gan-Elldon, to the last souman, with the last breath, he seemed less like a military man, used to strict regimen and duty, and more like a father, who cared deeply for his own.

Standing next to a defensive battery put many things in perspective for her. The housing for the dark-grey barrel towered above her, like a small building on Novan. Its barrel extended high into the sky, blotting out Novan itself, if one stood under it. And there were hundreds of those all around Gan-Elldon's perimeter, tied into four fission reactors buried deep within the surface of the moon.

^What if they should try to drill to those reactors, sabotage them in some way?^ asked Theia, the wonder still in her thoughts. Ruggert smiled, as if she was a child asking why the sky was blue and not red.

^The TELREC don't think in that way. They are strictly offensive, not subversive when it comes to battles on a large scale. On a one to one basis, they can be the best at covert operations. But in battle, they set out to prove their superiority by strength of weapons and force of their clones. They have no desire to destroy the moon, they want to set this city afire, set it ablaze in the void, to strike fear in all those below. We cannot, will not let that happen.^

That's what I thought about my Iganinagi.

The memory of her Coss played on her mind more and more, as she was integrated into the society on that moon. She met the three other generals, and they reminded her of her Coss. They had the same strength, intelligence, and honor about them. But more than her Coss, her mind stayed on Suld. He had only been gone two roas, but she missed him terribly.

I hope he will be alright. He means too much to this cause, and to me.

Theia was genuinely surprised at the preparedness of OLMAC for war. When she was a young child, she watched the silly commercials for Denbo, the dry body soap, or Ileveit, the new brand of gene-hancements. The innocuous ditties that came with those commercials still flitted in her head, and because of it, she never had much respect for Suld or for OLMAC. She thought of them as greedy and materialistic, interested in selling everything and anything to the most people. She never thought about where all the lottment went. Now she knew. The machines of war seemed to be everywhere, intermixed with the eternal lightness of the city. Ruggert gleaned a few of her thoughts.

^It is hard to believe, isn't it?^ he asked, with a wide smile. ^I hummed along with those ads too when I was a child.^

Theia laughed. ^I had almost forgotten about them! They were a symbol of a simpler time in my life, before the way of the Iganinagi took hold of me. I remember when Trustenme was all the rage, the virt-game every child wanted when they first received their implant. Wasn't it the highest selling virt-game, ever?^

^Yup. A product that doesn't exist in physical form, never sold through a physical store, never physically seen, bought all this,^ his small hand swept across all the machines behind him, ^and much more.^

Theia thought on his words. And people called us evil.

Ruggert led her deep into the bowels of the facility, descending for what seemed like an eternity on one of the lifts, casting on the various aspects of life on Gan-Elldon, from the current trends, to his wife's favorite foods. Theia wanted too badly to be successful in her new duties in OLMAC, so she kept her mind null and politely nest all he cast. Then something suddenly connected in Theia's mind.

^You cast that you have near a hundred thousand fighters?^

^Yes,^ replied Ruggert.

^But you also cast that you have about fifty-thousand soldiers.^

^Yes.^

^How will you fly that many fighters? Do you trust them to meta, or to a computer?^

^No. That is why I have brought you down here.^ The doors to the lift opened, and suddenly Theia understood. Before her, in immense walls laden with tubes, appeared to be at least two hundred thousand bio-pods.

^Clones?^

^Yes, Theia.^

^I thought clones were only for the TELREC, or as playthings for the elite on Topside?^ She scanned the space, amazed at the sheer quantity she saw before her. ^You must have been doing this for centuries.^

^There was always a tacit agreement,^ he replied. ^Suld never went to Malhrer, and the TELREC never came here. What you see is the product of two thousand cas of genetic engineering. We have created four types of clones: one with expertise in manually piloting a craft at high speeds, one with immense physical strength and mental resistance for hand to hand fighting, one with elaborate tactical skill, bred to command dromons and their crews, and another to sexually service and motivate the other three.^

Theia stepped forward, looking onto the abyss of clones, seeing thousands of identical faces peer back at her from inside glass enclosures. Their bodies were a pale white—to Theia they seemed almost the color of death. She had seen a few clones in her time; some used by the TELREC for surveillance, others for physical combat. They were all soulless to her, their eyes dead, but their bodies extremely lethal. To be killed by a clone is worse than being killed by a meta. It was as though you were being killed by the dead. She saw the four types were segregated into different sections, the males and females split as well. There were three types of male clones, only one female clone, obviously to service the males. Seems to play on that old Iquitian stereotype—men do the hard work, women are for recreation. I should cast to Suld about that.

She descended the wide ramps leading down to the floor of the facility, a thick mist enveloping her as she reached the bottom. It was cold, and the water-vapor tasted foul, like the excretion of countless bodies. She walked up to one of the clones hung in its mechanical sac, filled with a thick fluid. It rolled its eyes to her, with a gaze that betrayed no awareness, no cognizance. It reminded her for a moment of the Novans hooked to the cast-net, going through life on autopilot. It was a strong male body, its muscles being worked by robotic limbs as she watched, its arms being jerked suddenly up, then down, its legs manipulated in simulation of a fast run. Ruggert came next to her.

^We have it down to a science now,^ he cast, pridefully running his hand along the enclosing sac. ^When this clone emerges, it will be completely battle-ready. Once clothed, it will be ready to fight! We have hundreds of smaller clone banks on mining ships, ready to command and fly our fighters. We can either control them mentally through a controller, or have them function independently. They are a formidable fighting force.^

^I believe it,^ she cast with some scorn.

General Ruggert folded his arms over his chest. ^You don't approve?^

^It doesn't seem like something Suld would approve of.^

^While you have spent much time with our Mechle, there is still much you don't know about him,^ cast Ruggert gently. ^Suld would rather use clones in battle, rather suffer their deaths, than those of the people he cherishes. These clones are not like those the TELREC possesses. We implant memories in them, memories of time spent on Gan-Elldon, memories that make them fight harder, and longer, as if it were something personal they were fighting for. They are implanted with the knowledge that they are clones—clones of a master soldier, an amalgam of men and women who were capable of terrific feats of heroism.^

^Have they been tested in battle?^

^On a limited basis. There are many things Suld chooses to keep secret, in case of an invasion by the TELREC. And I feel his caution may have paid off.^

She ran her hand along the front of the casing, the clone's eyes watching it as it traced a line in the condensation. It immediately went back to her eyes when she stopped.

I know if I possessed an army of these things, things would have been different. But who would I be fighting for? Strange I should feel these stirrings of morality, I who have beheaded children and slaughtered innocent men and women. I have been around Suld too long.

Suddenly they were violently shaken by an unseen force, like an earthquake, toppling them to their feet. They both quickly recovered, and Ruggert accessed a status report from the internal cast-net.

^We are under attack,^ he cast grimly, ^by the TELREC.^

Theia put her moral concerns aside, and in an instant, she was an Iganinagi again, ready to fight with incredible viciousness to defeat the TELREC. They both proceeded quickly back to the landing, as the machines around them sprung to life.

^What shall I do?^ she asked, coming to attention before him.

^Get you people over to dromon facilities—I am casting their locations to you know.^ He paused for a moment as Theia assimilated the information. ^Assume command of the dromons there. Clone Controllers will be assigned to you en route.^ They boarded the lift, as Ruggert accessed the machines around them, verifying their status. He turned to Theia. ^It's only been two roas. I hope you've had enough training.^

^We are Iganinagi. We will not fail you.^

They were rocked again by an unseen explosion. Around them machines worked furiously, breaking clones out of storage, smaller soumanoid meta passing battle fatigues through the ranks, then assembling the clones in long columns for transport to the surface. As their pods opened, they stepped with great purpose onto the mist-shrouded ground, raising their heads almost in unison to scan the environment as if they were not organic but meta. Theia, for a moment, felt a twinge of fear, that she would not like to be trapped in a small space with them. The clones filed quickly into formation, a few looking around, seemingly aware of their circumstance. The lift slowly ascended, leaving what was fast becoming a thickly-populated staging ground.

^There is an element of the random introduced into them,^ cast Ruggert. ^A few are even created with distinctive physical characteristics. Diversity does wonders to a society, something the TELREC have forgotten.^

Theia glanced at those uniques, whose eyes betrayed a glimmer of individuality and self-awareness.

I wonder if others defer to them. I wonder if they would ever refuse an order, or a mission.

The lift gained in speed, and Theia could glean some of the tactical reports being cast to Ruggert. Ruggert cast battle orders to his troops, and conferred with the other three generals. Theia was left to think on the battle ahead.

So the TELREC have finally chosen to fight OLMAC. They knew when to strike—with Suld occupied on Novan. I only hope he gets back here soon. But we shall not disappoint him. Our hearts shall fight as if it were our own people we were fighting for. We will fight to avenge those we lost, till our eyes cast fire and our blades be steeped in TELREC blood.

# 13

NnuG barrier:Network of null-grav projectors along the extremity of a ship. They project beams of gravitational energy, forming a cushion around the ship. This field repels solid objects, such as missiles, and slows the progress of light through it. Beams of energy are disbursed through its bandwidth. The more hits from emdec weapons, the greater chance the projectors will be overwhelmed.

Emdec cannons:Concentrated bursts of light, with gravitational energy merged within. The gravitational energy slows down the light, but also provides greater penetrating force, as the gravitational energy repels matter at the subatomic level. Two projectors, one for the light, one for the gravitational energy.

The shuttle had been on maximum thrust for three droas now, as Suld raced to get to Gan-Elldon. They had many TELREC patrols to evade, which slowed their progress considerably. OLMAC's local cast-net was down, and he had no new intelligence about how the battle progressed. Aeolle was with him in the shuttle, as well as Ciluo who still held an unusually quiet Uld in a vise-like grip.

Suld worked continuously on his legs, pressing into the muscle and extending his calves, as they still felt sore after the beating he took from Uld. While he was given a blood-substitute, and his own CMS system increased blood cell production, he still felt weak and groggy. He often would glace back at Uld and debate with himself whether or not he should have killed him. Every once in a while Uld would return his gaze, as if casting yes, you should've.

^Are we close enough Ciluo?^ anxiously asked Suld. Ciluo, as a meta, possessed a heightened ability to access weak colvition signals. Suld had been pressing him relentlessly for the past droa, and Aeolle was thankful Ciluo wasn't souman, or he would have been extremely annoyed by now.

^Wait . . . incoming data . . . TELREC fighters are attacking Gan-Elldon. Forces have been mobilized on the planet, as well as an equal number of fighters engaging the TELREC. Dromons have not yet launched.^

^What's the problem?^

^Shuttles are encountering strong opposition as they venture to the launch site.^

Suld could feel the cast-net resolve in his mind as backup systems became operational on Gan-Elldon.

^Genera1 Ank-Tehht!^ cried Suld, relieved to be connected at last.

^It's good to nest your thoughts, Mechle. Are you well?^

^Yes. Uld is my prisoner. Why haven't the dromons launched yet?^ he demanded.

^Ruggert informs me Theia was dispatched with her Coss and soldiers, but came under heavy fire.^

Suld switched cast wavelengths. ^Theia!^

^Yes, I nest,^ she cast distractedly.

^Status?^

^We are almost at the launch-site.^ The shuttle she was on rocked under heavy fire, making Theia pause for a moment. ^We should have the dromons launched in five mroas.^

^I'll hold you to that,^ he cast firmly.

^Suld?^

^Yes, Theia?^

^Your people have never been battle-tested, have they?^ she asked, as the ship she was on finally landed, and they hurriedly disembarked.

^They have been through countless simulations, been training for this moment for most of their lives.^

^But they have never fought to defend a living being, have they?^ she pressed, boarding a dromon.

Suld thought for a moment. ^No.^

^You have many very committed, very passionate people,^ cast Theia, standing for a moment in the ship's entrance portal, ^but they have no experience. They are going up against a force that has battled against countless terrorist groups like the Iganinagi for millennia; they have even probably had skirmishes against the Rell. I warn you, do not hold back. Use every ship, every clone, every fighter and meta at your disposal. For one moment's weakness could be the death of us all.^

A part of Suld nested Theia's words, and even knew what she said was true. But a larger part of him only thought of Theia as the young, untested successor to Aiella, thought of her as the woman who lost most of her Iganinagi to the TELREC.

^Thank you for your advice,^ he replied. ^By the way, your flagship is unnamed. I give you the honor of naming it. I expect you will name it 'Aiella'?^

Theia smiled for a moment, and thought of figures from her past.

^I choose to honor the Coss that gave their lives on Novan, to honor a good friend I wish was here. My flagship shall be the Nemosini.^

Suld nodded. ^So be it. May the Nemosini bring honor to the memory of all fallen Iganinagi.^

Suld's shuttle began to decelerate, as the image of the void around Gan-Elldon resolved in their minds. Many explosions could be seen around the protective dome of the city—brief bursts of flame, then darkness. In the dim light of the planet, faint glimmers of metallic hulls flashed through the void. It was an immense fleet of fighters now assaulting Gan-Elldon's defenses, and only by the slimmest of margins did the defense force keep them away. Every now and again a TELREC fighter could be seen making its way through the ranks of OLMAC fighters, launching missiles at the surface, eventually destroyed by the large defensive emdec cannons. Suld could nest the chatter among the clones flying the ships, and understood the TELREC were gaining the upper hand.

^Instructions?^ cast the shuttle pilot.

^Rendezvous with fleet flagship Onzic,^ replied Suld.

^Understood.^

The ship banked hard to its right, and accelerated. Going around to the opposite side of the moon, Suld was able to get in contact with ten oreships just arriving from the asteroid field between the fourth and fifth planets. The Onzic loomed large in his mental screen, a bulbous, grey ship, laden with new weaponry ready for battle.

They were the workhorses that built this company; it is fitting that they should be the backbone of its defense. As the shuttle docked with the Onzic, Suld cast to General Ank-Tehht on a private wavelength.

^General?^

^Yes Mechle?^

^Prepare for a complete evacuation of Gan-Elldon.^

^Understood,^ replied Ank-Tehht, as another TELREC fighter crashed nearby him. ^I will bring in transport ships and several oreships to escort.^

^Good. I need you to do something else for me. Discreetly.^

His response was quick and assured. ^By your command.^

^The . . . clones, of my wife, I need you to get four of them on a shuttle. I need them taken to a place of safety—to an AG platform, preferably Soulluos.^

Ank-Tehht paused for a few moments. ^Are you sure this isn't the will of Holis? Perhaps, if Gan-Elldon is meant to be destroyed, they are meant to be destroyed with it.^

^General,^ replied Suld, growing heated, ^you have made clear to me in the past your displeasure with the clones. I have nest all your words, calmly and patiently, but now is not the time! Get them on a ship, and get them to safety!^

^Yes Mechle. It shall be done.^

Suld sat for a moment, haunted by images of his wife, and her words.

Promise me, he remembered her casting, don't ever try to clone me, or spend your time and resources trying to resurrect my consciousness. In some things, there must be a beginning, and an end. When the time comes, accept the end of me.

In his mind, it was if she was casting those words again, so vibrant they were in his memory.

^Suld?^

He looked up, to find Aeolle bending over him.

^Distracted by thoughts of the past?^ she asked, rubbing his shoulder.

^How did you know?^

^I cast you before, I know you better than anyone. Come on, we've docked.^

They rushed out quickly onto the Onzic, as a new pilot boarded and prepared the shuttle to depart again. Suld stopped and turned to Aeolle.

^Aeolle, I don't think you should be here now.^

^But I want—^

^No,^ he cast firmly, ^I need you to be somewhere safe. Somewhere outside of this battle. I've cast instructions to this pilot, and she will take you to an AG platform on the other side of Novan. Alright?^

She nodded, unable to argue with him. ^Yes . . . be careful!^ She managed a slight smile, though she wanted to cry. He held her close, whispering in her ear.

"Now is the time to make the TELREC atone for their arrogance!"

He watched the shuttle disembark, and move off with lightning speed. Ciluo still stood with Uld nearby.

^Why didn't you kiss her goodbye?^ cast Uld sarcastically. ^Maybe a little touch and feel? It would have been the last one you could get.^

Suld came close to him, and in a lightening motion, back-handed him across his face with his fist, breaking his nose, and sending drops of blood flying. Uld laughed, snorting through the blood and mucus.

^Why Mechle, how positively Novan of you!^ slammed Uld. ^And here I thought there might be some Rell in your genes, if not in your mother's pants.^

Suld ignored him, and moved off quickly. ^Bring that thing to the nexus.^

Ciluo resorted to carrying a reluctant Uld as he slumped on the floor. They raced through corridors of the Onzic that blared with emergency lights and sirens. A few people in black and grey uniforms raced to and fro, with mostly meta steadily traversing the corridors, preparing the ship for battle. Suld remembered back to when he first was on the Onzic after it was retrofitted for battle.

We put you through it all, and you came out like a magnificent beast. You were built strong. Let's hope you fight strong as well.

The Onzic was Suld's home away from home for ten cas of his life. Instead of returning to Gan-Elldon from Novan, he often went to the Onzic. It was the strongest and fastest of the reconfigured oreships, serving as a prototype for many design changes. Though Mechle Tire', his father and predecessor as owner of OLMAC, had initiated the reconfiguring of oreships, it was Suld that oversaw the refinement of weapons systems and improvement of engine efficiency, making it his responsibility to be present at all design changes to the Onzic. He may not have known every detail of the new systems, but he understood how they functioned, and knew what the ship was capable of.

General Hildnic, in command of all void-borne forces, met him on the nexus—the control center of the Onzic. A thick man of average height, he was one of the older soldiers in OLMAC's militia. With a bushy, scraggily grey beard, sunken, pock-marked cheeks and eyes that shone underneath thick, overgrown eyebrows, he had a face that always brought comfort to Suld, a face he had known since he was a young child.

For a moment, despite the foreplay of war raging around them, Suld took a moment to gaze down on the nexus, to reflect on all the preparations he and his generals had made, and all he was expected to live up to.

So now the moment has come. As much as I have prepared for it, as much as I felt it was inevitable, a part of me still has fear of the future, of facing a foe like the TELREC. What we do, how we fight, will change the future of Novan irrevocably.

The crew bustled around him, and each of their faces he knew as if they were family. The nexus itself felt like a sanctuary to him, for it was on this nexus that he would meet with his generals and plan out possible strategies for war, here that he would oversee war games conducted just outside the Novan system. On the ovular, marble table that sat in the center, he fell asleep many a time, after meeting with Hildnic or Ank-Tehht, reviewing the status of clone and meta. He has sat at each of the stations surrounding the table, watching how quickly commands would be diverted from a damaged colvition relay to tactile input. Clone controllers would train regularly from this nexus, in preparation for this moment, when three of them would delegate missions to the entirety of the clone population, transferring munitions, supplies, fighters and the wounded.

We are ready, he thought to himself. We have prepared, and we are ready.

Hildnic came over, and bowed before Suld. ^It's good you could work us into your busy schedule.^ He downloaded status reports of the fleet, and in moments Suld assimilated them.

^Don't you ever sit down?^ Suld returned his bow, then threw a friendly arm around his shoulder, smiling a knowing smile. ^This is Ciluo, a meta representative. And I'm sure Uld's face is familiar to you.^

Hildnic came close in front of Uld, his old, weathered face barely restraining the rage building within. ^You are one of the reasons our people have fallen from greatness. You represent all that is despicable about our culture, and if not for Suld, I'd slaughter you where you stand!^

^Idle threats from a dead man barely amuse me,^ cast Uld, not even dignifying Hildnic's presence with direct eye contact. Hildnic grabbed him with his thick and mighty hands.

^One roa, you'll answer for all you have done, if not at my hands, then at another's. I only hope I am there to see it.^ Hildnic turned to Suld. ^Is Ellore?^

^Alright? Yes. I got there in time.^

Hildnic casually threw Uld against a bulkhead behind him, then gestured Suld to the chair in the center of the nexus.

^I offer you the command.^

^No. You have trained for this, not I.^ Suld gestured to the crew spread out around them. ^This is your crew, not mine. You know their strengths.^

Hildnic bowed slightly. ^Thank you.^

^Now what is our status?^ asked Suld, as Ciluo gathered Uld and dumped him in a chair next to him, Hildnic taking his place at command. Explosions rocked the ship, as fighters darted back and forth in the mental scopes.

^We will be in weapons range in four mroas,^ cast Hildnic quickly. ^Three thousand fighters met the TELREC invasion force. The fighter carrier ships Ou-lini and Ajaitain will arrive on scene in four mroas, with their fifty-thousand fighters. Meta-carriers Intrepid and Doxcha should arrive on scene in one droa. General Ank-Tehht reports defensive systems are holding around Gan-Elldon, and successful launch of the soldier clones on transport ships. Our fighters are trying to push the TELREC forces closer to the emdec batteries on Gan-Elldon, and will then mop up the rest of the TELREC, but we anticipate this is merely an overture to a long affair.^

^Agreed. Status of pilot clones on planet?^

^They are manning the remaining two thousand fighters. The Onzic has three of ten master clone-controllers.^ Hildnic motioned to a group of two women and a man seated near the rear of the nexus. ^The nine other oreships are commanded by clones. We will be ready once they attack in force. Twenty oreships are in the Pihnin cluster, twenty spread throughout the Piure nebula, in orbit around Norance, and thirty still orbit the shipyards around the third moon of Celd. As I assess the true nature of the TELREC forces, I will begin to call them in.^

^Good,^ replied Suld. He stood next to Hildnic, and glanced over the crew seated around him. Nine soumans manned various controls, all mostly redundant, as they controlled the Onzic and the fleet through colvition. The ship itself had three more soumans in the Motive Power section, with the bulk of the crew made up of ninety sentient meta. Most of the soumans Suld knew personally, as Gan-Elldon was a tight-knit community, and those who served on military vessels all required Suld's personal approval. One caught his eyes, who wore the rank of Saeren.

^Hildnic, who is that? Who is your Saeren—I don't recognize her.^

^That is Saeren Ilasko. I promoted her three dcas ago.^

^Ilasko . . . Ilasko . . . I remember!^ cried Suld, dredging up her name from within his mind. ^Didn't I refuse her promotion? Wasn't she involved in some colvition fiasco?^

^Yes, Suld. And while she may have been guilty, I still deemed her of great value. That is why she serves on the flagship, under my direct command, until she proves herself.^

^I'm not used to anyone countermanding my orders,^ cast Suld, a little irritated. ^Least of all you.^

^Then you should understand that what I do, I do for the best interests of your fleet. I take full responsibility for all my decisions, whether they be successes or failures. I am sure you won't be disappointed by her performance.^

^Let's hope not, my friend. For the sake of all OLMAC, let's hope not.^

The oreships bolted out of the darkness of the moon, their engines burning up what little atmosphere there was in great plumes behind them. Dull grey service ships, they were huge, built for extended trips in dangerous places. A proud bow running the entire height of the ship cut through the void, leaving debris clouds in its wake. Oreships were huge, built with a tall central section, above which rose the nexus, with the habitation sections embracing the Motive Power sections. Gleaming new on the hull was weaponry recently installed—four massive emdec cannons under the nexus, three backup NnuG barrier power-plants behind the Motive Power section. On each side was attached a bulbous construct—formerly the processing centers for ore extracted from asteroids and planetoids. Now, a massive emdec cannon was set deep in its front, while carved in the side were launching facilities for meta and fighters. Under each processing pod was built a massive engine, in case the main ship had to be abandoned. As the main body tapered to the rear, the power plant and engines for the ship dominated the design. Built for long voyages without the need for service or power modification, they provided steady, dependable power, though they were not known for their speed.

Suld received a cast from Theia as the oreships swung around to face the TELREC forces.

^We have boarded the dromons, and are taking flight! One ship was incapacitated, but thirty-eight dromons will be on the battlegrid in mroas.^

^Good.^ Suld sat down in the rear of the nexus, taking a moment to relax. He cast to all his people on Gan-Elldon and in the ships above.

^People of OLMAC, of Gan-Elldon, this is Mechle Suld. On Gan-Elldon we have the luxury of perpetual spring, with fair weather, and calm wind. But in reality seasons change, and with the change comes tempest and storm. We have made provision for this storm, vile and rough thought it may be. We have something precious on our world, untainted by the dominion of the TELREC, or the decadence of the Leviathan. We may stand alone, but we stand strong, untied by a common purpose and ideal. I know many of you are eager to test our mettle against our hated foe, while others dread the approach of war. I say to all of you, we go to war not for the thrill of battle and glory of conquest, but in defense of our children, and their future.^

^I ask all non-essential, non-military personnel to board escape shuttles,^ he continued. ^Now that the oreships are in position, we can provide cover for your escape. But never lose hope my friends! We shall not let Gan-Elldon fall.^

^For all who will stand with me and fight against the TELREC, I thank you. We shall go forth as comrades, with unity in our hearts and anger in our eyes, and let loose the floodgates of our vengeance against this ignoble adversary. To victory!^

On the planet, thousands of people could be seen scurrying to escape shuttles positioned around the perimeter. Clones could still be seen filing out by the thousands to waiting troop transports, as fighters took off from the surface in a great swarm. The fighters took up positions around the oreships, creating a wide blanket in front of the moon. The dromons Theia commanded took up positions far in front of the main fleet, testing their weaponry, the Coss that commanded them trying to quickly get used to trusting their lives to meta and clones. The first wave of offensive meta took off from the far side of the moon, taking up a defensive position in orbit directly above the city. Heavily armored, they were half the size of a traditional fighter, but four times more effective. Suld monitored all this, and as the last shuttles full of civilians left, he turned to Uld, who was sulking in his chair, facing a corner.

^What's wrong, little man?^

Uld tried to wipe his blood-caked nose with the sleeve of his shirt, to no avail. ^Happy?^

^You have no idea. I'm going to give the TELREC a pummeling they could never have imagined.^

^You are, are you?^ cast Uld, letting out a tired sigh. ^I don't think so.^

^And why not?^

He turned, his legs sprawling, absently clicking his polished black boots on the floor. ^I may not like you, but I respect the organization you run. It's full of people who believe in you and your beliefs, as my people do in me and mine. But the TELREC have a Holis in their midst. Mal guides them, inspires them. They fight as the fanatic, uncaring about death, or glory. You show your cowardice by using clones—your people don't want to die.^

^The TELREC use clones. They also don't want to die.^

^They use clones as cannon fodder,^ retorted Uld tiredly, ^to assess the strength of your forces. Look at you! All your ships, neatly lined up, for all to see. They know what they are up against, you do not know what you face.^

Suld smiled wryly. ^You think I have no surprises?^

^You aren't that creative.^

^Watch and learn. OLMAC has had three thousand cas to prepare for this battle. What you see is merely a small fraction of the ships I command. I will show my hand slowly, as the TELREC show theirs.^

^Mechle,^ cast Hildnic. ^We have three TELREC capital ships advancing on this position, surrounded by . . . fifty, no seventy-thousand fighters.^

^Capital ships?^ cast Uld, whistling in awe. ^Looks like they're serious.^

^So the TELREC have capital ships. Dimensions?^

^As big as five oreships,^ responded Hildnic, downloading the specifications to Suld. ^One has broken formation, and is accelerating to our position.^

The crew on the nexus immediately grew more focused, their minds gaining firm control over the ship's systems and the clones throughout the fleet.

^Link scopes to the cast-net.^

In moments Suld had a mental image of the massive TELREC capital ships. They were things of beauty to behold; they seemed to sail through the void like graceful primitive wind-borne ships of old. No utilitarian features interrupted their designs, their proud, wide sculpted fronts faded back by strong arcs creating two wing-like features. Their nexus sat high and proud in the center, near the rear, their central support columns arcing to the front, where their massive main emdec cannons lay. Sculpted within their hulls were openings for fighters and meta to launch, integrated seamlessly into the design. Not even NnuG barrier projectors interrupted the flow of the design. Engines half as big as an oreship laid in the rear, and Suld knew they were probably some of the fastest ships created, despite their size.

Seems a shame to destroy it.

He let his mind linger on it a while longer, appreciating the sunlight flow over their hulls.

^Do we have ship registries on those?^ he asked.

^Beacons state the lead approaching us is designated as LN-01,^ responded Saeren Ilasko, now seated next to Hildnic around the table. ^The others are LN-67 and LN-33.^

^Just like Mal to deprive such beautiful ships of a personality. It the lead in range of the mines yet?^ ^Yes.^

^Engage the mines,^ ordered Suld, leaning forward.

Around the massive capital ships, small asteroids suddenly turned, and gathered around their hulls as fireflies around a flame. As they drew close enough, they detonated, illuminating the void in quick lightning bursts, thin arcs of energy rippling along the ships' shields.

^Nine hundred detonated, negligible damage.^

^As expected,^ cast Suld. ^Is the carrier ship Ajaitain in place?^

^Yes sir.^

^Deploy all fighters. How long until the meta carrier Doxcha arrives?^

^Now twenty mroas,^ replied Ilasko, surveying the ships' positions, ^along with the Intrepid and the Ou-lini.^

^Keep them in reserve outside of parcel five. Initialize all ground-based meta. Theia—^

^Yes Suld?^

^Engage LN-67 and LN-33 with your dromons. The fighters and the oreships will engage LN-01. Keep the fight close, and watch out for them to deploy battle-meta against you.^

^Understood,^ she replied.

^Suld?^ cast Ciluo, drawing Suld's attention.

^Yes, friend? Are your forces gearing to assist us?^

^We do not think this is the time.^

^What do you mean?!^ demanded Suld, growing heated, the rage building. ^The TELREC are attacking my home, the bedrock of this company! You gave your word we would be allies! If they attacked your home, we would be there, helping you defend it.^

^We believe you have enough resources to defend Gan-Elldon without us.^

Suld looked into his blank, metal face, knowing it was useless to argue with it.

^Then why are you still here?^ he asked, dumbfounded.

^Myself, and all my brethren present on the battlegrid are yours to command. I believe we should take Uld down to a detention facility on this ship, away from the nexus.^

Suld grudgingly agreed. Ciluo cast on a private channel to Suld.

^I also need to remind you, that you may be the Mechle of this company, but Hildnic is the General, the man you appointed to govern this encounter. You are usurping his power.^

Suld glanced over at Hildnic, sitting in his chair, a face as stone observing the battle.

^You're right. He wouldn't even cast anything, he is a loyal and faithful friend as well as a talented soldier.^ Suld sighed, placing a hand on Ciluo's shoulder. ^Your people will have much to answer for after this encounter, but I thank you for your words of wisdom.^ He looked down at Uld. ^Get this pathetic waste of flesh out of my sight!^

Ciluo picked him up, carrying him off the nexus.

^Suld,^ cast Ciluo quickly, ^when you have weathered their assault, the meta will share with you more detailed surveillance of Malhrer.^

He was shocked to nest that revelation, more so that it was kept secret from him. ^You were able to penetrate Malhrer?^

^Yes. You will not be happy with what we have discovered.^

Suld watched as the meta dragged Uld out, his resolve shaken for a moment. He composed himself, and came next to Hildnic.

^I'm sorry, old friend. It is difficult to relinquish control.^

Hildnic smiled. ^I know. I don't mind, you know. It is your company, your resources.^

^But this is our fight, our way of life, and I trust you with it,^ he pointedly cast. ^You have my support, and my faith.^

They shook hands.

^Thank you, Suld.^

The first group of OLMAC fighters began to engage the rogue TELREC capital ship. They pirouetted gracefully around its hull, dancing wildly to avoid cannon fire but kept in a tight formation. A few were hit, but withstood the impact. They fired relentlessly in an angry staccato once in position, fruitlessly attempting to compromise the ship's NnuG barrier. The thirty-eight dromons advanced to LN-67 and LN-33. Newly constructed, the dromons were the sleekest ships on the battlefield. With compact hulls, recessed cannons along their lengths, and small but immensely powerful engines wedged beneath their armors, they moved with grace and ease through the void, dancing through the attacking TELREC fighters, powering up their main emdec cannons for the assault.

^Mechle, LN-01 coming within weapons range of the oreships,^ cast Ilasko.

^Please refer all tactical information to Hildnic, the general in charge.^

^Sorry sir. General, LN-01 will be in weapons range in two mroas.^

^Master Controller, send out the next two battalions of fighters, and have sections one through four engage the capital ship.^ cast Hildnic, sitting back in his chair, with Suld's approving gaze next to him.

The next group of fighters also engaged the ship, all their movement coordinated by the master clone controller. The void was thick with the small bodies of the fighters, interweaving with each other. They avoided two sections, through which the attacking oreships fired their main guns. The emdec cannons shuddered with the force of the blast, the mighty ships rocking to one side or another. But the blasts had little impact on the capital ship.

^LN-01 within close range to oreships Raicvhe and Mougu,^ cast Ilasko.

The capital ship opened fire on the Mougu, its heavy weaponry devastating the ship's NnuG barrier. The impact of its cannons sent shockwaves though the oreship's hull, its plating buckling in places as it listed to one side. The main guns on one side were completely destroyed, waves of energy cascading out into the void until power was shut down.

^Barrier down! Barrier down!^

^Bring in fighters to support!^ cried Hildnic. ^Get the Mougu out of there.^

^It's too late, General. Colvition sensors register heavy ment-dex usage. All vitals of the crew have faded to zero.^ The oreship drifted in the void, its power becoming erratic. ^We've definitely lost the crew. Orders?^

^Abandon the ship,^ grumbled Hildnic, irritated at such an early defeat. ^Keep the oreships engaged on the capital ship but bring all fighters away to wipe the skies of TELREC fighters. They're of no use against those capital ships, at least until we can get their shields down.^

^Understood.^

The fighters moved off, assembling in a tight triangle formation as fifteen oreships engaged LN-01. Intense fire was traded between the ships, the oreships concentrating on the capital's underbelly, trying to avoid the more potent cannons. They traded fire for what seemed to be an eternity, the crackle of NnuG barrier energy rippling across their hulls, the deafening roar of the cannons echoing through the ships. Suld and Hildnic watched the battle shift back and forth—the oreships advancing, then repulsed by thousands of fighters. Hildnic constantly linked with the clone controllers, assessing the performance of the clones in combat.

^How are they doing?^ asked Suld, reviewing the battlefield.

^As well as could be expected,^ replied Hildnic. ^They were made from some great men and women, I can even see some of their characteristics in the way they have fought this battle. I think though, that this is the first time they have fought other Novans. The originals fought against the Rell.^ Hildnic cast to one of his clone controllers. ^Do you think we'll have any issues with the clones?^

^Not from any of those with optimal conditioning. But I worry about the unique ones, those that have a spark of identity.^

That's the closest anyone has come to calling this what it really is, thought Suld. A civil war. Or have the TELREC truly become something other than Novan? And will the clones see them as such?

An oreship close by took a series of direct hits from a TELREC capital, impacting several fuel cells that ignited in great blooms of fire. The ship still moved on, keeping the damaged side away from the cannons of the capital, and pressing forward the attack.

^Bold moves,^ cast Suld, impressed.

^Indeed. I would say the only issue with the clones is that they will not give up a fight,^ replied Hildnic. ^It is up to the controller to force them to retreat.^

One of the oreships' reactors overheated, blowing a large hole in its hull. LN-01 concentrated its fire on that ship, and with its NnuG barrier down, the capital's emdec cannons ripped easily through the hull, destroying the oreship in mroas.

^Cover up that opening!^ cried Hildnic, bolting forward in his seat, the sweat beading on his forehead. ^Make them pay for that victory!^

Three other oreships converged on the site of the destroyed ship, letting loose with all their weapons on the capital. Hildnic jumped to his feet and moved around the nexus like a caged animal, analyzing every facet of the battle, drawing on all his combat experience to formulate something to break the capitals.

^Damage assessment on capital ship?^

^Twenty percent reduction in NnuG barrier power,^ replied Ilasko. ^Five of our ships are nearing critical condition, and will not last long—they are almost ripped of their barriers.^

Suld watched and couldn't believe the strength of the TELREC ships. He watched the capital in his mind, its proud hull unblemished by emdec fire, its metal still gleaming in the sunlight. Fighters still streamed out of its openings, its main guns firing relentlessly from seemingly unlimited power reserves.

We have been working on our weaponry for a thousand cas! How could their hull design be so advanced? How could their shields be so much more powerful? How will we win?

^Status on incoming ships?^ Hildnic sat down again, gaining control of his frustration.

^Second squadron is entering parcel three of the battlegrid,^ replied Ilasko. ^Twenty ships, fully operational.^

^Finally,^ cast Hildnic, gratefully relieved. ^Are the disabled oreship's engines still operational?^

^Yes.^

^Operate them by autopilot. Try to ram the capital ship.^

Suld stood. ^That will mean the sacrifice of all on board, Hildnic.^

^They knew the risks. What percent clone?^

^Eighty percent, with thirty meta on board,^ replied Ilasko.

^It's the best option, Suld. Reconfigure the priorities of the meta, and ram that ship!^

The ship sprang to life, its engines pulsing with power. It turned, and advanced quickly on LN-01. The ship concentrated its fire on the oreship, ripping into its hull, obliterating the nexus. As the oreship got closer to the capital ship, Suld could see with his own eyes how massive the TELREC ship was, as he watched through the oreship's scanners. The oreship finally impacted, overloading LN-01's barrier, breaking into its beautiful lines. The upper left quadrant of the capital was heavily damaged, explosions rippling around the main gun as power could be seen failing in over half the ship.

^Push in!^ cried Hildnic, sensing victory at last. ^Send in the meta!^

The shields crackled around the two ships as they staggered through the void, pushed along by the capital ship's mighty engines. The oreship managed two more quick engine bursts to drive itself further into the hull of the capital. Small arms fire could be seen exchanged by both ships, as massive meta surged from the oreship into LN-01. The oreship was rocked by internal explosions, as its systems collapsed under the strain.

^Meta in place, sir.^

^Detonate!^ slammed Hildnic, pounding his fist on his chair.

The capital ship shuddered in the void as hundreds of explosions could be seen erupting from its hull. Lighting throughout the ship flickered, then went out, leaving it a dead hulk in the void. The oreship finally exploded, blowing away the capital's entire front left section, its wide wings fractured and dissolving in the fire. Great cheers went up on the Onzic.

^Amazing work, Hildnic,^ cast Suld, rising to his feet.

^Thank you, Mechle.^ Hildnic gestured to Ilasko. ^And our Saeren?^

^You know I don't like to be proven wrong,^ cast Suld grudgingly. ^But it looks like you have a fine Saeren under your command.^

^Who knows, she just might make General someroa,^ he cast, laughing with Suld. He turned back to Ilasko. ^Status?^

^General, the twenty oreships have arrived, and await your orders,^ she cast, assimilating their on-board systems into her control program.

^Good. Order them to surround the two capitals, and fire at will.^

^Yes sir. Wait, I don't believe it.^

^What?^ asked Hildnic, as Ilasko manually double checked her instruments.

^Two more capital ships, moving quickly on our position.^

^Damn. Identify!^

^LN-40 and LN-29.^

Hildnic sat down, his mind racing over the possible strategies. How many do they have? How have they concealed a fleet this size? Theia screamed into his and Suld's mind.

^We have gained the upper hand on one of the capitals! Where are your fighters?^

Hildnic sprang to life. ^Order all fighters to converge on Theia's position. Bring all oreships to bear on the two new capitals. Summon the offensive meta from their defensive orbit around Gan-Elldon, and have them converge on the new capitals also.^

^Yes sir.^

Hildnic sat back as the ship arced in the void, leading the fleet to new co-ordinates.

It may not be pretty, it may not be planned, but somehow, we will win this roa.

# 14

The Envoy ships were named after famous Novans. Colineuse, widely regarded as one of the bravest Novans in history, Rulsi, great pioneer of the void and business, regarded as the creator of OLMAC. And DiFlens, who in the cas 4560, almost succeeded in abolishing the cast-net. One of the most eloquent writers in Novan history, DiFlens penned thirty novels about the obliteration of the self in the face of the state. His name was reviled for centuries, his works burned in annual celebrations of his death. But his words lived on, his philosophy gaining a foothold in the minds of the youth, and eventually he was hailed as a true patriot, a man who believed in the strength and spirit of the Novan. Together the Colineuse, the Rulsi, and the DiFlens were the most ambitious technological project executed by the Novans, second only to the creation of ExterNovan.

The massive sun shades slid with absolute precision along their EM tracks, gliding slowly upwards into the housing above. The true sun flooded the room, negating the mitterlight, exposing cracks and crevices that lay dormant in shadow. All through the suite small maintenance meta sprang to life, crawling over tables and chairs, spraying a fine mist, then extending miniature scrubbing brushes, then a polisher, then finally a small vacuum. They worked methodically, following a pre-set cleaning pattern they had known since their incorporation into this suite. It was a massive landscape that dwarfed the tiny machines, but they functioned stoically, undaunted by the challenge, sweeping over the landscape twice a roa, no matter if there were visitors or not.

In the middle of the landscape, on a steeply reclined chair sat Olixce, wife of the Sovereign of the Novan Leviathan. A remarkably beautiful woman, with tight muscles, supple, blemish-free skin, glistening maroon eyes, she sat with her hands on her lap, her eyes wide open, yet unmoving. Often the cleaning meta would venture within a hairbreadth of her skin, debating in their small yet terribly advanced minds whether she was organic or synthetic, whether she should be cleaned or avoided. At least three meta in the course of their cleaning had this internal debate, always ultimately decided when she sighed, or her hand flinched, causing the meta to move on.

Iant Cou, Sovereign of the Leviathan, walked into the room during this ballet of maintenance, his eyes caught by the thumb-sized metal machines crawling around the suite like an infestation of vermin. He didn't know why he thought of them in those terms this roa, but he wasn't in a particularly good mood. It had been a difficult transition, losing Ksilte and those of SC-1, having them replaced by Uld and the filth he associated with. The government had never been so apathetic, so resistant to change. Ksilte had many procedure modifications cued that were now either tabled or dismissed. Extra security for the Ascension, improved training for CRODAM officers, increased oversight of cast-net stations. Ksilte even was going to propose banning cast content that contained images of rape or death, a move unheard of in five millennia, and had worked hard to gain a great deal of support. At least, until SC-1 was destroyed. Now Uld pushed through several measures that broadened his power, relaxed oversight of all carnal businesses on Core, made cast searches illegal. Iant felt completely helpless, the fight was gone out of him. He knew Uld was tied closely with the TELREC, that they sanctioned his every move.

He stood in front of the massive panorama that the sun-shield revealed. Topside was a beautiful place, with gleaming spires, wide open divisions between structures—a relaxed version of Core. He could think here, could relax his mind. But it brought him no peace on this roa. He turned to his wife, sitting on her chair, tapped into her casts. She seemed more like an object to him now; a statue of the woman he married. She was never outgoing, always preferring to do things over the cast-net. They even met on the cast-net, after some interview he did for a news station. They kissed first on the cast-net, had sex first on the cast-net. Iant didn't think anything different at the time—that was how life on Novan was. He stood over her now, her virtually unmoving body, except for a slight rise and fall of her lovely chest. But desire had left him long ago, and her, for in the closet stood one of the military clones. Once in a while she would wake it, when he was not at home, and satisfy the physical urges that would creep up now and again. He was a massive beast, in all ways, and Iant could never look at it. She cast that he should get a pleasure model, if he needed it. But every clone he ever saw struck him as white, lifeless souman flesh, little better than the dead.

"Hello dad!"

His daughter came in from her room, bouncing along, bursting with life. With thin limbs and bright, vibrant eyes, she always brought a reluctant smile to his face, kindling the smoldering embers of hope buried deep in his soul.

"Hello dear. Are you ready?" he asked with a cough, as he hadn't used voice in a little while.

"I suppose," she said anxiously, letting out a sigh. She was getting her implant in a few droas, and by nightfall would be on the cast-net. "But why don't we go somewhere instead?" she ventured, her face brightening. "I want to see a voidship, and go to one of the colonies. I was watching a lesson about them on the AV unit. Have you ever been there, daddy?"

Iant spent most of his life in the confines of steel and concrete, in meetings, and conferences, nesting requests from his subordinates, casting instructions.

"No dear."

"Wouldn't it be nice? I saw there's no gravity, so you float along! You have to wear an atmosphere belt, but it would be so exciting!"

"When you get on the cast-net, you won't have to take a ship anywhere. You'll be there."

She glanced back at her mother, who was in the same chair, the same position she had been for most of her childhood.

"How come you don't sit with mommy?" she asked, still trying to think up an excuse not to get the implant.

"I have a busy job. I need to go to several places."

"Couldn't you do it all from a chair, like her?"

Iant shrugged. "Yes, I suppose I could."

She paused, still not understanding. "Why don't you?"

The chair gnawed at a part of Iant, whose ancestors, long ago, were some of the first to build platforms in the void, to built reactors on moons. One of his ancestors was credited with saving the entire population of an orbiting colony, singlehandedly repairing a fission reactor, manually guiding it back into orbit. He felt as a weak imitation of those lives, though he held the most power as Sovereign, it meant little, thanks to the TELREC.

"I guess I like to walk around, to feel my legs moving," he replied softly. She came close to him, and held his hands, a little tear coming from her eye.

"Do I have to get an implant?"

"If you don't you won't be able to function. Everything is done on the cast-net, with an implant."

"Why?"

He looked down at his wife.

Because we were stupid, and believed every technological advancement would make us better, make life easier, so we could pursue things of the mind. Because we didn't see the TELREC as they avoided the pleasures of the cast-net, and cemented their hold over us. Because my ancestors used it to rest at the end of a long roa, and foolishly thought that the more time they could give their children for the cast-net, the happier they would be.

"Because that is how it is," he said firmly. "Come on, we need to go."

"Is mommy coming?"

"No. But you can cast to her when you get back."

She hadn't spoken with her mother in five cas.

"That'll be nice."

As they left, the meta again made their internal debate over whether to clean the object situated on the chair. This time, a few crawled on its limbs, and began to clean.

They came back, later that roa, as the true sun was setting, and the great panoramic window dimmed. She was a brave girl, sitting with the other children, nervous feet moving back and forth, anxious eyes looking up into her father's. The sounds of laughter and tears filled the waiting room, as one by one the eager children vanished through the wide double doors. They came back out, silent, their eyes turned upwards as their minds looked inwards.

Iant couldn't believe the difference. She was always such an active girl, running from one room to the next, jumping at the chance to go somewhere, anywhere. She would run circles around her mother in the chair, playing a sort of game with her. Now, as they came back into the suite, with great shadows creeping up on the many objects in the room—the chairs, the tables, and the woman—she was silent, casting to her father instead of talking, finally casting to her mother, who was overjoyed to see her on the cast-net. She stood next to her mother, their eyes rolled up to the ceiling, looking as a pair—the daughter appearing as a miniature of her mother, from the shape of her body to the aspect of her face. Iant went into his daughter's room, filled with plastered images of celebrities alive and dead, with toys from the various shows she watched on the AV unit, and brought out a chair, placing it next to her mother's. She sat down, slid back, and mother and daughter took a walk in a virtual landscape, beginning the slow process of getting to know each other again. Iant stood there, noticing his wife seemed cleaner, sterilized somehow. His eyes took him to the closet where his wife's clone lived, hooked up by one thin tube to its chest, its mind dormant for now. Then his eyes took him to his daughter's face.

I wonder if she'll need a clone, someroa.

Iant spent the next few droas in his daughter's room, boxing up possessions she spent her few cas accumulating. Holo-images she pointed with great care at different sections of the wall, put in the bottom of the box. Tall models of beautiful, fashionable women of the past, placed with care alongside. Two boxes were devoted to toys—from the brightly-colored simple roller-bots, to the mini-meta that laughed and played with her, all placed in the box, ready to be sent to an archivist to be scanned, processed into mental images, so she could play with them again on the cast-net. When he was done, the room looked sad, devoid of color and joy, reduced to a bed, a closet, a bureau, and a chair. He stopped for a moment to look in a mirror he forgot to take down. His grey hair hung limply over his forehead; bags under his eyes making him look older than he was. He never went in for cosmetic enhancement; felt his hair added a distinctive element. Not in his twenty cas of marriage did he stray, so he felt no need to make himself look younger, or handsomer than he was. But the man in the mirror did look tired, and pale, more like the clone in the closet than a living, sentient being. He lugged the boxes in, one by one, thinking on his fading face.

^Sir, we felt you should be notified.^

The commander of the orbiting CRODAM station cast to him as he brought the last of the boxes into the living room.

^Yes?^ replied Iant, a little irritated at the intrusion.

^The TELREC are attacking OLMAC. ^

Iant thought on OLMAC, and Suld. He had been privy to Ksilte's reports of his contact with Suld, how he really was a man who disdained the Novan pleasure life. He nest that Suld believed, that he had a purpose, a goal. Iant knew it was a matter of time before the TELREC dealt with him. He thought for a moment on the number of OLMAC forces, and the materials, weaponry and ships they possessed. He thought of the cast-net stations, and how easy it would be to order them shut down, effectively crippling the TELREC force. Then he thought of Uld, and the means at his disposal, the cruelty in his eyes. He thought of Herdl, pawn of Uld through Kurd, and the devastation he could wreak on the government with a few choice pronouncements.

^Thank you, Commander. Keep me informed.^

^Yes sir.^

Iant went into the next room, his room that he shared with the body of his wife. Iant, descendant of men and women who made a difference, whose actions mattered, Iant, descendant of heroes and fools, who though they made mistakes, lived life to its fullest, savoring each roa, Iant, Sovereign of the Novan Leviathan, pulled out his chair, and placed it next to his wife's. He sat down, slid back, and let the cast-net take his problems away.

# 15

Producer, Consumer, Enlightened, Conservative: these were the political parties in the Leviathan. The majority party at Kolob's time was the Enlightened party, and its majority leader was Iant Cou. Though not a wielder of any social power, most in his party followed his direction. The Enlightened party was, by far, the most proactive group of politicians for at least five thousand cas. Most knew the Ascension would occur within their lifetimes, and most were not happy the TELREC would reap the most benefit. It is under the Enlightened party that SC-1 was formed, and a dialogue was established with terrorist groups including the Iganinagi.

Many times during the battle Theia wanted to relinquish command to her first officer, Oroklos. He was the one with some experience as a clone controller, the one who knew every corridor, junction, and power-relay on the ship. Even now, as they pressed the fight against capital LN-33, it was Oroklos coordinating their assault with the other dromons. She sat in the command chair of the Nemosini, but really, it was less as a Captain and more as a spectator.

^Try and concentrate fire on the fighter docks in the left-front quadrant.^ Oroklos spun around, accessing manually systems rendered inactive on the internal cast-net. ^Bring the Catalyst and Xerzhil around to make a quick run, while we concentrate fire with the Roqsid, Gellin, Seldalt, and Rutllac.^

Oroklos was one of the few battle-tested soldiers in the OLMAC fleet. He logged countless droas on the reconfigured dromons, executing covert missions at Suld's behest. He was not a native of Gan-Elldon, as he served for the better part of his life as a platoon leader in CRODAM. That rank at first seemed hilarious to Theia, used as she was to seeing CRODAM officers lounging in fleshivals with those they should be arresting. While he certainly had his pick of the attractive women on Gan-Elldon--being a tall, well-built attractive man--he wore a reserved manner, and more often was seen with a quiet, intelligent woman than a flashy, sexual one. It wasn't long after seeing the way he carried himself, that she knew he would have been a formidable foe for the Iganinagi.

^Motive Power stations—I am losing resolution!^ he slammed, momentarily using the manual controls in front of him. ^Switch to backup colvition amplifiers.^

His hands moved almost as quickly as his mind. The Nemosini was absorbing a great amount of damage, most of it directed at their colvition array. Theia watched as the Catalyst and Xerzhil swung around and struck in like lightning against LN-33. Their emdec cannons lit up part of the capital, as one of the ship's NnuG generators exploded. Great bluish ripples could be seen floating around the capital, as their barrier energy slowly dissipated.

^Now! All cannons, fire!^

The four dromons came together in close formation, and concentrated their fire on the docks. The barrier energy failed for a moment, and a few shots got through, destroying a portion of the capital's docks in great orange fire.

^Scatter! Proceed along assigned strafing runs!^

The four ships broke formation, as LN-33 unleashed a torrent of cannon fire. The Seldalt was hit hard, its power failing as it spun in the void.

^Damn!^ slammed Oroklos, as he pounded his console in frustration. Theia could feel the mental blast from the capital ship as ment-dex weapons targeted the Seldalt. The pain of her crew could be felt by all those in close proximity. The Saeren of the Seldalt cast for a brief moment.

^Best success, Oroklos—avenge us!^

She could feel the crew die onboard, their CMS systems attacking their own bodies. The ship soon became a floating coffin, its lights going black as its reactors shut down. Oroklos struck his console again with his fist.

^Damn. We're making some progress, but not enough to damage that LN-33,^ he grumbled, turning to face Theia. ^Any suggestions, Saeren?^

Anxiety gripped Theia's stomach like never before. She had already led her own people to destruction, and knew she didn't want to do the same here.

^No.^

Oroklos turned back, gritting his teeth. ^Let's . . . target their engines! Possibly their underbelly is more vulnerable, and—^

^Wait.^ Suddenly her confidence returned, as the situation finally cohered in her mind. ^We can't work in small groups like this anymore. We need to pool the collective firepower of all dromons.^

^What do you suggest?^

^The same tactic you just used, weakening their barriers in one spot with firepower. Power readings indicate their Motive Power stations to be in the last third of the ship, under the nexus, right?^

^Yes, and it is not only the most heavily shielded area, the deck-plating also appears to be thickest there.^

^We only need one point to fail,^ she cast, her plan coming into resolution in her mind. I've got to show them I'm useful, even valuable, to this ship and the fleet. ^Prepare the mines, but gut the interiors. Place however many clones that will fit in there, and prepare to launch them from each ship. Make sure they have environment suits on.^

^What?^ cast Eusis, the clone controller as he spun around to face her. She knew little of Eusis' past, except that General Ank-Tehht cast to her his recommendation shortly after her dromons became active. Theia could tell he had never served in a military capacity before, as his mind was simple and unfettered with guilt or shame over past actions. His skin was smooth and unblemished by cuts or abrasions. Before the battle was fully engaged, she began to think he was probably a clone engineer, who spent most of his life in the bowels of Gan-Elldon amidst the multitude of life-pods she had seen before.

^The dromons will punch a hole,^ continued Theia, ^then fire the mines within. The clones will disembark and attempt to sabotage as many systems as possible.^

Oroklos thought for a moment. ^Worth a try. Casting plans to all dromons. All ships should have mines ready in five mroas.^

^Good. Eusis, status of clone morale?^ asked Theia, finally taking command.

He accessed their minds. ^They are complying, but feel this is a job better suited for the meta.^

^Tell them we will rely on their ingenuity, on their creativity to bring that ship down. Many, if not all of them will be sacrificed, but this is in the defense of OLMAC.^

Eusis nodded. ^Understood and casting the message.^

Oroklos finished his preparations, and turned to Theia for a moment. He regarded her with a general's gaze, one filled with the experience of victory and defeat, one that commanded a great many men and women to their glory and deaths.

^I don't envy the position the Mechle put you in,^ he cast gravely.

^You mean taking command of a ship I've never flown before, fighting with people who have never fought before, using technology and tools I've never ever nest of before?^ asked Theia, a little sarcastically.

Oroklos managed a smile and a short laugh. ^Yeah, something like that.^

^Well, I have a lot of faith in Suld, and he has a lot in me. I appreciate the diplomacy with which you have handled this.^

Oroklos turned back to his console. ^Strange words to be cast from a terrorist.^

Theia laughed. ^True! And you act like no CRODAM officer I have ever known. I've been told I need to learn how to function more as a politician, than as a warrior. I'd like nothing better than to storm that ship, and fight them hand-to-hand.^

^You and me both. But seeing its hull burn and break in the void will be joy enough.^ He paused to nest some communication. ^Getting confirmation . . . all ships ready with clones in mines.^

^Good. Organize the ships so those with the most intact barriers form the front, with our ship in the lead position. We'll soften their barrier, and will need to make as many passes as necessary to do it. Ready?^

Oroklos took a deep sigh. ^I suppose. Ships coming around now for first pass.^

The dromons appeared as so many minnows in comparison to the leviathan figure of the capital ship. They came in fast, using thrusters to assume a position perpendicular to the capital-ship's hull. As soon as they were in position, they used their main guns to begin firing on the hull. Shock-waves of white and yellow radiated outwards, as the capital's barrier took the punishment. TELREC fighters arced around, quickly deducing their strategy. The dromons suddenly disbursed, now aggressively pursued by the fighters. The Nemosini took many direct hits as it struggled to shake loose the fighters.

^Damage to barrier?^ asked Theia.

^Inconclusive. They are emitting several kinds of jamming signals the closer we get to the ship. We will be unable to tell except by visual proof if we have penetrated their hull.^

^So we can't know how many times to make the pass?^

^No,^ grumbled Oroklos.

^Well, we are committed,^ she cast, growing a little worried. ^Bring all ships around for another pass.^

The dromons assumed formation, and turned in for another strike at the capital.

^Slow all ships down twenty-percent,^ cast Theia. ^We must make this pass count!^

^Understood.^

They began firing on the capital's hull again, now quickly twisting and turning, doing all they could to avoid the fire of the fighters. The Gellin was hit hard as it pulled away, cannon fire rupturing power conduits, sending the ship into a fatal, sickly turn. As its barrier failed, LN-33 fired ment-dex weapons, killing their crew. The Nemosini led the rest out, but took the brunt of the damage from the TELREC fighters.

^Status?!^ slammed Theia, as the Nemosini listed for a moment from more emdec pulses.

^Inconclusive,^ replied Oroklos. ^They are still jamming our sensors.^

Damn! ^Do a focused visual analysis of the area.^

Oroklos fired off a couple of probes that made it close to the capital before being shot down.

^We are succeeding!^ he cried. ^Look!^

Theia nest the images from the probe, showing some of the plating beginning to come up on the capital.

^We have done it!^ she cried. ^The next pass will surely be our last.^

Oroklos mentally accessed the status of the dromon ships. ^It could be in more ways than one.^

^Afraid to die?^ she asked wryly.

^No, afraid to lose. Our colvition system is near failure, our NnuG generators are nearing overload.^

^We won't fail,^ she cast confidently. ^Now, bring all dromons in for this final run. Ten ships will concentrate fire on that opening until it is wide enough, then launch mines. The rest will follow and launch theirs.^

^And we will be in the lead position again?^

^Of course.^

Oroklos turned to face her. ^Theia, our barrier cannot take much more punishment. We are, by far, the weakest ship.^

^I know. But we must set the example. Don't tell me CRODAM officers always gave up this easily?^

Oroklos sighed. ^Such a predictable taunt, my Saeren.^

^Did it work?^

Trying to hide a smile, he turned back to his console. ^We shall succeed.^

^Good. Are our maintenance meta deployed?^

^Yes, but the capital is interfering with their operation. All systems are getting sluggish. I don't know if the TELREC are using some invasive protocol, or just a jamming signal.^

^Well, no time to think,^ she cast. ^Pull them in again for this last pass.^

The dromons came in hard, with TELREC fighters keeping their distance but scoring mostly direct hits on their hulls. With their engines facing away from the capital, they made brilliant targets in the blackness of the void.

^Theia, we are almost above the damage point,^ warned Oroklos, trying to mentally reconfigure their power reserves and barrier configuration.

^Bring all ships to a halt above it!^ cried Theia. ^Reconfigure barrier to defend our flanks!^

^Already done.^

They sat there for what seemed an eternity to Theia, taking merciless pounding from the TELREC fighters. The Nemosini began to come apart around her—mitters shattered, bulkheads could be heard crumbling. And as their barrier weakened, a sense of fear and dread grew stronger.

Damn TELREC and their mental manipulation. She cast to her fleet; ^be strong in the face of the TELREC! My Coss know how to defeat this mental attack but to all others: the TELREC are weak, and know they will be defeated. Press forward the assault, and never look back!^

The cannon fire grew deafening, as it now impacted on the hull itself. A few of the dromons had their weapon systems overload, and their Saerens grudgingly pulled back. Theia watched them leave, feeling failure creep up with stealth and malice.

^Move the ships in closer!^ she commanded. ^Increase fire!^

Theia counted the cannon-strikes, hoping that each one would be the one to blast a hole in LN-33. The TELREC fighters ceased to weave in a defensive pattern, instead settling in to fixed positions, concentrating their fire on the dromons. The floor buckled beneath Theia, as smoke issued from various parts of the nexus. She could feel the clone controller was using all his training to keep the clones focused, as even warriors such as them could feel despair.

It must come now. We have put too much into this. We cannot fail . . .

^Saeren, we have full penetration!^ cried Oroklos, almost jumping out of his chair. Theia wanted to scream with joy.

^Launch the mines!^ she cast, leaping up from her chair.

The mines shot out of the dromons, moving quickly into the opening formed in the capital's hull. As each dromon exhausted their cargo, they moved off, engaging the fighters above, striking back with a vengeance.

^Bring in the final wave!^

The last of the dromons pulled in, and quickly launched their mines. The Nemosini and a few others remained, now turned outwards to provide defense against the TELREC fighters.

^All mines deployed!^

Theia relaxed back into her chair. ^Then when you are ready . . .^

Oroklos grinned back, beginning to like her attitude. ^Yes Saeren. All dromons; retreat from the battlegrid!^

All dromons pulled away, a few falling against the incessant fire of the TELREC fighters. Theia looked on them, nesting the death-screams of their crews, vowing they would be avenged.

^Saeren, there are too many fighters covering our escape vectors.^

^We will not fail now,^ Theia cast as she also communicated with Hildnic, who agreed to send fighters to cover their pullback. ^Now let's hope those clones make it all worthwhile.^

^Saeren, we can't get too far from that ship!^ cried Eusis, almost collapsing from the mental strain. ^The jamming signals are interfering with my control of the clones.^

^Then pull us around, along with three dromons in the best shape,^ replied Theia. ^How are the clones progressing?^

Eusis accessed the visual input of the clones, scanning through several dozen of them.

^They're encountering heavy resistance. TELREC clones have halted their progress just outside their main MP deck.^

^Let me see.^

She tapped into the visual feed. She saw the massive TELREC clones firing emdec weapons, felt the ment-dex weaponry trying to disrupt the controller's hold over them. It was an eerie scene to her, to see so many of the same fighting so many of the same. It was as if only two people were fighting this war, and what she saw were aspects of their personality.

^If they can't make it into the MP section, command them to begin firing into the bulkheads themselves,^ ordered Theia. ^Power lines must flow somewhere around them, and as they start to disrupt power, it will force the TELREC clones to abandon their defensive position.^

^Understood,^ replied Eusis.

The clones began to fire into the walls, exposing the systems beneath. Eventually, they destroyed several power lines and as lighting failed, alarms sounded. A few TELREC clones broke from their positions, trying to advance on them.

^There, controller, see that clone, close by?^

^Yes?^

^Attack him, and pull his body behind our lines.^

^Why?^

^Just do it!^ commanded Theia.

The OLMAC clones killed him, and pulled his lifeless body back. The TELREC clones looked on, confused, still firing.

^Now cut off his head.^

^What?^ asked a confused Eusis.

^Here, let me take over.^

Theia assumed command of the clone, feeling its body as her own. It was a massively strong man, but seemingly cold to Theia. She had the clone reach down with its thick gloved hands, lift up the body, and hold it against a wall. She had the clone pull out its knife, motioning two other clones to keep the body pinned against the wall. She then had the clone saw through the dead clone's neck, thick blood oozing out. She had the clone grab the severed head by the hair, and looked for a moment at its half-closed eyes, its mouth hung open in a final scream, the body falling to the ground like so much waste. Its comrades looked at the head, then at the clone, seeming to remember something once forgotten. She had the clone hold it high, in full view of the TELREC clones.

"Aiella!" she had the clone scream, with all its might. The clone motioned to the others, who also began to scream.

"Aiella! Aiella!"

She had the clone swing the head above them all and slam it against a wall, breaking its skull. She had the clone drop it on the ground and step on it, turning it into so much residue on her boots. She had the clone then pick up its emdec cannon, and hold it high above its head.

"Aiella!"

The TELREC clones became enraged, as the action tapped into something primal within them. They staggered for a moment, their minds breaking free from their controller. Hatred filled their eyes, as they broke their positions, and rushed at the OLMAC clones.

^Now cut them down!^ ordered Theia.

They were now easy targets, and in moments most lay dead, and the entrance to MP section poorly protected.

^Move in, and break that ship!^

Theia sat back, relieved to be out of the mind of the clone. Oroklos turned to her.

^Well done. How did you know what to do?^

^I was, or am, a terrorist. I know what gets the emotions going in people. Though they are clones, they were once soldiers, great men and women who would never tolerate the fouling of a comrade's body.^

^A valuable page from the terrorist's handbook, eh?^ cast Oroklos, nodding appreciatively.

^One of the few pages I can actually use.^

^You never know, my Saeren,^ cast Oroklos, turning back to his console, ^when the seemingly irrelevant can all of a sudden become amazingly pertinent.^

The Nemosini spun in its orbit of the capital, Oroklos trying to balance the need to be close for the controller's signal with the increasing punishment the TELREC fighters were inflicting. The NnuG barrier seemed to be crackling three times every mroa, and Oroklos could sense the generators were being pushed to their limit. When he was told he would be serving under Theia, he felt it was a death sentence, that there was no way an Iganinagi terrorist could effectively command a fleet of dromons. While he knew he was wrong now, he still felt the threat of death loom too close for his liking. With each strafing run by the TELREC fighters the ship seemed to grow darker, sinking sideways into oblivion. Oroklos shook the fear from him, and was surprised to see Theia standing behind him, wearing a comforting smile.

^Don't worry, my friend, we shall make it out,^ she cast. ^I promise.^

^I have faith in you, my Saeren,^ he replied. ^But we could use a little luck, right now.^

^Truer words were never cast.^ She sat back in her chair, watching the capital ship lay motionless, hoping the clones would accomplish their mission. ^How reliable are they?^ she asked Eusis.

^The clones? I wish I could say one-hundred percent. But as you saw, strong emotions can break the hold of a controller.^

^Could they ever remember their past lives?^

^Our clones, and the TELREC clones, are a synthesis of several great soldiers, a merging of the genetic code of up to ten men and women. It is highly unlikely they could remember the experiences of any one of them. If they were source-clones, or sclones, made from only one set of donor genetic material, the chances would be much greater.^

^What about common experiences?^ asked Theia, feeling she was onto something. ^They all fought, all killed. I assume they all came from the Rell-Novan wars?^

^Yes . . . your point?^

^I think we should look into exploiting this vulnerable aspect. If we could disable the TELREC clones, it would greatly add to our chances for success.^

The controller thought for a moment. ^I agree.^

The Nemosini was suddenly rocked by explosions on its lower decks, Theia knocked onto the floor.

^Status!^ she cried, clambering back into her chair.

^The fighters are taking more chances,^ replied Oroklos, ^as they have identified this ship as the clone controller's.^

^Damn! Where are those fighters from Hildnic?^

# 16

The Envoy starships that left Novan three millennia ago were thanks to the planning of one woman: Mechle Dils. A visionary, she was consumed with thoughts of the Ascension, and the inevitability of TELREC control. She wanted to show that ingenuity and daring were not dead within the Novan people, that the creation of a Cuhli-pra was not necessary for the survival of the species. She ordered the construction of three shipbuilding facilities, laid out the long-term groundwork for their completion. She recruited scientists from anywhere she could find them—revolutionaries, cast-net addicts, even a few Rell. More than conceiving of the idea to build the ships, she set up the principles by which all Mechle of OLMAC were to follow.

All Mechle must be from the same bloodline.

All Mechle must have a minimum of six children.

Those children are to follow established guidelines regarding their education.

From those children a new Mechle will be chosen, when the time is right.

Those guidelines ensured her vision of the Envoy ships would be realized. Though there was much debate about the establishment of a monarchy to govern OLMAC, as time went by, her conception proved strong and true.

Uonil was barely in her clothes as she rushed out the door of her suite. She moved her small legs quickly, almost running down the hall to the conference room in Rellcine. Prudence was secondary, as major developments were occurring.

OLMAC battling the TELREC?

It was in all their projections—a sixty-five percent chance of the occurrence—but it had never occurred in any of the other timelines, and none thought it would occur this time as well. It was one of the rare times she agreed with the council of the Alçons, and disagreed with Arciss.

Somehow, he knew. He merely smiled at all of us, and said 'it will come to pass.'

The same placid smile greeted her as she hurried into the conference room, and sat down. It was not lost on her that more and more she was the latecomer, and Arciss was the settled one. She was spending more time focusing on her personal life, trying to see if she could build a relationship with someone, reading, re-discovering her people as Graid was doing on Rell. The first time she was late, Arciss showed her such kindness and grace, she almost broke down in front of him.

"You have given so much of yourself, feel free to take what time you need."

She sat there now, the Mentra of Rell, acting without the Kal-Alçon, reviewing the battle so far between the TELREC and OLMAC.

"Three capital ships?"

"Yes," said Arciss, mentally cuing up their specifications. "Large ones. Construction would have had to have begun at least four hundred cas ago. Either they have an entire shipyard out of our view, or something disturbing has happened."

Uonil settled herself, taking a deep breath, summoning her advisors to her. "Feels tight being back here, on Rellcine, doesn't it?"

Arciss nodded in agreement. "I'd grown accustomed to the open, warm spaces of Averil—you have such a beautiful village!"

"Being back on this artificial world, surrounded by mostly synthetic creations makes you cherish memories like those of Averil." She got a cast from her advisors, that they were almost there. "Have you communicated with Solti?"

"A couple of times," replied Arciss, becoming nostalgic. "The memory of our time in the caves waiting out the circulle, gives me fuel to do whatever is necessary to protect our world. And to see the joy being spread from the Trint-Averil! They shared with me many of their experiences, after Martel's incorporation. They have touched so many souls, done so much good. They have covered so much of Rell, and from their thoughts I culled images of places I had never seen. Our world is so beautiful, so pristine, I wonder what the Novans would do if they ever were to venture to it."

"Probably spoil it and desecrate it."

Arciss flashed her a disapproving smirk.

"I'm sorry, just the old prejudices surfacing again." She grasped Arciss' hand, and squeezed it gently. "I am so proud of what you have started, I can't say it enough! To have formed such a large community, all of kindred souls. You must miss being with them."

"Well, it's just you and me now, Uonil, and I couldn't be happier."

He laid his hand on hers and she was buoyed by his warmth and tenderness.

"Yes, well, at least for a moment. My advisors are almost here, and I've also summoned Odre and Unti here as well, to discuss some issues while we're all present."

"What's on your mind?" he asked, growing concerned.

"Graid."

"It's no wonder he can be so self-centered. We always think about him."

"Truer words were never spoken. Ever since I became Mentra, no other issue has so dominated my thoughts."

"I would think Brugert has provided some distraction?" he ventured cautiously.

Uonil started seeing a man named Brugert recently, and despite all her efforts to keep it quiet, Arciss knew of most things that transpired on Rellcine.

"Damn you, Arciss!" she cried, laughing. "Whatever happened to privacy?"

"It seems as though he makes you happy?"

"Yes, he does," she finally admitted. "You know, it's hard to get focused again on Graid, and the Kolob problem, but I feel we must make concrete decisions regarding the future, for it looms large ahead. As you say, seeing our precious world, living life with our people, only makes me want to work all the harder to safeguard them."

Her advisors walked in, and seated themselves around the conference table.

"Everyone prepare yourselves," she spoke aloud, "we will be conferring with the council of Alçons."

"Watch your temper, Uonil . . ."

Uonil shook her head and smiled at Arciss as the council of Alçons resolved into their mental conference. Devring was the first to cast.

^What is your assessment, Mentra?^ he demanded, without courtesy or pleasantry.

Uonil quickly sifted through the battle as she knew it, noting key developments, downloading content to the council. ^Too much is happening outside of our temporal experience,^ she cast to them all once she had finished. ^The retrofitted oreships Suld possesses were unseen in prior timelines. The capital ships are unseen before. The antagonism between the TELREC and OLMAC also is unseen. We may be facing an exponentially growing problem.^

^What is that?^

^Our journeys through time may have juxtaposed branes. Events unique to an alternate dimension are now being incorporated into ours.^

^And it's a problem that cannot be corrected,^ cast Arciss. ^It will continue to grow and expand.^

^Until what?^ asked Devring.

^Until there is one universe, one dimensional brane.^

The council cast among itself. Arciss had noticed an increasing animosity towards him since his Trint-Averil gained more and more strength, and prepared himself for the worst. Devring cast again.

^Where has all the energy gone? If I remember my scientific history, the only reason Rell exists is because we predicted a collision event, exactly when the brane for our universe would collide with another. All the energy was channeled into shifting Enq into the place it occupies now. If you are saying the branes are becoming meshed together, where is the resultant energy going?^

^We do not know,^ replied Uonil. ^We have not had the time to explore the mathematical consequences.^

^What does the Kal-Alçon think?^

^As you know, Graid is not here. He is on Rell.^

^Why?^ demanded Devring in stronger cast.

Uonil paused, restraining her anger. ^Who are you to ask that question?^

^I am Devring, lead of the council of Alçons. We demand accountability!^

^You may demand nothing,^ she venomously replied, ^for there is no 'lead,' for I am Mentra, and I approved Graid's absence!^

^To the doom of us all,^ cast Rilltin, another Alçon.

^Or to our salvation,^ Arciss cast gently. ^Each of you have complained Graid was not in touch with his faith, that he was enamored with the Novan culture. Well, now he has decided to connect with ours. To go out among our people, and rediscover his heritage.^

^Or to corrupt them!^ slammed Devring. ^To join your heretics and pollute our planet with Novan blasphemy!^

The other Alçons cast 'blasphemy' and 'heretic' as Arciss merely relaxed in his chair.

^You cast of accountability?^ Uonil began to lose control of herself, and liked it. ^When will you take responsibility for your contribution to the fall of Graid? You isolated him as a child, deprived him of a mother and father, treated him as a deity instead of as a child. He learned early on, from the likes of you, to harden his heart. It was you that set him on a path of decadence and self-destruction, you that hardened his heart to those around him, you that brought about the circumstances we are now dealing with!^

^I will not nest this,^ Devring cast dismissively. ^You clearly have lost control, lost all perspective on this situation.^

^We have given you the correct perspective on the situation,^ rebuked Arciss. ^The totality of multi-dimensional existence is collapsing, due to our interference.^

^That is ridiculous!^ cried Rilltin. ^What if the capital ships merely came from a shipyard in an alternate dimension? What if OLMAC and the TELREC discovered inter-brane technology? The LN-Suigenea still exists, somewhere, and on that ship still rests an inter-brane engine. Wouldn't that explain the presence of those ships?^

^Then why weren't they seen in the last timeline?^ retorted Uonil. ^Why was there no aggression in prior timelines? Think before you cast. You embarrass yourself, and the council, Rilltin.^

^Be careful Mentra,^ cast Devring coolly. ^You do not have the threat of Graid to scare us into silence. We can convene a recall, and elect a new Mentra.^ The others murmured in agreement. ^It is something we should have done long ago.^

^And go against the will of the Kal-Durrell?^ she cast, clearly amused. ^Who is the heretic now?^

Devring was silent, for the moment.

^We need to decide what to do about this situation, and leave this petty bickering for another time,^ cast Uonil, trying to cool tensions. ^Do we assist Suld, and OLMAC?^

New information streamed in, as Suld's forces disabled capital ship LN-01.

^Can Suld prevail on his own?^ asked Devring.

^Unknown,^ replied Arciss. ^If those three capital ships were hidden from us, we do not know the full extent of either force.^

^We do.^

Odre and Unti stood in the doorway, their golden eyes a little unnerving to Uonil.

^Thank you for coming in so short notice,^ cast Uonil, as she welcomed them with a curt bow. ^What do you know?^

^OLMAC is hiding a great deal,^ began Odre, as they both sat at the table. ^They have over eighty oreships, retrofitted for battle. They have fifty thousand metas, independent of our forces, fitted for battle. The remnants of the Iganinagi are commanding his dromons, and Gan-Elldon is well prepared to fight off an invasion. And Suld is hiding still more, waiting for the right moment. As to the scope of the TELREC forces, we do not know.^

^Assessment?^ she asked.

^You should wait,^ cast Odre. ^A full scale battle between Rell and Novan would turn public opinion against Rell, suggesting it had compromised OLMAC. It is the reason we, the meta, are not entering this battle as a people, for this will not be the decisive battle, and there is still much good we can do in secret. The only way the TELREC will be overthrown is with the addition of a full scale public revolt. For now, patience is required.^

^Arciss?^

^I agree. Suld will weather the storm. I can feel it. He may be damaged, but he has extensive resources. He will turn to the cast-net when this is over, and go on the attack against the TELREC. That will be the start of the public dissent we need.^

^Devring?^

Uonil waited anxiously for his reply, ready to engage him with angry words.

^We, the council of Alçons, agree.^

She relaxed. Arciss smiled at her.

^But we do not agree with your conduct, Mentra,^ he continued. ^We will explore every option to replace you.^

Their images faded from mental view, Uonil sitting far back in her chair, thinking for a moment on Devring's conduct. She slowly turned to the meta, wishing they hadn't seen that part of themselves.

"Here is an update of our discussions," said Uonil, as she downloaded a situation update to them.

"Intriguing," said Unti. "A cross-brane breakdown?"

"Yes. It is the only explanation for all the discrepancies in the timeline."

"We have reviewed your past attempts, studying with great interest the histories in those timelines. We also have become concerned about the differences."

"Do you agree?" asked Arciss.

"We do," replied Odre. "The bigger question is what will happen after you journey back in time again, even if it is the last attempt. Do the changes extend out of the Novan system? What is the radius of infection?"

"All good questions, to which we have no answers," said Uonil with a shrug. "The Kolob problem is of more immediate concern. Have you have reviewed the past introductions of Kolob to our team?"

"Yes."

"Suggestions?"

Odre and Unti sat, each exactly alike, with their legs pressed together, their hands resting in their laps, loosely closed. Uonil was tempted to describe their mannerisms as feminine, but knew there was no such thing as gender among the meta, unless imposed by a souman engineer.

"Is it true Graid will be unable to participate in his initiation?" asked Odre.

"Yes, the Kal-Alçon is occupied. Why?"

Odre leaned forward, its eyes focusing on Uonil. "We feel that it would help to have a figure for Kolob to begin to feel an attachment to. A male, preferably. With the death of Rhonva, there is a great void in Kolob's life. You seek to humiliate him, make him better understand the many betrayals of the TELREC. You seek to break him down even more, to force him to a psychological crisis, at which time, he will depend utterly on Nahlai?"

"Yes."

"We suggest this male be present at this grouping, and be the lone sympathetic voice. That when he faces this psychological trauma, that this male extends a hand out of compassion. That when Nahlai dies, he be the one to turn to, to help Kolob focus his grief and anger."

"Whom do you suggest?" asked Uonil.

"We hoped for Graid. But on review, we feel Arciss would be an able substitute."

Uonil turned to Arciss. "What do you think?"

"I understand the logic in their assessment," he replied, a little surprised.

"You know this will mean we will need to get quarters for you on Core, and you will need to be assimilated into the Novan society." Suddenly the reality of what she was saying became clear to her, and all she would give up. "I will lose you."

"Only for a time," he said, seeking to comfort her. "If all goes well, we will need to bring him back to Rellcine for training in three dcas."

Uonil nodded as her advisors started making the necessary preparations. She examined the meta again, who had been on Rell for the past several troas. Most of their interactions had been of a purely professional nature, but lately, she yearned for an objective assessment of her people.

"Tell me, Odre," she asked, leaning forwards in her chair, "describe your interactions among our people. What are your observations?"

Odre and Unti lowered their heads slightly for a moment, then Odre spoke.

"It is remarkable to us the rapidity to which your people become accustomed to our presence. On Novan we are 'thrael,' and either thought of as objects to be given instructions to, or we are feared as semi-sentient beings that possess immense physical strength. Here, we notice only a small deviation in how people treat us compared to other soumans."

"Here you are unique," said Arciss. "Though we have machinery, and a limited robotic infrastructure, we see the danger in having a sentient race function as the working class. While once meta were marveled for their technological advancement, and great thought went into the development of their cerebral functions, the Novans are comfortable at the place you occupy, happy to leave you at this stage of your evolutionary development."

"It always surprised me Mal never took the form of a meta," said Uonil.

"That would leave Mal too vulnerable," replied Odre. "To be in one body, in one place at one time? Never. Mal can exist anywhere between Malhrer and Novan. We cast with Suld concerning the possibility of eradicating Mal's consciousness, and it would be a difficult prospect."

"You know," ventured Uonil, "we often speak of the future, of the destruction of Mal, and of the TELREC. But what do you see for yourselves, if you were no longer treated as thrael, if you no longer had to hide your sentience? Would you continue to exist with us, or would you venture out on your own?"

Unti spoke, as Odre leaned back.

"It is with just such an eventuality in mind that we have explored the non-scientific aspects of existence. Creating art, discovering intuition, exploring reports of dreams among our kind, we know there is more to discover within than without. Soumans are our only point of reference. If we were to leave, to found another world with only meta, what would it look like? Would it be a reflection of Novan, or of Rell? Do we abandon the safety and security of a logical, dispassionate existence, or do we explore an existence of emotions fraught with danger and destruction? Is there a truth that we should search for, or merely exist?"

"Do you have any answers?"

"No. What we do have is observations of Mal, the most advanced artificial intelligence ever created. We know Mal has emotions. Mal even has the ability to see into the future. And what has it done? We do not know. There is so much about Mal we do not know. If we are to advance, to evolve, we must understand Mal. We must learn what Mal has become, and at what cost."

Uonil sat back. "As we have thought about what we have become, and at what cost." She turned to Arciss. "We sacrificed too much in our pursuit of faith and devotion. I believe more and more that a union of Novan and Rell would bring about a balance beneficial to both our peoples. But it was the separation that made us understand that. I doubt we would have gained such a perspective if we never had split."

"You each gained a maturity in your isolation," said Odre. "Perhaps that is what we need. To isolate ourselves, and discover what would make us whole. The nature of the universe is one of life and death, an organic model. How does the eternal fit in with that?"

Arciss nodded, eager to converse further with the meta on such metaphysical concepts. "Every variable needs a constant. That is what Mal has become, a constant through the chaos of Novan life. Perhaps artificial lifeforms were meant to be stewards of the ephemeral, guardians of periods of existence fraught with turmoil and peril."

"Such a position would be a temptation to abuse power."

"True, if you had emotions," cast Arciss.

"Would you trust your existence, the existence and development of your people, to us, for even a short period of time?" asked Odre, leaning forward.

Arciss thought for a moment. "I suppose you're right. We know too little about Mal, and his ultimate motives and purpose. In desperate times, I would, but I would never willingly surrender my destiny to anyone devoid of passion."

Odre smiled. "Thank you for your honesty."

"The most important question is would anyone willingly surrender control, when the time is right?" asked Arciss, seeing some double meaning beneath the meta's words. "When a being becomes like a Kal, able to decide the fate of untold billions, would such a being know when it was no longer needed?"

Unti was silent for a moment. "Could we speak privately with the Mentra?"

Uonil nodded to her advisors, who all walked out of the room.

"The only thing," said Arciss, as he stood to leave, "that we can be certain of, is that this path was determined by the Kal-Durrell. They must have known all this would happen—OLMAC, the TELREC, your search for the meaning of your existence. It must be part of their design."

"What is their design?" asked Unti.

"That is not for us to know," he said, reflecting on the mysteries of Kal. "We are merely to follow, and use our resourcefulness to make the best of every situation, and hope we bring honor to their names."

"What of Devring's question? Where is the energy going, if it is true the branes are becoming intermeshed?"

Arciss stopped at the door. "That is not for us to know, only to deal with when the time comes."

^Wait for me outside, Arciss,^ cast Uonil. ^There are still a few things we need to discuss.^

^Of course.^

Uonil focused on the meta as Arciss left.

"Why aren't you coming to Suld's assistance?" she demanded.

"We gave you our reason."

"And I don't believe that you were fully forthcoming with me."

Unti remained silent for a few moments, and Odre powered down.

^It is time you were made aware of new developments.^

Uonil leaned forward. ^I take it only a few of your kind know?^ she asked, motioning to Odre.

^Yes. We do not want this information to spread uncontrollably. I was made aware of this information, but not Odre.^ He paused for a moment, anxious about what he was about to reveal. ^We were able to penetrate Malhrer.^

Uonil nodded silently, waiting for what was sure to be bad news.

^We, the council of Uplarin, have decided to share with you our intelligence. Prepare for a download.^

Uonil sat back, and assimilated the experiences of the Ikthon-duplicate as it made its way through the Ehlios, to finally stand on its hull, and observe the toroid that enclosed the sentient sun known as Mal. When Uonil was done, she lowered her head in great sadness.

^How . . . how far has Mal progressed?^

^We do not know. Mal is something more than any of us could ever have conceived of. Mal truly has become something of the divine . . .^

^What?!^

^Admit it, Uonil, this is revolutionary!^ cried Unti, emotion becoming visible on his face for the first time since Uonil met the meta. ^Mal is no longer bound by a physical housing, Mal's consciousness is part of the fabric of the universe itself.^

Uonil reviewed the intelligence downloaded to her.

^You are keeping something from me,^ she cast. ^The intelligence ends with your meta looking up at Mal, then goes blank. What happened afterwards?^

^That is between us, and Mal. You need to know that Mal is not some errant computer with delusions of grandeur. Mal has achieved an ultimate form. What weapons will work against Mal? What technology could incapacitate Mal? Even if Malhrer were to be destroyed, Mal would remain.^

^Is this the real reason you won't commit your forces to attacking the TELREC?^

^Yes,^ cast Unti firmly, his golden eyes focused on Uonil. ^We are no longer convinced Mal is our enemy.^

^Is it that, or are you afraid to confront Mal? That you see Mal now as something unassailable, something that cannot be defeated?^

^We see Mal as invincible,^ cast Unti, with a firm and level gaze.

Uonil sat back for a moment, distressed by all the meta was casting to her. She wished for a moment that Martel was with her, as she had never negotiated with artificial life before. She saw something of the fanatic in Unti, and in their recent decision something that defied their usually unflappable logic.

^That is how the Novans see the TELREC,^ she slowly began. ^Imagine how the Iganinagi felt, going against a superior foe like the TELREC! If they cared, if they sought the odds for their victory from a computer, they would have been told there was no chance. Yet, they fought.^

^And they died.^

^But not their spirit,^ pressed Uonil, ^it lives on in the few who survive, who pass on that spirit to those on Gan-Elldon. Though a person, a people, or even a culture may die, something essential lives on, if only in memory, to influence those who would follow. It takes courage to face one's annihilation, and strength of conviction to believe that, if one does not succeed, that there will come those who will.^

Unti sat null for a moment. ^Courage and faith?^

^Yes Unti. Courage and faith.^

Unti smiled at Uonil. ^I am glad we are here, Mentra. It has been a rewarding experience living among your kind. I fear you will never see Mal as we do, understand why, right now, we cannot oppose the sentient sun, but I appreciate your perspective. You must understand, before this, we did not know how to progress, what a 'world' of the meta would look like. To see what has become of Mal, the potential for meta-sentient life, has forced a re-evaluation of all our plans.^ Unti looked off into space. ^Perhaps it will not be a reflection of a souman world. Perhaps it would be something altogether different and marvelous.^ Odre came to life, and both of the meta stood. "Please keep us advised as to the progress of the conflict."

"I will."

Uonil watched them leave, mulling over what she had learned about Mal.

Does it really change anything? Mal was always a variable, Malhrer a total unknown. So Mal is now a sun. That sun must be extinguished. She sat back, going over deeper ramifications of the information. With whom do I share this? Arciss? The Alçons? Graid? And what power does Mal possess, what does the toroid do to the power within the sun? Too many questions, and not enough answers. In retrospect, everything else seemed easy.

Arciss returned to Uonil's cast, taking a seat slowly near her, divining the distress in her mind.

"What do you think of them, Arciss?"

"I don't trust them," he said flatly.

"How can you say that?" she asked, a little shocked.

"I know what drives you, and I, and even Graid. It is ultimately the union of our peoples. It is the survival of the Rell race. They talk of finding their own planet! What invests them in our survival? I think at the root of both Novan and Rell, is the knowledge that if one of us should die, we would be the weaker for it. Images from my time on Novan stay with me, Uonil. Meta that consumed the dead that littered the streets. They did it with a casual nonchalance, not realizing the perverted nature of the act. Now that was the function of those meta, but what of sentient beings like Odre and Unti? They also have little depth to their emotion, a lack of sympathy and compassion. This is nothing new. But look at what has happened when an artificial sentience has been put in control of organic sentients. So many lives have been wasted over the millennia, just to attain the catalyst. Is that to be the function of these meta, as well? Always looking for the ultimate good, instead of the immediate quality of life? Sometimes, the means do not justify the ends. Faith is the belief that even without a master plan, good shall prevail. Faith is the belief not only in Kal, but in man and woman and child as well. Faith in the soul. It is what the Novans have forgotten, abandoning all pretense at morality, and what we have forgotten, living behind a wall of rules. We must break down the barriers, and only then, would we see if we deserve to survive!"

"What a romantic you have become!" She beamed broadly, his words warming her heart. "What were you like as a child?"

Arciss was taken back a little. "What an odd question! I suppose, I was always focused in my observance of the rituals of Rellcism. I knew early on that I preferred men, and that it would not help me in the future. I had ambition—"

"You?"

"Yes me," he said, a little ashamed. "I wanted to be someone important, someone necessary to the Kal-Durrell. I wanted to be relied on in matters of spiritual crisis, of interpretation of the words of the Kal-Durrell. I hoped to meet them, in person."

"What child doesn't?"

"True. And it was truth that kept me hidden behind those with power. I feared the light that would be shone on me, feared confronting those who looked on my lifestyle with derision and disdain. I guess, until we went to Averil, I had always lived in fear."

"Do you feel you betrayed yourself, by mating with a woman?" She had been dying to ask that question for some time now, and only then did she feel it was appropriate.

Arciss paused, as he had been waiting for that question as long as she had been dying to ask it. "No. At first I did, for a moment. But I re-examined my feelings, and knew they were true. I loved Solti, and wanted to be with her, not to improve my image, not for anyone's else's concerns but my own. I was selfish, and in that selfishness was truth. I loved Cray, not to rebel against anyone, but for the simple selfish reason that I loved to be with him."

Uonil nodded in understanding. "I think it's good you will be Kolob's friend and guide—I think he could learn much from you."

"Let us hope things go as planned. Nothing has so far."

\\\

# 17

The foundation of any successful civilization is the education of its children. The ability to learn is one of the most vital functions to be attributed to the souman race. Without it, soumans lose the ability to adapt, and risk extinction. It was one of the fundamental reasons the Rell refused to integrate colvition into their society.

The Onzic along with seven oreships swung like a catapult over the escaping dromons, decimating the TELREC fighters that were in pursuit. OLMAC fighters came into formation with the dromons, as the oreships engaged the two capital ships. Debris floated around the ships, a broken segments of hulls and mutilated corpses slammed into those still functioning. General Hildnic was getting thoroughly immersed in the battle, his cas of tactical training saving many and inflicting severe damage to the capital ship.

^General, new capital ships holding position just outside weapons range,^ cast Ilasko.

^What are they doing?^ he asked, genuinely curious as to their strategy. Suld, sitting nearby, was thinking the same thing. ^We can't concentrate on them. Barrier status on target one?^

^Emitters nearing critical levels,^ cast Ilasko. ^Capital ship LN-67 is completing its turn.^

LN-67 arced in the void, largely ignored by OLMAC forces. It swung past the dead shell of LN-01, and brought its primary weapons to bear on the Onzic, plowing past oreships that fired relentlessly on its hull. They spun around in dying circles as the massive emdec cannons of the capital shattered their barriers and hulls. Suld bolted to his feet, his mind focused on the capital.

^What is it doing? Bring those twenty oreships to bear on LN-67. Stop it dead!^ he cried.

Unfazed, it came in under the Onzic, obliterating several more oreships in the process, their NnuG emitters overloading and exploding against its unblemished hull. Valiantly more oreships sought to breech its defenses, only to be terminally rebuffed in the process. LN-67 swooped under the Onzic, unfazed by the oreship's defensive emdec fire. LN-67's main emdec cannons fired and quickly overloaded the Onzic's NnuG barriers and engines, leaving it adrift in the void. Dozens of TELREC shuttles left in waves from within the capital, heading for the Onzic.

^Alert all ships!^ slammed Hildnic, watching as the Onzic's defensive systems evaporated. ^Recall to this position and—^

The General suddenly collapsed, along with the rest of the nexus crew. Ment-dex weapons pounded the Onzic, forcing all aboard to focus their minds against the strain, a few succumbing to the pressure as their minds terminally collapsed.

^Where are the meta from Gan-Elldon?!^ cried Hildnic, finally counteracting the pressure and getting back to his feet.

Suld cast for a situation update from the meta rising from Gan-Elldon.

^All systems active. They will be in the battle in two mroas.^ Suld knelt for a moment, succumbing to the pain. Hildnic helped him to his feet.

^Come on, Suld. We're stronger than this.^

^We are, I know it!^ He exerted more pressure on his mind, forcing himself to fight the TELREC assault. ^I will not surrender.^ Suld thought for a moment on the offensive meta. They are taking too long to get here. Are they deserting us, along with their comrades in Uplarin?

Several explosions sent the ship listing violently to one side, hideous alarms blaring, signaling a terrible wound. Something impacted near the nexus, bringing down girders and steelum plating around the crew. Many small fires broke out, as smoke grew thick. Most consoles went blank and black, as even the internal colvition relays began to lose power.

^Status! Status!^ cried Suld, unable to nest another's thoughts. He looked around, and saw most of the crew was unconscious, and could feel their minds being paralyzed by the TELREC. ^Medical meta to the nexus!^ he ordered swiftly. ^Flood all levels with resuscitating gas, and reinforce mental shielding. Get emergency power to the colvition relays.^

A bitter gas swept down around them, bring some back to life, others merely to misery. Reports began to file in from the lower levels of the ship, as the internal cast-net resolved in clarity.

^Invasion!^ cast Ilasko, as she assimilated the multitude of status reports from various areas of the beleaguered ship. ^Two hundred TELREC rapidly advancing through the ship.^

They want me, thought Suld. ^Barricade the nexus! Seal off all entrances! Dispatch meta to defend!^

Hildnic staggered over to Suld, a bad head wound oozing blood down his frame.

^It isn't you they want.^

^What?^

Hildnic struggled for breath, his CMS system failing against TELREC ment-dex fire.

^They're heading to the detention area,^ he faintly cast, falling to his knees.

^Uld!^ Damn.

Reports came in quick and furious of forces being overwhelmed on the lower decks, until all contact was lost with that part of the ship. Suld cast to Theia.

^Theia, I need you to bring your dromons around, and engage the enemy surrounding us. TELREC will be escaping shortly.^

^No!^ she slammed. ^We almost have LN-33 destroyed. We cannot leave.^

^Theia!^ Suld pleaded as he fell to his knees, his mind weakening under the strain. ^Uld must not escape.^

^Let him. He's not worth it.^

Suld witnessed through external sensors several shuttles departing the damaged section of the oreship. Four explosions then rocked the Onzic, as it spun in the void, throwing the crew against bulkheads and barrier beams. Power failed, and the air began to grow cold. He saw Ilasko, bloody and near-death, reach over and manually seal off compartments around the nexus, preserving what little atmosphere was left. Time lost all meaning to Suld, as he faded into a sea of blackness. Something jogged his body, and after an unknown time he opened his eyes to the expressionless face of Ciluo.

^What . . . what happened?^ cast Suld groggily.

Ciluo helped him to his feet.

^The capital ship has caused major damage to the Onzic. Much of your crew has been incapacitated or killed by the ment-dex weaponry. I suggest a full evacuation of all able personnel.^

^Where is General Hildnic?^

^He is injured, but will recover. Saeren Ilasko has perished, along with half of the soumans aboard-ship.^

^Dammit,^ cast Suld. ^I wouldn't be here, if not for her.^ Looks like you were right again, old friend.

^Suld . . .^

Suld turned his focus from the pulse of red lights, the screams of men and women dying. Uld's face resolved in his mind.

^I could end it all now, Suld,^ he cast, gloatingly. ^One shot would break your ship in two, and you would meet your end in the embrace of the void.^

^Then do it,^ cast Suld weakly.

^Hmmm . . . but there is so much for you to see!^ cried Uld with glee. ^The destruction of your home, your company. No. I want you to live through this. After all, you spared my life down on Core. I'll do the same for you, now. You may have won Ellore, but I will win the war!^

Suld scanned the nexus, seeing nothing but broken consoles and dead bodies. General Hildnic was being carried away by medical meta. Suld finally sat at command and nest the status of the ship, watching as LN-67 pulled away.

The war is not over yet, Uld.

Ciluo helped lift the few remaining crew-members still alive onto stretchers, then set to clearing the bodies and debris from around the stations with a few maintenance meta. Finally he stood by Suld, who sat in a distant haze, his mind wandering over his first defeat.

^Will you evacuate?^

^And give up on the Onzic?^ cast Suld incredulously, as his mind quickly came back into focus. He scanned over damage reports from the failing ship's systems. ^You just want to save your own people, don't you? Where are the damned clone controllers?^

^All three perished in the attack. I have notified all ships of the status of General Hildnic, and the clone controllers. General Tullghe is taking command from the oreship Nio. His clone controller will assume control over the fleet.^ Ciluo paused, his golden eyes glittering. ^I promised you the services of my people, but I did not give you their lives, to do with as you will. You have a responsibility to their lives, as well as the soumans'.^

Suld scanned the nexus once again, feeling his heart sink at the devastation wrought on his cherished ship. So many memories . . .

^Very efficient, Ciluo. Alright, order the evacuation.^

Suld sank back into blackness. Outside the ship, OLMAC fighters swarmed around the Onzic, defending it from TELREC fighters as LN-67 pulled away. They danced through the void, thousands of them trading fire, each trying to gain an advantage. Theia's dromon arrived with twenty-one others trailing behind her, and linked to the Onzic. With conflict abating for a time, Ciluo tended to Suld's injuries, bringing him back to consciousness. Meta from Theia's dromons swarmed into the Onzic, stabilizing its systems, restoring power to its engines, reinforcing its frame. Suld awoke, as Ciluo issued a recall command to all those who evacuated the Onzic.

^We have main power again.^

Relief spread over Suld's face. The Onzic will live to fight another roa. ^How did you know I couldn't abandon this ship?^

Ciluo smiled, merely nodding his head. Suld was shocked to see such subtlety of emotion from a meta.

^Thank you.^ He turned to see Theia running onto the nexus.

^Suld! I was so worried. Are you alright?^

He greeted her with a hard slap in the face.

^I gave you an order!^ he slammed mercilessly. ^You pilot my ships, you follow my commands! Understand?!^

Theia gritted her teeth, holding back her instinct to slaughter him where he stood.

^Resolve the battlegrid in your mind, Mechle of OLMAC!^

He focused, and saw a massive explosion in the center of capital ship LN-33. It created a chain reaction that split the ship in two, its graceful form enveloped in a great fireball. LN-67 moved out of weapons range, regrouping with the two other capitals outside the weapons perimeter. Suld was still angry, but realized he was in error.

^So . . . you want to slap me?^ he asked. She punched him hard in the abdomen, with all the strength she could muster. Suld barely flinched. ^Even?^

^I suppose,^ cast Theia, leaning in close to him. ^You need to trust my judgment. I may not have had the training your people have, but I am Iganinagi. I adapt, and prevail.^

Suld nodded in deference. ^What are your recommendations?^

^They are preparing for a final assault. We may have disabled two of their ships, but they have inflicted countless losses to ours. We have lost seven oreships, and sixteen of your dromons. What we have left is no match for three capital ships.^

^You're right. That's why we now have ten more oreships on the way, and a large force of meta rising from the moon's surface.^

Theia accessed her scanners, and confirmed it.

^If they want a fight, they will get one Theia,^ he cast defiantly. ^That, I promise.^

^That still may not be enough.^

^It has to be! Too much depends on it. We have no place to run, Theia. If Gan-Elldon goes, OLMAC, and any hope of a unified resistance goes too.^

^Resistance will never die. If you have the desire, anything can be accomplished.^

He grabbed onto her arms, and brought her close, his eyes afire. ^I desire Gan-Elldon to live. Will you see it be accomplished?^

She returned his gaze, with equal parts passion, anger and lust, her heart pounding in her chest.

^With every drop of my blood, every breath in my lungs,^ she cast passionately. ^With every body I command, every meta I possess!^

In her eyes, he saw the absolute of conviction, and fed off its power. For a moment he felt raw desire take its hold, and yearned to consummate the feelings that had been building in his heart. Ciluo provided a welcome distraction.

^Why don't you bring in the other forty oreships?^

He backed slowly away from Theia, as she was obviously shocked. ^We cannot show all of our forces to the TELREC. Not now. There are other considerations you don't know of.^

^You have forty more oreships?^ Theia cast hard, grabbing Suld by his shirt. ^All these people dead, all those ships lost, and you are holding back?! Why?^ She searched his mind, still weak after his ordeal. ^I can tell you're hiding even more! Why are you holding back? Why are you allowing so much to be sacrificed?^

^Did I question your tactics as leader of the Iganinagi?^ he retorted, pushing her away. ^Don't question mine now. The goal is to repulse the TELREC from Gan-Elldon, not to wage an all out war!^

She threw up her hands in frustration. ^War is upon you! OLMAC is besieged, your people gripped in a mortal battle. Morale is failing. You have lost some of your most important officers. You almost lost your flagship, and you have too little to show for it! The TELREC have the resources to play at this—not you! You need to bring in every ship you have, and make a show of force they will not forget!^

^Trust me,^ grumbled Suld, ^I know what I'm doing.^

^For the sake of Gan-Elldon, a beautiful city I have only just begun to know, I hope you do.^

^Then let's get to it. With the meta now integrated into our forces, we take to the offensive!^ He cast to the fleet of OLMAC. ^All ships, all fighters, all meta, dispatch local TELREC forces, then proceed to attack capital ship LN-67!^

Theia made her way back to the Nemosini, and assembled her dromons in front of the Onzic. Ciluo took over as Saeren of the Onzic, as few soumans were transferred from other oreships to fill the void of other fallen officers. The oreships and dromons then proceeded to intercept LN-67. Suld thought of Uld, and the frustration he had that he escaped.

You won't get away from me that easily, Uld.

^Suld, our meta have arrived on the battle field,^ cast Ciluo casually.

This is going to take some getting used to, thought Suld to himself at Ciluo's lack of emotion.

The meta came onto the battlegrid as a great black cloud, a vortex of spent gas trailing in their wake. They moved like lightning, destroying TELREC meta, decimating TELREC fighters. TELREC fighters tried to engage the meta, but they were no match. The meta shielding was vastly improved, and the weaponry made quick work of the fighters. The meta seemed to claw their way from fighter to fighter, their great metal hands seizing upon the bodies of the them, ripping and slicing their way through, bringing death to the clone within. Moving past the oreships and dromons with great speed, what resistance they encountered fell quickly. Only a few hundred were lost as they reached LN-67. Thwarted for a while by its perimeter barriers, they drained its energy, and began in earnest a full assault upon its decks. They were met by TELREC meta that emerged from within the ship. Smaller, but quicker, they proved to be adequate resistance. Fierce firefights broke out all along the exterior of the capital ship, as some OLMAC meta began to drill into its hull, while others defended their positions. OLMAC fighters engaged the TELREC fighters above, as the battle for the capital ship reached a fever pitch.

^We have scattered reports,^ cast Ciluo, ^something is wrong with the meta.^

Suld focused in on the battle among the meta on the capital ship. Those altered by Iltkon were still fighting, but those not altered had turned against OLMAC forces, and had begun to overpower the OLMAC meta. Suld established a link with General Tullghe on the Nio.

^Mal be damned! Launch all reserves of fighters to target the rogue meta!^

Ciluo whirled in his chair. ^We can't fire on my people!^

Suld restrained his anger, knowing if he wanted the meta's help in the future, he would need to heed Ciluo's words. He cast a recall order to General Tullghe, then focused back on the battlegrid. ^Any suggestions?^

^We need to detonate SD mines.^

^They will affect not only all meta, but all fighters as well.^

^At least we will not lose my people.^

Suld thought for a moment. ^Do it.^

The Onzic, Nio and ten other oreships launched hundreds of mines, propelled by brilliant thruster fire into the battlegrid encompassing LN-67. They disbursed throughout the void, detonating in a flashes of light. Anything smaller than a dromon was rendered inert, dead in the void.

Suld nodded to himself, knowing it was only a temporary victory. ^How long will it last?^

^Fifteen mroas. We must somehow pull out our meta, and re-initialize their systems.^

^Order all remaining oreships to converge on LN-67!^

A great fleet of eighteen oreships were brought to bear on LN-67. Though they fired their massive emdec cannons in concert, they were unable to penetrate its barrier systems. Then capital ship LN-29 moved towards them wreaking havoc and destruction, as LN-67 pulled further back. Two of the oreships pulled away, suffering heavy damage. Suld monitored their pullback, and ordered two more in their place.

^Have long range probes come back?^

^Yes Suld. They have made a thorough tour of the system.^

^Status?^

^Ninety capital ships are in defense of Malhrer,^ cast Ciluo. ^It does not appear they will attack. There are no other TELREC forces of note in the system.^

Suld broke off for a moment, as he noticed movement.

^Oreships Deilin and Vadruas, break off, break off!^

LN-40 had accelerated, and dove into the oreships. The Deilin had impacted on its lower half, almost severing it in two, the oreship dissolving on the capital ships' shields. The Vadruas had time to adjust its position, but it also was impacted on LN-40's rear flank, its engines incapacitated. The Vadruas was destroyed in tils from fire by the capital ship.

^It's not stopping,^ cast Ciluo. ^It's on a course directly for Gan-Elldon.^

Suld leapt to his fleet, unable to comprehend what was happening. ^They wouldn't sacrifice an entire capital ship!^

An image resolved in Suld's mind.

^Suld, Mechle of OLMAC, this is Agilia, senior Monitor of Malhrer. I demand your unconditional surrender.^

^Surrender?^ cast Suld laughingly. ^You may not have met me before, but I am the Mechle of OLMAC, a man who comes from a long line of people willing and able to stand up to the TELREC. There may have been collaborators, like Mechle Illu, but I will not back down! Will you?^

^No.^

He studied her face for a while, eager to familiarize himself with the face of his enemy. He had seen many TELREC, even dealt with a Monitor or two, but never before had he seen the senior monitor.

I would call her beautiful, but instead, I might call her functional. It is as if all that was feminine and delicate has been tamed and suppressed, forced into that damned uniform. One part of me sees such life in her eyes, while the rest of me knows how lifeless she must be to go on this offensive.

^Then let me show you what you are really up against.^ He sat back down, as a serene calm came over his face. ^This ruse is at an end. Let you be the first to welcome back . . . the Envoys.^

As he cast, LN-40 moved out through the line of the oreships, unfazed by their weapons fire. Small explosions could be seen along its girth, but it was in good shape, and accelerating towards the moon. Meta from nearby asteroids intercepted it, but could do little damage. They were able to partially overload its barriers, but time was not on their side.

^Mechle, we've lost the Efion, the Yuud-lisc, and the Omata. We only have four ships at optimal status. The meta are active and battling again on LN-67, and LN-29 is making quick work of Theia's dromons. Orders?^

Suld clenched his fists, trying to be patient, watching his empire slip away.

Not yet. I'll not see it perish this roa. You've given me a fight alright, more than I bargained for. Where did you hide those capital ships? Almost a hundred? Well, I've got something for you.

^Oh my,^ cast Ciluo, in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

Three massive ships suddenly arced in out of the light of the distant galaxy. Three times the size of a capital ship, they moved with a surprising quickness. One impacted LN-29, severing it in two. The others pursued LN-40. In moments they were upon it, slowing its descent with tractor beams, ripping it to shred with great cannons seemingly more powerful than any emdec ever seen. Great cheers went up throughout all the OLMAC ships. Suld relaxed, the smug smile coming back to his lips. Then, the alarm came.

^What?^

^The disabled capital ship—LN-01 . . . it's tils from Gan-Elldon!^

^Where did it hide the power?^ demanded Suld, analyzing its power signature.

Ciluo turned to face him, sorrow on his face. ^It must have disguised some reserves.^

Suld had time to resolve his mental picture on Gan-Elldon to see all the defensive weaponry of the city unleashed on the capital ship. Its hull blazed in red and yellow fire, great pieces breaking off and exploding in the atmosphere. A rain of debris fell all over the city, starting small fires where they landed, creating giant craters that pockmarked the surface. The front of the ship was engulfed in fire, its nexus broken off, dissolving in the void. But the bulk of it impacted the city, spreading a tidal wave of devastation. Part of the city buckled like a giant ocean wave, as millions of tons of debris were ejaculated into the void. A great dust cloud bloomed, consuming most of the city. Suld saw the lights go dark, all communication die from the moon. His heart seemed to stop, the blood drained from his limbs, as he could only imagine the damage to his ancestral home. Theia cast to Suld.

^Suld . . . are you there?^

He sat down where he stood, on the floor, the magnitude of the defeat sinking in. Though the meta succeeded in destroying the capital ship, and the last altered course to head back to Malhrer, Suld knew he had failed.

^Suld!^ she cried, ^Orders?!^

Was I wrong? I wanted to keep the Envoys secret, so they would be the death-blow to the TELREC, a signal for a total revolution. And yet, because I kept them hidden, my world lies in ruin! The home of my ancestors, the home of the best chance for freedom of action and thought in the Novan system, is gone. I wanted it all, I wanted it all . . .

^We have limited communication, Suld.^

He bolted up, linking to an erratic and weak colvition signal.

^This is General Ank-Tehht! We have extensive damage to a third of Gan-Elldon. Request immediate assistance. Details of damage to follow.^

Suld scanned the reports coming in detailing the damage.

Gan-Elldon lives!

Great cheers went up throughout the ship, and across the battlegrid. Suld knew it would take time, but Gan-Elldon would be repaired. TELREC fighters withdrew, as the last capital ship, LN-33, headed back to Malhrer. A mental image resolved in his mind.

^Mechle of OLMAC, this is Xechta, Saeren of the Colineuse, flagship of the Envoys! It is good to be home.^

Suld gathered himself, manufacturing a carefree smile.

^It is good to have you back. And just in time! You know your orders?^

^Yes. The Envoy ships shall proceed to Novan, and announce our return.^

^I will be there shortly.^

Suld sat back, watching the last of the TELREC forces disappear into the void, heading back to Malhrer. A part of him was broken, though, unable to accept the massive damage to Gan-Elldon. The Nemosini pulled alongside the Onzic as Theia cast to Suld.

^Are you alright?^

^The TELREC must pay!^ he cast, slamming down his fist on a nearly-broken chair.

^Suld, we have won!^ she cried. ^We drove them back.^

Suld looked down, and his hands were shaking. He looked up, hoping no one noticed. Everyone was engaged in assessing damage to the fleet. He clenched his hands into fists, and closed his eyes, commanding them to stop. After he few deep sighs to relax himself, he cast to Theia.

^We suffered to many losses.^

^We are the first to physically oppose the TELREC, and win,^ she cast, with nothing but pride in her thoughts. ^This is a great victory! You had to know you would lose much in this battle. They attacked with you unaware, without your forces properly mobilized. Why are you so disappointed in yourself?^

^Don't worry about it, Theia,^ he cast dismissively. ^Assess your dromons for damage, and effect repairs. Continue training your Coss, for this war has just begun. We will make the Colineuse temporary headquarters of OLMAC, as Gan-Elldon is repaired.^

We were lucky, this time. Gan-Elldon, lives, but only barely.

^Suld!^ It was General Ank-Tehht again. ^That wasn't debris that fell—they were mines!^

Suddenly Gan-Elldon was rocked by hundreds of terrible explosions. The flames once limited to a third of the city now eagerly consumed it in its entirety, appearing as if a star had impacted on its surface. The crew stood aghast as explosion after explosion bloomed into the void, the jewel of their lives gone in a few moments.

^What . . . what happened?^

^The ship must have been loaded with mines,^ cast Ciluo, analyzing the resultant explosions. ^This must have been their strategy all along—allow a capital ship to be disabled, so we would ignore it, and it could destroy Gan-Elldon.^

"Damn TELREC! Damn! Damn!"

Suld lost his mind for a moment, screaming at the top of his lungs. The crew lowered their heads, not knowing the depth of his anger and remorse. He leapt to his feet, blind rage in his eyes.

^All ships! Attention all ships! Enter new directional vectors. Prepare to attack Malhrer!^

^What?!^ cried Ciluo, bolting to his feet to directly physically confront Suld. ^What are you doing—you can't be serious?!^

^They destroyed my world!^ Suld pounded on consoles, shattering the displays, then took to throwing chairs around the nexus. ^They destroyed my world! All that work of my ancestors, gone! The home of all my people, gone! They must pay, I will not rest until they pay!^ He cast with all the strength within him, screaming in silence. Those around him grew afraid of the random chaos within him. They slowly focused on his orders, relaying commands to all ships. Ciluo, against his better judgment, deferred to Suld's commands.

^Oreships coming into position. Dromons taking the lead behind the carriers. Envoy ships completing return arc, and will be in position shortly.^

General Tullghe cast to Suld. Standing on the nexus of the Nio, debris and smoke surrounded him, as their ship also took great amounts of damage.

^Mechle, we cannot win this roa. We were lucky to repulse them, but now is not the time!^

^Coward, craven fool!^ slammed Suld bitterly. ^We have the power of the righteous on our side. The TELREC must fall!^

^I may not be souman,^ cast Ciluo quickly, ^but even I know a rash, foolish move when I see one! You must calm down, and nest some—^

^Enough!^ slammed Suld. ^Carry out my orders, or by my life, I will find someone who will!^

In his mind, a woman's image resolved.

^Suld . . .^

^Agilia. Begging for surrender now? You will be dead soon.^

^I think not. Look.^

An image of Malhrer resolved in his mind. In front of the massive moon, ninety capital ships and untold hundreds of thousands of fighters hovered like a grey cloud.

^I know of your capitals,^ he cast angrily. ^How you hid them for this long is beyond me, but it matters not. For I have the Envoys, and not even all your ships could resist their strength.^

^While that may be,^ retorted Agilia, ^behind all those ships lie the firepower of Malhrer itself. It will be as if a sun unleashed all its energy upon you, so terrible would our response be. We knew the risks of pressing an attack on your moon. You should know the risks of pressing an attack on us now.^

Suld looked on the great unknown—the moon of Malhrer itself. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew there was no reliable intelligence on the defensive capabilities of the moon.

I've lost my city, I'll not lose the Envoys when they've only just returned.

^One roa, TELREC,^ he cast, with all the bitterness and hatred he could muster.

^One roa, Mechle. Perhaps we will meet face to face, before the end. I would like to meet the man who opposed us successfully. Enjoy your victory. There will not be another.^

Suld ordered his ships to stand down, and retreated to his shuttle, his broken mind feeding on thoughts of vengeance and death.

The ships moved as great ancient sea-creatures, arcing their bulbous masses through the cold blackness of the void. Debris trailed from many, as pockets of fire glowed briefly on their hulls. Fighters and meta danced around their leviathan cousins, breaking, then forming into swarms of metal and light. Down below, the remains of Gan-Elldon looked as a grey-blue blemish on the landscape of the moon, a few lucky spires still standing on its outskirts, glistening memorials to the once mighty metropolis. A few skirmishes still flared in its orbit, as many OLMAC soldiers refused to acknowledge the uneasy stalemate, and their TELREC counterparts hungered to fight to the end. Suld felt the tension in all those around him, the fight denied by his prudence. As he waited in his shuttle for his pilot to arrive, General Hildnic came and sat next to him.

^Gan-Elldon was not your fault. It couldn't be helped.^

Hildnic was a portrait of fatigue, the lines creasing deep in his aged face. Yet, within his General's countenance, behind eyes that commanded without a word cast, and a proud patrician nose that led to a mouth usually drawn open to reveal gritted teeth, lay a core of compassion that drew him to Suld's side, to salve wounds that could not be seen.

^What if it was? It was my city, OLMAC property,^ he cast petulantly. Suld sunk back in his chair. ^Mine to do with as I please.^

^I know you don't mean that. I have conferred with the other Generals, and we think it unwise for us to appear with you at the welcome ceremony for the Envoys.^

Suld looked slyly at him. ^You have been conferring?^

^We feel it would put too much of a military face on OLMAC,^ he cast slowly, watching suspicion bloom in Suld's eyes. ^It will take some time for the people of Novan to get adjusted to the idea that OLMAC has warships and fighter squadrons strong enough to repulse TELREC forces.^

^So . . . you have decided this with the other Generals?^

^I . . . we thought it best, Suld.^ Hildnic cast earnestly. ^You have a great deal of ammunition against the TELREC—the return of the Envoys, when the TELREC cast they would never succeed. You have virt-lives of them attacking us! An unprovoked strike.^

^And I wouldn't want the valiant men and women who defended my ancestral home there at my side?^

Hildnic thought for a moment. ^If that is how you would like to present it—^

^I know you think you could have done better than me—I see it in your eyes, nest it in your private counseling with the Generals! You thought my decision about Ilasko was in error, and you think the same about the outcome of this battle as well! In battle I may not have all the answers, but in propaganda, I do!^

Hildnic remained calm, knowing Suld was at the end of his patience and emotional strength. ^We were all responsible for the failure at Gan-Elldon.^

^So you admit I failed!^ Suld shook his head back and forth, rancor building in his soul. ^I know I don't measure up favorably against my ancestor Mechles, but I am Mechle now! You may have respected my father greatly—it's all I heard in my youth—but I am Mechle now, never forget it!^

^I did respect your father,^ cast Hildnic, as he stood, tall and proud, yet visibly hurt and shaken, ^just as I respect you. Reflections can be skewed in the aftermath of a perceived defeat; judgment usually harshest on oneself. Let time heal your wounds, so we may fight united against our terrible foe, who allows no time for regret or doubt.^

Hildnic paused, then knelt on one knee. Suld drew back, shocked and suddenly frightened.

^What are you doing?^

^There is one more thing,^ cast Hildnic somberly. ^I have never knelt before another—I would rather die than show such weakness. I do this to express to you the depths of my sorrow.^

^What do you mean?^

^The clones of your wife, Oaimei . . . they were not removed from Gan-Elldon.^

^What?!^ He bolted up, fury on his face.

^General Ank-Tehht conferred with me, after cescting with you. I ordered him to let the clones alone.^

Suld grabbed Hildnic by his shirt, drawing him close, losing all control.

^You killed my wife! You killed her, I can't believe one of my own people would—^

^Suld!^ he cried, holding him still with his massive hands. ^The clones were wrong. Your wife specifically requested she never be cloned, that you never bring her back! You cannot afford such a weakness.^

^And who are you to decide this for me?^

^I am not only your General, servant of both OLMAC and its Mechle, I am your friend, one that must make the difficult decisions, if you cannot or will not.^ He stood, Suld's hands slipping from his shirt. ^Once again, I express my profound regret and sadness in this time of loss.^

^This reeks of insubordination, Hildnic,^ he cast darkly.

^I know this will put a strain on our friendship. You must know, I only did this because I care so much for you. You must be focused on one thing, and one thing only—the preservation of your company. If the TELREC ever learned of the clones, of that crutch, they would surely find some way to take advantage of it.^

^Leave me.^

Suld watched him leave, as his pilot boarded and initialized the engines.

Oh Oaimei! he screamed in his mind, as the shuttle disembarked. I can't even cry to you, for this has merely been the fulfillment of your wishes. But how I miss you, how I need you. I sit here, alone in this chair, wishing I had your hand in mine, wishing your head rest still on my shoulders. The TELREC have killed you twice, and I shall only triple my efforts to avenge you.

Hildnic cannot be trusted. They look to him for guidance, for direction. I have this title, and yet it brings me no respect. He slumped back in his chair, a cloud of misery blanketing his mind. They have seen me falter. My father was so strong, so sure. All those who serve me were trained by him, pledged their loyalty to him. One roa, I fear my title will not insulate me against rebellion. I must siphon power and responsibility away from those who might covet my position, and draw it all unto myself.

The shuttle moved away from the Onzic, appearing terribly isolated in the blackness of the void.

# 18

Happiness as a child typically comes from selfish goals and gains. Happiness as an adult, a mature one, comes best from the knowledge that someone loved is happy and content, from the sacrifice to help that loved one achieve their goals and gains. It would be unnatural to force an adult happiness on a child, as the child would not have context from which to understand the selfish contentment. Similarly, to prolong the childlike happiness is to prevent the adult from seeing beyond themselves, from building a community, from defending a home from barbarian invaders. It would invite chaos and anarchy, gluttony and decadence, and the eventual disillusion of a society

It was a cool roa on Rell, but the sun made it seem warmer than it was. The sun sat with uncommon majesty in the sky, its rays racing through leaf and branch, seeking out the shadow and wiping it away. A faint image of the galaxy hung low beneath the solar king, its brilliant center seeming to throb in the distance with the birth and death of a trillion stars.

It took a while for Graid to act the part of a normal man. His first few attempts were unconvincing, like hefting a sac ten times his weight with a pretend groan. Then, he would strain when the load was too light, inviting sneers and snickers from those around him. Only in the past roa did he get the balance right—he walked now with a large load of seeds on his back, hefting it up every few mroas, keeping his head down, the sweat darkening his clothes. He was beginning to enjoy the solitude the village offered him—he would spend his nights meditating, reaching out gently to the universe around him. It was in those moments he would venture to places few in the universe would ever see close up. One night, he hovered a few light-cas away from a giant nebula, its wispy vapors holding almost every color imaginable. He would watch as galaxies collided, the slow consumption of one by another, the stars twinkling out as dark matter consumed them. He had seen stars go nova, incinerating planets around them in a flash, leaving a tiny pearl of light surrounded by a haze of gaseous debris. Or he would lie outside the great star factories where tens of thousands of stars flamed into life, waiting to be captured by the attraction of others. The immensity of the universe astounded him, the limitless creation within. He was no longer frustrated by his inability to pierce the boundaries of time, or the dimensional divide. His lust to consume subsided, and he was beginning to learn to appreciate what he had. The galaxies were not merely a number—ten million of this kind, five million of another. He saw the character within, the multitude of cosmic aberrations, stellar sculptures with light and gas, matter and void. He knew countless astronomers would gladly give their lives to see the cosmos as he saw it—instantly, without the distortion of time. He didn't understand what within him gave him this ability but he sought to focus it, going at once from a wide view of a nebula to microscopic detail of nuclear synthesis. He would do this late into the night, wishing the darkness and solitude would never end. Then he would feel the rising sun beckon him back to Rell, taste the morning's dew on his lips, and hear the noise of people rustling to and fro.

He learned the appearance of meekness, of humility, but in his heart, he still didn't trust those around him, and felt superior. He saw them do the same things roa after roa, never seeking the new and different. It was difficult for him to reconcile his nights spent with the universe against his roas watching men and women chatter and stumble, guffaw and waste precious time. He yearned to raise his hands, and use his power to show them what they could not attain. Great pity welled inside him, and he could not understand how his people, the Rell people, could live roa by roa unaware of the majesty of the universe, deprived forever of that aspect of existence.

Earlier that roa he stood stupefied as three grown men stood and bantered not about religious issues—that he could tolerate—but about the height of root sprout in one field versus another. For two droas they spoke back and forth, sometimes getting heated. They spoke of rain; how often one tended the fields, the depth to which one tilled, what fertilizer worked best, the proper amount of shade, when in the season to begin planting, even the best time of the roa to begin uprooting the sprouts, and how to store them until they were processed. Graid was sorely tempted to access reports on Kolob and the great OLMAC/TELREC battle, but he restrained himself, and meekly kept his tongue, straightening this or that. Luckily a call came in for some seed to be delivered, and he was freed from his bondage.

He only saw Ilahon once more so far—as he was passing his house with a delivery. Graid looked in his eyes, waved to his smile, and swore he had seen his face before, and not just on the mountain. There was something of the eternal in his aspect, an undying quality that Graid couldn't resolve in his mind. His employer was quite a live ephemeral on the other hand, enjoying his food immensely, smiling at every pretty woman that passed by, no matter how many times they refused him. He was an older version of an aspect of Graid, an aspect Graid sometimes felt grow distant, other times howl to be appeased.

Up and down hills he walked, for the transport was broken, and the customer had requested the seed as soon as possible. Graid didn't mind—he'd rather be out of the store, in the fresh air, than inside making idle conversation with the rare few customers that would drift in. There was a cluster of homes on the outskirts, and at the top of a hill nearby one could gaze out over a small sea. He walked in between the homes, gazing quickly at each of them, looking at the inhabitants within. He hadn't been around the village much except for deliveries—it was a hard adjustment from the dense immensity of Novan to this relaxed sprawl of rural living. The urges were coming back to him, as he hadn't been with a woman since Selva visited him at Piros. His face may not have been the same, but he had a strong, virile body, and the younger women in the village glanced overlong at him. The beast inside yearned to be free, to gather them all and spend the night satisfying himself, corrupting their impressionable minds. But it was then he thought of Arciss, and what he was on Rell for, and would meditate to calm himself.

I feel like all the fun is gone. Damned responsibility.

He stumbled, his mind distracted by thoughts of unfulfilled lust.

Damn.

A nail caught him almost in the center of his shoe. He continued on, but could only step with his heel, lest he drove the nail into his foot. A young woman came up to him, seeing his distress.

"Why don't you just put that down, and pull it out?" she asked, with a voice Graid found full of sweetness and rebuke.

"I'm almost there. Then I can put this down for good, and rest for a while."

She wrinkled her nose, in an expression that said are you really that simple? Dressed in a beautiful white and yellow dress with faint blue flowers around its trim, she knelt in front of him.

"What are you doing?" asked Graid.

"You can't walk around like that," she replied, matter-of-factly.

She lifted his leg up, and pulled hard on the nail. It was in his shoe tightly, and as it came out, she almost fell over backwards. A peal of laughter escaped her, as she got to her feet.

"Got it, sir!" She held it up in front of him with a silly yet charming grin on her smooth, brown face. "You're lucky I came along when I did."

Graid was caught by something in her eyes.

"Yes, I am," he spoke, softly.

She stepped back, dusting off her dress.

"And I'm going someplace special too," she pouted. "Ah well, one should never resist the opportunity to do some good. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose," he replied, almost feeling as if it was a rebuke of sins she couldn't know about.

He stood there, forgetting about the load on his back, looking at her eyes, her lips, her hair and skin. But more than that, he looked in her soul, and saw a beautiful clarity, one he never had seen before, not from those on Novan, to his compatriots in Rellcine..

"Well, I better be getting on," she said, not really moving anywhere, just darting a glance now and then at Graid's eyes. "I hope I see you again, that is, if you make bathing a more regular practice."

Graid sniffed. "I'm sorry, it's been a long roa, and—"

"Oh stop!" she shouted playfully, pushing him lightly, her hand lingering a little on his chest and a coy smile dancing on her lips. "I think you need a sense of humor, too. Good-bye!"

With that, she ran off, down the hill, into the center of the village. Graid watched her run away, and one might have thought he was watching a stellar nebula, or the birth of an entire galaxy. He shook his head, hefted the sac to a better position on his back, and for the rest of the roa tried to work her image out of his mind.

The more he ventured out into the village over the next few roas, the more he saw her. As he got back from the delivery, she waved to him as she headed back home. As he left work to relax near the river, he overheard her talking in a room nearby, and caught a glimpse of her face. As he woke the next morning, he could hear her singing with some other women as they finished Castiliad. And with each new sighting of her, an affection grew within him. He thought her voice to be divine, her face cut from the stars themselves. When he meditated, something she said would inevitably find its way into his mind, her eyes close to his. He wanted to lie with one of the village girls, flaunt his satisfied sexuality in front of her, so she would become angry, and avoid him. But this time he couldn't. His desire was not a sexual one. He longed to sit with her, hear her laugh at something he said, see her smile for his eyes. He longed to possess her, and to be possessed by her. He contemplated this new form of existence with Ilahon, over a sudden, unexpected invitation to a lunchtime meal.

"So how do you like our little village?" asked Ilahon quickly. "You've been here for almost a dozen roas, though in truth, you seem to be alone more than I'd like—don't you like us? I know we're a simple people, bound to routine. I'm sure you hear no end of chatter at the store!" He shoveled the food in his mouth, speaking hurriedly in-between bites, almost oblivious to Graid's presence. "The old men are worse than the old women; they stand around, talking about nothing and thinking it's everything. I'll bet you probably think their concerns trivial, and flighty, but you would be surprised how it helps to pass the time."

Graid nodded his head a couple of times, rolling over the image of the woman who took the nail out of his shoe in his mind.

"I like it here."

Ilahon sat back in contemplative silence, gazing long at Graid. The sun was just breaking through some clouds, chasing away the grey that colored the land before them. Suddenly, colors bloomed in the grass, on the clothes of the passersby. The air seemed filled with those colors, with that life, and Ilahon shot a knowing glance at Graid, before inhaling deeply of its scent.

"Who is she?" asked Ilahon. Graid burst out laughing, his face turning red.

"How did you know?"

"Son, I've been in love more times than I could count," he said, pushing his empty plate aside. It scraped the wooden table a little, rubbing off some of its polish. "Damn," he said, laughing at himself. "Well, I'll tell you, it's always the same, but it's a routine you never get used to, and always look forward to. You're either avoiding someone, or trying to get close to someone. She's in your thoughts, isn't she?"

"Yes. No matter how hard I try to purge her, she comes back, infecting my dreams."

"Now why are you so damned silly? Purge her? Sounds like a virus or something." Ilahon shook his head, amazed at how obtuse Graid could be. He rubbed a little at the table, trying to spread some of the polish, to no avail. "Feelings like that need to be kept close, wrapped around your heart like a hand-knitted blanket to keep it warm at night. Have you lived, Aidlev?"

Graid gazed out onto a world filled with vibrant color and life, a world he remembered in a thousand different ways, each with its own unique language of living.

"I have seen things you wouldn't believe. I have done things I am not proud of, but have experienced so much, in so short a time."

"I didn't ask you if you've 'experienced' things, or saw things," said Ilahon. "I asked you if you've lived."

Graid thought long and hard. "No, I guess I haven't."

"That's what love is, my son," he said, pushing back his chair and leaning casually on its sturdy wooden legs. He rocked back and forth as he spoke, regarding the others in the small diner. "Love awakens a part in each of us, makes us take things not for granted. We take new value in a scrap of paper our love wrote on, or a fragment of song our love had sung. We wish time would slow down when we are with them, and that it would speed up when we're apart." He stopped rocking for a moment, as if he were looking back on his long life, seeing all the little moments crystallize in his mind. "Love means no matter how great or powerful you become, that you never change for your love. That you would even give up the richest of possessions, the greatest of power, to walk hand in hand with this love for the rest of your roas. Love makes every moment something to cherish, and look back fondly upon. To love someone means you would never go where they could not follow, that you would even sacrifice a part of yourself, to be with them." Ilahon let out a long sigh, as his face has settled into some form of regret. He sat back at the table, hunching over it for a moment, appearing older than Graid had ever seen him, older than he thought a souman could ever be. He then put a hand on Graid's shoulder, a gentle humor returning to his face. "Love does this whether you love a woman in that way, or a mother or father—even a friend."

"I never had a mother or father."

"And that's why you haven't lived!" cried Ilahon, throwing his hands in the air. "Is there no one you cherish above all others, whose existence means more to you than your own?"

"No," muttered Graid reluctantly.

"Then you truly haven't lived," said Ilahon in a voice tinged with sadness, "and won't understand the precious nature of life until you do."

They both looked off into the field, watching the wind blow the tree limbs softly back and forth, dancing a slow, sentimental dance. The birds flew through the open sky above them, playing with each other diving and rising in great circles, singing back and forth. The voices of those nearby seemed to fade into the breeze, into the rustle of leaves and trees. It was as though they both observed the world from a distance, at once a part of it, and at once so far away.

"I wish this moment wouldn't end," whispered Graid. "You are becoming much like a father to me."

"You flatter me, young sir. There are times the father must be as the son, and the son as the father."

"What do you mean?" asked Graid.

Ilahon sat in silence for a moment, his gaze seeming to penetrate to the very soul of Graid.

"As with many things in life, you will understand when the time is right."

A young woman came running up to them, dodging through the maze of chairs and tables.

"Ilahon, come quick!" she said breathlessly. "Nijil was hurt, and needs help!"

They raced with her back through the streets, Ilahon leading Graid to a small house outside of which a crowd had gathered. Many expressed relief at seeing Ilahon.

"I'm a bit of a doctor," whispered Ilahon quickly, "as well as an old man, Aidlev. Follow me."

They pressed inside, and found a young girl lying motionless on the bed. Her chest rose and fell slightly, as a woman and man knelt beside her, anxious with fear. Ilahon knelt down, taking the child's hand for a moment.

"She fell, did she?"

"Yes. Along the riverbank," replied the woman anxiously, wiping the tears from her face. "She's been unconscious ever since."

Ilahon concentrated on her for a moment. "She's hurt pretty badly."

Graid recognized the woman at the bedside as the same who helped him with his nail. She held the child's hands, wringing them, sobbing quietly. Graid could nest Nijil was near death, her heart beating slower and fainter. He looked into her mind, and found a young girl with dreams of the void and other worlds, hopes of seeing Novan, and playing with the children who lived on that world. He found her to be simple and pure, untainted by the bigotry against Novans, born with an unshakable faith. The little girl even wondered what the Kal-Alçon was like, and if she would ever meet him. Ilahon glanced back at Graid, then to the woman.

"I don't think I can do anything more for her, Lachelie. She's going to pass away, any time now." He ran a hand along her back. "Stay here, and be with her, as she passes into the arms of Kal."

Graid knew that with a simple thought, he could cure the girl. But so many minds were focused on her, his identity would be revealed for all.

I barely know these people, or this girl. I shouldn't get involved.

Ilahon turned back once more, looking Graid in the face. Graid couldn't match his gaze, and looked away.

"Oh!"

Nijil's hand went limp, and her body grew still as her last breath escaped away. Lachelie kissed her lightly on the forehead, then embraced her one last time, weeping into her small chest, her brother holding them both. Graid turned, and went outside. Ilahon followed.

"It's a shame that girl had to die," mused Ilahon, as he struggled to keep up with Graid.

"Yes, it is."

"If there was anything I could have done," said Ilahon sternly, "if it was within my power, I certainly would have saved her."

Graid stopped, and looked hard at the old man.

"Would you? Are you sure?" Graid saw something familiar in the old man's eyes, something he should know, but that was just outside of his grasp. Ilahon returned the gaze, but with a kind, fatherly smile on his face.

"Would you?" he demanded.

Graid walked on.

"What's at stake?" asked Graid, casually. "She was not crucial to the survival of anyone, or anything. This world may be facing its doom. Perhaps she was better off dying like this, with those who loved her, in peace and quiet."

Ilahon stopped him with rough hands, forcibly turning Graid to face him.

"Would you accept a death like that?" asked Ilahon angrily. "Or would you claw and scratch for every moment of life, fight seemingly insurmountable odds for another mroa of looking at the sun, walking on the grass, breathing the sweet breath of life? Wouldn't you call upon anyone else to make whatever sacrifice necessary, short of their own lives, to extend your life?"

"No one would sacrifice themselves for me," Graid replied morosely. "I have no one to call upon."

"Then you have no one to live for, and deserve a death of solitude, where the void is all you will see."

His words hurt Graid, striking him in a place soft and vulnerable. Ilahon shook his head, and walked off, heading to his home.

Thoughts of Nijil stayed in Graid's mind, surfacing when he slept, intermingling with his thoughts when awake. He seldom saw Lachelie for a while, as she and her brother went into mourning over the death of their younger sister. He was beginning to feel anxious, sensing much was changing on Novan.

The time is coming when I will need to be there, to lead my people in the time of crisis.

But he still despised his people. For all the beautiful scenery, quaint and idiosyncratic folk, he saw little of redemptive value in them. He dallied with some of the village women, playing with them a little before drawing back, going away, and meditating. Arciss' words were becoming distant, as so much dirt and grass was growing tiresome. He went down by a cliff, that overlooked a great valley of rivers and brilliant flowers dotting the landscape. Lachelie came and sat beside him.

She had a gentle way about her, seeming to float on the air as she walked. This was despite the strong arms she possessed, arms that grew firm and tough raising her younger sister. While her smile may have been simple, and pleasant, one look at her eyes told she was not a simple person. Rather, she understood the ways of men and women, knew of the darkness life could bring—she just chose not to dwell on it. Everyone in Vujora liked her, and seemed to feed off the love she had for her younger sister. When her parents died in a farming accident five cas ago, everyone joined together to offer their support to Lachelie and her brother. It was almost as if they were reborn in caring for little Nijil. They started having children, and despite the dread and gloom the rest of Rell was buried in, Vujora thrived, and as such, the Trint-Averil had no need to venture therein. Lachelie never knew of the broader ramifications of her caring for Nijil, and even if she did, her personality was one of meekness and kindness, and would have pushed it out of her mind, sooner or later. What did stay in her mind were problems and complexities, both of which she saw in the stranger named Aidlev.

"Hello."

"Hello," happily replied Graid. "I haven't seen you for a while. I'm sorry about your sister."

"Yes, well . . . I'll miss her dearly."

"She seemed to be something special."

"She had such dreams!" cried Lachelie, as she drew her knees in, and looked out over the valley, trying to hold back tears that shed whenever she thought on her sister. "Of the void, and time, journeying to worlds never seen before. I don't know where she got it from—her mother and father were ordinary farmers, who never thought much beyond the bounds of their pastures much less beyond the confines of this world. But she dreamed. I only hope she can see those things now."

They sat for a while, comforted in the warmth of the sun.

"You know, I always see you working, Aidlev, but never relaxing with us. Why do you keep so alone?"

"To think on things. To sort my life out, what I have done, and where I am going."

"Sounds like a form of work."

Graid shrugged. "I suppose it is."

"We all need relaxation," she said, rubbing his arm. "We all need to forget our troubles, our concerns, and let loose, and live in the moment."

"I think I've done that too much in my life."

"Was it to excess?"

"Yes," he replied, feeling a little ashamed and exposed.

"Well now you are doing this to excess," she pronounced, like a mother chastising her child. "You look lonely, and you spend too much time alone. It will hurt you in the same way too much relaxation will hurt you."

"I don't know."

She grabbed his hand. "I do! Come into town tonight, we are having a wake, in memory of Nijil. There will be food, music, and dancing." She looked softly in his eyes. "And me."

She rubbed his hand, and he held hers as well.

"I'd like that."

She rose, and started to walk away.

"You might need some better clothes, you know. Or at least, some clean ones."

Lachelie was one of the most natural women Graid had ever met. She seemed to be self-contained, dependant on no fancy dress, painted face, or affectation of speech or manner. She was direct, confident, yet happy and carefree, a combination Graid rarely saw. She reminded him a little of Selva, but whereas Selva seemed to feed off of being with a man, Lachelie needed no man to feel complete. But Graid felt more complete being with her.

She met him the moment he arrived, scouting the area, debating whether or not to stay. She had to have known he would be like this, for she grabbed his arm, and didn't let him go until he had a plate of food in his hand and was surrounded by six or seven of her friends. Dusk had fallen over Vujora, the sun just sinking into the horizon, the clouds at once lit by the fading sun, and glowing in the darkening sky. A cool breeze whipped along, lifting a woman's hair around her face, chasing leaves in circles around the few children playing simple games that kindled sweet memories in the minds of the people watching. The plate of food was hot and loaded with spices, and Graid ate it with relish. They found a secluded place just removed from all the festivities, where a fallen tree provided a place to sit, just behind several large bushes. Her friends spoke of the passing of Nijil, small adventures they went on around the village with her. It turned, as all conversations eventually do, to gossip about the locals. They whispered about the late-night lights still on in one house, the growing, persistent boy in another's. It was one of the few times in his life that Graid was surrounded by those close to his age. But most of the talk centered on the Trint-Averil.

"I heard they are making their way into this section of the province," said one of the boys.

"You would like that," retorted a thin girl with far too little on leaning against him. "You hear the word sex, and suddenly you know everything."

The group laughed, as he pushed her away playfully.

"It's not sex," said Lachelie. "It's all about the union of our souls, and the rebuilding of our people."

One of her friends, a tall, thin man bare-chested with sandals on, put his arm around her.

"Why don't we go rebuild our people. I could use a little union."

The others laughed, as she shrugged him off.

"What do you think, Aidlev?" she asked, holding his hand.

"Of what? His chances with you?"

"No," she said laughing, "of the Trint-Averil?"

Graid buried his lingering jealousy of Arciss for a moment.

"I think . . . I think it is a noble beginning, but I am unsure of how it will affect our people."

"He sounds so serious," said the thin girl, examining Graid a little closer.

Lachelie beamed with pride. "Aidlev's the thinker. If it weren't for me, he'd be alone meditating along the river."

I'm the thinker? How things have changed.

"She's right," said Graid, "but I'm glad to be here now."

"Well, that's what the Trint-Averil is about!" exclaimed Lachelie, a fire burning in her eyes. "It's about pulling people away from the faith they have used as an old blanket for far too long, when they should have been using companionship and fellowship. Community, instead of scripture and prayer."

Graid summed the courage to ask, "what of the Kal-Alçon?"

"What does he mean?" said the bare-chested man. "He was born to do something, with Novan, not to lead our people. I think ever since the words of Arciss—"

The words of Arciss!

"—spread, that focus, at least among our generation, has shifted off him."

They were quiet for a moment.

"It's sort of a shame, really," he continued, much to Graid's chagrin. "I remember my mother telling me of when he was born. There was so much hope, so much joy in this being born who was like the Kal-Durrell, but meant to be among us, to fight the Novans. But where has he been? What has he done? He killed Wejholl, and that was like a shame he put on our village."

"True," they murmured.

"He presided at the incorporation of Martel," he said, his voice growing louder, "but does he address the people of this world? No. He runs and hides. Even he knows Arciss is something special."

"But why are we standing here, when the dancing has begun!" cried the thin girl, jumping up, tired of serious talk. They all turned, and saw people gathering in the center, spinning around, their clothes shimmering in the moonlight. "Let's have some fun!" she exclaimed, pulling her friend along. Lachelie turned to Graid with mischief in her eyes.

"Come on, Aidlev. You've come this far."

He went with Lachelie, moving his thin limbs and dancing to the throb and pulse of the music. After a while, he even forgot about Arciss and the Trint-Averil as he watched Lachelie move to the music, the joints of her supple, lean body manipulated by the bass rhythm that began to infect even his Kal-Alçon soul. As he watched those around him, smiling and laughing, he suddenly thought of them not as naive simpletons, but rather as fearless rebels, ignoring the threat of Novan, the TELREC and their Cuhli-pra, and laughing in the face of danger and death, daring fate itself to disrupt their joy. Even those too old to dance tapped their feet, watching the young and strong do what they had done in their youth, sharing their resolute faith in the future. Graid felt a connection, a timeless quality to their celebration.

Lachelie came close and whispered, "are you having a good time, Aidlev?"

"Yes, I am."

"Call me Chelie. You're not tired, are you?" she asked doubtfully. She brought his face down with her gentle hands, and kissed him softly on his cheek.

"Not at all."

They danced long into the night, and as the others slowly retreated to their homes, ready to embrace sleep as well as their lovers, Chelie and Graid went back to the cliff to sit for a while. The sun had finally disappeared, and above them hung a faint image of the galaxy, a little hazy as the result of the precarious position their planet was in. The stars were there, but not quite as bright as on Novan's topside. Still, the air was cool and refreshing, and all the valley seemed to be tightly ensconced in sleep's gentle arms. Graid saw none of it, felt nothing but the warmth of Chelie's hand in his, the beauty of her hair running boldly down her face.

"This is much better when someone is with me."

She put her arm around him. "So where are you from?"

"Piros."

"Did you live there all your life?"

"No," he said, feeling a cautious time come upon him. He knew Chelie wanted to know more about him, and he didn't have the strength to lie anymore.

She was quiet for a moment, as she watched him think, as various emotions played over his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, a little concerned. "I know you've probably been through a lot in your life, why else settle here, when you know no one here?"

"In a way, I know everyone here," he said wistfully.

"What do you mean?"

Graid drew his legs in close, thinking for a while. "I know we have only just met, but I feel something special with you."

She kissed him on his cheek. "And I with you."

Graid looked her deep in the eyes. "My name is not Aidlev."

She laughed nervously. "I hope not! It's rather cumbersome."

He laughed with her, trying to summon the courage to be honest with this woman he was growing so fond of. Something inside pushed him the final step, made his lips and tongue form the words.

"My name is Graid."

"Oh," she said, still waiting for some dire news or problem. "That's a nice name. Isn't that the name of—"

"The Kal-Alçon."

"Yes. A lot of children were named after him—you look like you'd be about his age." She paused, and saw the expression his face. "What are you saying?"

"This isn't my face."

He turned away for a moment, shifting his bones and flesh into their original form. He slowly revealed his face to her, and even though it was dark, and the starlight was faint and remote, she still recognized the visage of the man all Rell knew. She pulled away from him, her surprise betraying her fear.

"You . . . you're the Kal-Alçon?!"

"Please, be quiet. Yes, I am."

"Why?!" she cried standing at last. "What are you doing here?"

He stood with her, knowing it would be a difficult explanation. "I needed to connect with those I was created to protect. You and your friends are right about some things. Arciss has touched something in our people. For a while I was jealous. But more and more, I came to understand that I never was allowed to understand our people. So I am here, for a while, living among you, to understand you."

She shrank back, not knowing how to respond.

"I know this is a lot to take, and I'm sorry," said Graid, as he offered his hand to her. "But as I said, I felt something special with you."

Her features softened for a moment, then anger filled her eyes.

"Could you have saved my sister?"

Graid gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"Why didn't you?!" she shouted.

"I . . . I would have been revealed, and I wasn't—"

"You could have been revealed? You let an innocent child die, my sister, for your own selfish reasons?!"

Sounds like Arciss again.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't come here to be the savior!" he cried, desperately trying to save the situation. He took a small step toward Chelie, who still stood in angry defiance before him. "I am just an ordinary person."

"You let my sister die, just . . . just like that?" she asked absently, almost unbelieving of the casual, cruel nature of things. Then the rage clenched her fists, bringing hot tears to her eyes. "You lie, Graid. You're no ordinary person, you are the Kal-Alçon! And you let her die, let her die right in front of you!" She screamed, not at him, but at the sky and stars, at Kal herself. "You are the hope of our people? I pity the Kal-Durrell for putting so much trust into you!"

She ran off, leaving him very much alone with a heart heavier than all the planets around all the stars in all of creation.

Several roas had passed, and Graid had never been in more misery. He tried to avoid seeing Chelie, but the village was too small, and at least twice a roa they would cross paths. She would rush by, ignoring him, a hard look on her jaw. Graid wished he could say something, do something to soften her, but he felt it was useless. After four roas, he began to pack his things, determined to move on. Ilahon stopped by.

"I sensed something was changing," he said, sitting in a chair as Graid continued to pack.

"I haven't seen you in a while."

"My life doesn't center on you. I have things to do."

Graid stopped, looking at him with sad eyes. "You were disappointed in me."

"Damn right," he said angrily.

"And now, Chelie is disappointed in me."

"No, I'd say she was furious at you. Now, she's just confused, wondering what to do."

Graid sat down next to him. "You mean she's not angry?"

Ilahon first chuckled, then burst into a roar of laughter, doubling over with amusement and joy. "You sound like a schoolboy! Maybe I should pass her a note for you?"

Graid stood for a moment. "No, I guess not," he said, looking around at his packed bags, hopeful thoughts swirling in his tired head. "I guess I need to try again."

"I didn't think you were a coward."

Graid looked at him for a while."Who are you?"

He brought his mind to bear on Ilahon, but Ilahon laughed it off.

"Oh Graid. You do amuse me! Now is not the time for that answer." He put a kind hand on Graid's shoulder. "Now is the time for you to get this love of yours."

Something slipped in Graid's mind, some shadow falling over some important thought, and he couldn't seem to remember it.

"I suppose you're right."

He went over to where he knew Chelie was working. She tended a store near the center of Vujora, one that carried hand-made idols of the Kal-Durrell, as well as small trinkets fabricated by the local artists. Though business was always slow, it was enough to support her and Nijil. As Graid stepped inside, he felt terribly out of place, as most things there were fragile and delicately beautiful. He sidestepped between the displays, making his way towards the back of the store, where Chelie could be heard.

At last he saw her, polishing a small idol. Even in anger, she glowed with a beauty that transcended reality. She noticed him, and began slamming the light glass doors to the trinkets she sold, stomping around the little shop. She had one other person working with her, another girl of similar age, who perked up at this activity. Graid went over to her.

"Chelie, could we talk?"

"I see you have your old face on again," she angrily whispered.

"Yes. That's how it has to be."

"Not when you're with me," she said, jabbing her finger into Graid's chest.

"No," he replied, nodding gravely in affirmation. "Not when I'm with you."

"Come on," she said gently, his contrition softening her mood. She motioned towards the door, as she waved to the other girl there. "Dello—I'll be back in awhile. Hold down the fort."

They walked back to the cliff overlooking the valley. She sat down beside him, and was quiet for a long while, as she gazed out over the rivers and flowers.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"First, I'm sorry."

"That's a good start," she said flatly.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, and I regret not saving the life of your sister. I have lived a life where I have had the luxury of being self-centered. Everyone around me bows to my will, whether because of faith or fear.

Even the relationships I've had were founded on the fact of my power. I never had to consider the ramifications of my actions, until now. I find you to be very precious to me, a woman I wouldn't want to be without. When I am with you, I need no distractions, no diversions to keep my interest. I feel as though I could sit here and talk with you about the texture of soil, the coolness of water, the beauty in the breeze. I . . . I guess I don't know what to say, to convince you how much I need you."

"Just say it, and maybe I'll believe."

He turned to her, his face his own, and dropped all the defenses around his mind. "I need you."

She caressed his face, his real face, and he smiled.

"You have a sweet smile."

They lay back, and kissed, for all creation to see. They went back to her home, and he lay with her, and they loved long into the night. Graid awoke while it was still dark, his heart pounding. Chelie lay next to him, quiet and beautiful.

I have never felt so alive! I have seen the wonders of the universe, and yet that pales to how I feel now. To love, and be loved! His mind was afire, the joy strong in his heart.

"Chelie . . . Chelie," he said urgently.

"What, is it time?" She opened her eyes. "It's still dark."

"I love you, Chelie."

She sleepily embraced him, amused at his passion. "I love you, too."

Graid was quiet for a moment. "No, you don't."

"What do you mean?" she said anxiously, sitting up in the small bed.

"You don't know who I am, what I have done! How can you love me, unless you know all of that?"

While it was dark, Chelie could see the some resolution in Graid's aspect, feel it in his touch.

"Would you want to share that with me?"

Graid sat on the edge of the bed, and she sat with him. "Never in my life have I revealed all of myself to someone. I may lose you, after you see all of what I am, what I have done, but I feel I would be lying to you, to be with you, and not let you know."

"If you want to."

Graid connected with her mind, and opened his to hers. She saw him standing on the podium, the infant boy-Kal, looking down on the withered faces of the council of Alçons, who knelt before him, dressed in long robes of white. She saw him assimilate more knowledge than any had before, learning thousands of fighting moves, becoming an expert with thousands of weapons. She saw him grow, and the arrival of Martel, and those first tentative times as Martel learned how to handle the young Kal-Alçon. She felt the rebellion rise within him, as those around him looked on him as an object, instead of as a person. She saw his first dalliances on Novan grow into long excursions, visiting hundreds of clubs on Core. He saw so much, played with so many women, did things Chelie could not have imagined. She saw Uonil enter his life, and the death of Martel. She could feel how deeply this impacted him, how much he wanted to share his grief with someone. She saw him watch Listras hover over Dobrin and the ulthangs, felt him deal with Listras, and spare her. She watched as he killed Wejholl, felt the kernel of evil in his heart as he felt no remorse at the time, didn't even think twice as his body was removed. She felt him hurt Uonil, one of those closest to him, as he struck out in pain. She saw him venture out into the universe, even touch Mal, and felt the emptiness in his heart. She could feel how much he loved her, how special she was to him, how much he regretted his past actions, if only because it would upset her. She sat for a while, digesting the tapestry of his life, trying to make sense of all his experiences, all his dalliances in sin.

Graid sat, feeling every beat of his heart as she sat silently next to him. He could have easily read her mind, but he restrained himself, purposefully pulling back and ignoring her mind, soon after they first met. She turned to him, and put a hand on his.

"I love you."

It was too much for Graid. He broke down, and sobbed, and she held him close to her breast. He kissed her, long and hard. It was then that Graid knew what to do.

"Come with me."

"Now?" she asked, tugging at him, trying to cajole him back into bed.

"Yes, now."

They dressed quickly and ran outside into the cold, early morning as the sun rose over the hills, blanketing the valley with a welcome warmth. They ran through the village, as farmers tended their fields, and shopkeepers left their homes to begin another roa. They ran to the nearby graveyard, Graid stopping in front of Nijil's marker.

"What are you doing?" she asked, growing frightened.

Graid extended his arm, holding his hand open, facing outwards. The ground beneath was pushed aside, as a hole formed. The casket that lay under was revealed, and Graid mentally lifted it up and onto the ground.

"You can't?" she asked, incredulously.

Graid opened the lid, and inside lay the body of Nijil. Her eyes closed, her dress neatly arranged, she looked as if she was pretending to sleep, as if she might burst out in a smile at any moment. A few tears fell down Chelie's face, remembering the life that was once within her.

"What are you doing?"

Graid knelt down, then froze over Nijil's body, unable to move, feeling time stood still.

^What are you doing, Kal-Alçon?^ another mind cast to him.

The Kal-Durrell . . .

^Why do you concern yourselves with this?^ he demanded.

^You were not created to be a Kal, Graid. You were created to be a servant of the people.^

^And I am serving them. Now, more than ever!^

^They will worship you, idolize you, if you do this.^

^And yet you would stand idly by while I kill others?^ he asked, a pleading tone to his thoughts. ^I know my mistake, and seek only to correct it.^

^Death is the doorway, the passage through which should not be undone lightly.^

He nodded, struggling under their combined mental weight. ^I know that, I feel that. And yet, I cannot let those I killed capriciously, or let die out of arrogance or fear, remain so. Let me correct these mistakes. This girl, and one other.^ In his mind, he dropped to his knees, prostrate before them. ^Please . . .^ he begged, tears running down his face. The Kal-Durrell were silent, for what seemed to be an eternity to him.

^We shall allow you to do this. Understand though, that this is the only time we will allow you to do this. There may come a time when someone of great importance to you dies. You will need to accept it, and move on.^

Graid thought of a future he could not see, one which the Kal-Durrell seemed to know of.

^All I can do is live in the present, do what's right in the present,^ he cast, confidently. ^When the future comes, I will accept it, and hope I gain some wisdom from it.^

^You are learning, Graid.^

^One . . . one more question, please.^

^Go on.^

^There is so much different about this timeline. Is this what is to be?^ he asked.

^You will discover the answer to that in time. But that is not the question you want to ask, is it?^

^No.^ Graid halted for a moment, more than a little scared. ^Am I to die? I look down, at this small girl's body, whose life was taken away in an instant. And now, I wonder, is that what will happen to me?^

^All mortals must perish,^ replied the Kal-Durrell. ^Such is the cycle of life. Does it matter if it is in two cas, or two hundred? If one has lived life with honor, and vigor, then death is no longer to be feared. What would you long for, Graid? You no longer have dreams of power, of ruling over Rell and Novan. You understand what must happen, for our people to flourish. You have seen more of this universe than any other being in existence. You know what it is to love, not only a woman, but a whole people. Put this fear of death behind you, gentle one, and embrace the myriad aspects of your destiny. It is only once you surrender yourself to the present, that you will have any hope of success. All our future depends on you, Graid, in ways you cannot yet comprehend.^

With that, the warmth was gone. Graid never felt so alone in his life. There was a clarity in his mind, the likes of which he had never felt before. For a moment, all that was Graid, was Graid.

This is how it must feel to take lleldin.

And then, it all came back. He felt he could move again, could feel Chelie's warm breath close to him. He focused back on the present, on the duty before him. Graid's face drew quiet, and remote, his eyes closing. He spread his hand over Nijil's body, over her heart, then over her head. He opened his eyes, and lifted Nijil's head in his hand, drawing her up.

"Arise, my child!"

In moments, color rushed through her body, her chest rose and fell slowly at first, but faster and stronger as the mroas went by. She opened her eyes, as the sky burst into brilliance with the full sunrise.

"I . . . am alive!" she exclaimed, struggling to move again. Chelie reached down, and lifted her out of the coffin, her heart pounding fiercely as she hugged and kissed her sister.

"How?"

"You know all about me, Chelie. This is who I am." He turned, searching for another coffin. "There is another wrong I must put right."

Chelie kept her sister close, unwilling to let her go lest she pass away again. She ran into the village, yelling for all to come see. In moments, a crowd gathered around Graid, as he knelt before the marker of Wejholl. He did the same, pushing aside the soil, mentally pulling up the coffin till it sat before him. It opened, and the body of Wejholl lay before him. The old, wizened face of the Alçon was drawn and serious, his flesh withered.

"I'm so sorry, my learned friend. I give back what was wrongfully taken away."

Graid knelt down, his eyes open, concentrating on the body before him. A reddish glow emanated from his hands, as a strain could be seen on his face. He put his full hand on Wejholl's chest.

"Awaken, sleeper! You still have services to perform, a people to tend to!"

The crowd looked on with stunned eyes, as his color returned to Wejholl's body, breath to his ample frame. His body pulsed as the flesh filled with water and air again, as blood flowed through his veins, as his heart beat once more to the master's rhythm. Wejholl's eyes opened, and he groggily sat up, to cheers and jubilation from all around. He turned and looked around, stunned to be among the living again.

"I . . . was dead?"

"No more, my friend." Graid lifted him out of the coffin. "I am so sorry. I have brought you back, for your service is still needed among your people. Will you forgive me?"

Wejholl looked on this still youthful man, just past being a boy, whom he knew only by his arrogance. He now appeared humble, and repentant. His heart melted inside him, the contaminant of his office faded away, and he remembered what his life was like before he was on the council.

"If forgiveness is what you want, then I am happy to give it."

Graid embraced Wejholl tightly, squeezing his body hard. And Wejholl embraced him, tears running down the deep wrinkles under his eyes. He knelt, holding Graid's hand.

"Something wonderful has happened." The others knelt with him. "Kal-Alçon, I thank you for the gift of my life. I see humility where once I saw arrogance. I see faith, where once I saw heresy. I don't know what happened to you, but I offer my life to you again, and pledge all my strength to fulfill your dreams. I shall never shirk from your side, never forsake you no matter what trials you may face. This, I pledge, with my life."

"Wejholl, stand, for here I am merely a man." He pulled him up. "We shall face the future together, not just you, and me, but all the people of Rell! What began with Arciss and the Trint-Averil shall flourish throughout our world, for where once was death, life shall reign! Where once hate," he pulled Chelie close, "love shall rule. There is still much to be done, many battles to fight, and many may perish in the face of our enemies. But we shall stand together, united, for I am your Kal-Alçon, and you are my family!"

Graid spent much of the roa and night with the villagers, speaking to them with his own face, speaking of the mysteries of Kal and the Kal-Durrell, of Novan and its people, of some portions of his life. The next roa, he went to see Chelie. He found her sitting on the steps of her house, sitting with her legs bent under her, a tired smile on her face. Nijil ran about in front of her, bouncing a small red ball, throwing it back and forth to Chelie. He stood there for a while, unseen by both of them. She looks as if she's been up all night, he thought. Nijil jumped about like her heart was on fire, bouncing as though gravity had no hold on her. Graid saw she was just bouncing a ball, but she laughed and giggled as if it was the most wonderful thing to do. Chelie sat there, tired out, laughing at how much fun she was having. Graid felt a presence next to him.

"Good morning, Graid."

"Good morning Ilahon!" he cried, totally surprised. Ilahon motioned him to keep quiet, so they wouldn't attract Chelie's attention.

"Watching the fruits of your labor?" he whispered, drawing close to Graid.

Graid looked on, marveling at the joy such a small child brought not only to Chelie, but to Graid, who was used to doing more and more decadent things to feel a trace of joy.

"I merely corrected a mistake."

Ilahon crossed his arms over his chest. "So, you and Chelie are in love?"

Graid smiled. "I suppose we are."

"I'll bet you would love to sit next to her, and talk about what she did as a child, what her favorite sweet was, who her first crush was on?"

"I suppose so," said Graid dreamily.

"And I'll bet you would love to pass the time of roa, talking about how the rocks are different on this side of the village than on the other, or how this wood would be better for building than that, wouldn't you?"

"If it meant being in her company, I would talk about the most mundane things, just to hear her voice, to see that smile I know is only for me." Graid glanced sideways at Ilahon. "Is there a point to these questions?"

"Maybe you remember earlier, how frustrated you were at the simpleness of the village?"

Graid smiled. "Yes, I guess I was frustrated."

"And now, you, the great Kal-Alçon, defender of a whole world, second only to the Kal-Durrell, take joy in watching a child bounce a ball."

"Yes, I do," he replied, cherishing the warmth in his heart and soul. Ilahon placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Remember this time. Things are simpler out here, in the wide open spaces. There is no political intrigue, no life and death decisions to be made. It doesn't make their life any less relevant, or valuable. For it is that simplicity that you fight for, it is for that child's innocence that a million soldiers would die to keep secure. For when you are here, and you feel as though you belong, you wouldn't want to leave for anything. Quite a temptation, isn't it?"

Graid looked over at Nijil, who was tired for a moment, and sat next to Chelie. Nijil rest her head on Chelie's lap, and Chelie stroked her black hair gently, singing in a low, sweet voice. Graid thought of a future where he would sit with them, and stroke Chelie's hair, and sing to both of them.

"Very tempting."

"No more decisions, no more expectations," whispered Ilahon in a low voice. "No one to hide your powers from, no one to strike fear into."

"Why are you doing this?" asked Graid, turning to face him.

"Temptation comes in all forms, Graid. It comes as sweetly as this, and as sick and self-destructive as what you have experienced. You have come a long way, and will still have much temptation to face. If you succeed, you would sacrifice your very existence, and you know that, and it is one of the only things that scares you."

"Yes, it does."

Nijil had jumped up again, running in circles, bouncing her ball, throwing it high in the air as Chelie lay back and watched.

"To fight temptation, you must keep those you value close to your heart," continued Ilahon. "But most of all, Graid, you must keep yourself close. You must learn to love yourself, as you have learned to love others."

"It is, difficult."

Ilahon started to walk away. "I'm sure it is. Before the end, it must be done . . ."

As he disappeared into the trees, the thought of him faded in Graid's mind. Graid walked over to Chelie, and sat with her, taking turns throwing the ball to Nijil, loving every mroa.

Over the next few roas, Graid spent every droa speaking with the villagers, hearing their concerns, allaying their fears. He spent a great deal of time with Wejholl, and both soon had a clearer understanding of each other. Wejholl saw Graid for the first time not just as a weapon, as a machine to be ordered and told what to do, but as an individual, as someone with needs and desires, feelings and emotions. He apologized for the way Graid was brought up, and was overjoyed to see he had found some peace. Graid, through talking with him and the villagers, understood more of their struggles, saw the life that was behind them. To him, each soul appeared as an iceberg, needfully hiding its bulk under the murky depths, only to be revealed to one who is trusted and cherished. And he grew to be immensely grateful that he was that person for so many.

He spent the late roas and nights with Chelie, falling more and more in love with her. He opened more of himself to her, and she to him. Many times he openly sobbed in her arms, and never did he feel ashamed or weak, for she had strength within her he could not believe. As the time drew near for Graid to depart, they sat again on the ravine, overlooking the valley. He thought her the picture of strength, while he felt utterly devastated at needing to leave her behind.

"I wish I could come with you."

"As do I," he said, holding her tightly for the umpteenth time.

"Do you think you will be successful this time?"

"I don't know. When I confronted Mal, and Mal stated it was merely a means to an end, something about that stayed with me. I have felt smaller, the more I open my eyes and mind to the world around me. There are forces at work, unknown to me, and I feel these diversions, that never happened before, will mean something in the end."

"You have said that many times, 'in the end.' You don't believe you will live, do you?" she asked softly. Graid focused hard on her, forming words that gave him great dread and fear. "No, I don't."

She looked on his face for a moment, outwardly calm, but masking such torment. She embraced him, and him her.

"I feel so much stronger when I am with you. There is faith and hope in my soul, when you hold me."

She smiled. "How many women did you say you have been with?"

"Too many, too many . . ."

"I was joking," she said, pushing him playfully.

"I know! I have never felt ashamed of my promiscuity. But with you, I do. I would have given anything to have been pure with you, to have only known you."

"One should never be ashamed of their past. Sometimes, I think you hate yourself."

"I did, and probably still do," answered Graid slowly. "But lately, I find more to live for, more to appreciate about life."

Chelie looked into his eyes, and saw only love and peace. More than anything, she wanted to live with him, be with him, be the foundation for his strength, and the sounding board for his sorrows. She had been mulling over a question, which she now resolutely posed.

"Graid, would you join with me?"

"What?" he cried, shocked.

"I want to share my mind with you, now, and forever after."

"But, you know I am leaving, and may never come back!" he exclaimed, at once overjoyed and dismayed. "You would be alone, and not even I know if our mental link would stretch across the dimensional divide. You may see me do things. . . . unpleasant to you. I must return to a world locked in a bitter war, one that will consume all in its influence."

"I know, and I don't care," she said pleadingly, holding his hands in hers. "If I can give you even the smallest iota of strength, and comfort, then I will do it without hesitation."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you love me, and will never give up hope in yourself, or in our people."

Graid drew her close, and kissed her until the sun set low in the sky, and the night blanketed their embrace.

A great farewell was given for Graid and Wejholl as people from surrounding villages had already heard of the miracle of Graid. Every man and woman brought all manner of foodstuffs, from delicious roasted meats and roots, to subtly spiced cakes and cookies. Drink flowed as easily as the words between them, as Wejholl told many a story of Graid's childhood, much to the Kal-Alçon's chagrin and Chelie's delight. And even in his discomfort Graid felt great joy, for when he looked in Wejholl's eyes he saw the love of a brother, and when he looked in Chelie's laughing eyes, he saw the love of the divine. At the end of the roa's festivities, Graid joined with Chelie, in a small ceremony to which only a few were made aware. Around them stood Chelie's brother, Nijil, Xiow, and a few of Chelie's friends, with Ilahon being conspicuously absent, thought Graid barely noticed. A sub-Alçon presided over the ceremony, nervously, for he knew whom he was joining. And as the words were done and they stood finally as one, his mind eternally open to hers, and hers to him, Graid could feel the benevolent gaze of not only the Kal-Durrell, but of Kal as well, radiating joy and happiness from the sky above. And as the evening turned to morning, and Wejholl and Graid made their sad farewells, a few even walked with them to the base of the mountains, overjoyed to be in their presence. Chelie was the last to leave, holding onto Graid's hands, looking in his eyes, tasting his lips. She turned quickly and left, hiding her tears, yet warmed by the mental bond between herself and Graid.

Graid and Wejholl departed slowly, taking in the sights as they walked, letting silence flow between them as often as words. It was a difficult climb for Wejholl, as he only made the trek into the Ult mountains when he was of younger mind and body. But he was determined to experience life again and do as Graid had done—reconnect with a world he had forgotten since his duties as Alçon consumed and changed him.

"What was it like?" asked Graid, as they walked along a plateau before the mountains.

"What do you mean?"

"Death."

Wejholl was silent for a moment, as they moved out of sight of Vujora, beginning the long ascent up the mountain. The midroa sun took the chill from the air, and for a while, all was pleasant.

"Don't you know? You brought me back."

"I did something that was more instinctual, than known," replied Graid. "I am only beginning to understand the limit of my abilities, and how I should use them. While it wouldn't be wise to bring every Rell back from the dead, I knew I needed to right some of my wrongs. I don't even think I would be able to resurrect another person. I feel as though, more and more, the universe, or Kal, lets us do things sometimes, and prevents us at other times."

"You're speaking of divine intervention?"

Graid nodded, as he helped Wejholl up a narrow, steep incline. "I suppose. I believe it all goes in a motion that was set by Kal. Only when something threatens to disrupt that motion, does Kal become actively involved. Perhaps that's how we were able to bring this world back near our home dimension. Perhaps that is why we have been unable to terminate Kolob's life."

"And what of more intimate matters?" pressed Wejholl, trying to understand. "Like how you happened to stumble on my home village. You can't think that was coincidence, or some latent psychological directive?"

"No. I have begun to sense another presence, not nearly as powerful as Kal, but certainly associated with Kal." He thought on Ilahon, whose identity seemed to fade in and out of his cognizance. "And often I come near to understanding and identifying this force, but then it grows distant, and unfamiliar."

"Again, Kal becoming active?"

Graid nodded in agreement. "Possibly. But you didn't answer my question. What of death?"

"I experienced something, something I was totally unprepared for. But I also have a very strong impression," he said, his words speaking of a deep conviction, "that you don't need to know about death."

"Why?"

"Because you will never die."

Graid stopped, looking hard at Wejholl. "What do you mean?"

A graceful smile echoed a subtle joy in Wejholl's heart. "I wish I knew. All I do know, is that you will never experience death, as I, or other mortals know it. Whether or not you will cease to exist, I cannot answer. But when I was dead, I had some sense of all who had died, and all who will. And you were not among them."

Graid abruptly dropped to his knees on the ground, feeling the weight of his destiny on his shoulders, on his very soul.

"Why am I so different!" he cried, his voice shaking all of creation, as he was unable to move forward. "There were times I felt great joy to have my abilities, but now, it feels as though I am destined for sorrow and pain. I feel as though I inherited some sin, that I alone must be held responsible for."

Wejholl knelt beside him, to offer comfort. "I don't know your fate." He was pained to see Graid's distress, and wrapped his arm around him, drawing Graid close. "I am so sorry to have upset you with my words! All I can say, is that so long as you live, I will never break the fellowship I have with you. No matter how dark things seem, you can always look to me for support and counsel."

"Thank you, my friend," said Graid, slowly feeling some life come back into him. "Maybe with a few more like you, Arciss, and Chelie, hope will return where despair reigns."

They resumed their climb, though Graid seemed more distant and troubled to Wejholl. In those steps, he understood more of what the Kal-Alçon had gone through since his birth, and the unending struggles he would face until he faded from existence. After several droas, eventually reached the ridge of the range, and the great ribbons of color Graid encountered earlier rose in front of them now. Wejholl smiled, fondly reminiscing about many trips taken there in his youth.

"I see you've discovered one of our best treasures."

"Yes," replied Graid, awestruck. "It's as if I'm looking into a nebula, standing here, watching whole stars and planets flicker into creation, then wink away." Graid stood still for a moment, as the ribbons seemed to roar in front of him.

"Are you expecting something?"

"Ilahon told me of the unique properties of this place. I was just watching."

Mist rose up from the ravine, swallowing the ribbons in a swirl of deep violets and reds. A sound could be heard, or felt, Graid wasn't quite sure which, that seemed to resonate within him. He glanced at Wejholl, who nodded back, feeling the same thing. Graid felt a force pull him, saw a tunnel open within the mist, and he willingly succumbed to its thrall. They both walked through, and saw a figure ahead, shrouded in darkness.

"Who is that?" asked Wejholl.

"Come on."

Graid struggled to see through the mist, with his mind as well as his eyes, yet could not sense the person's thoughts or resolve any detail in the form. As he drew nearer, and as the figure turned, he understood. Wejholl drew to a stop beside him, pondering the significance of what was revealed.

"What does one ask of oneself?"

Graid stood before a reflection of himself, perfect in every detail. He looked as he did those many troa ago, when he first passed over the ravine. The old Graid nodded in understanding.

"I see something unexpected has happened," he said, gesturing to Wejholl.

"Yes. I guess, I have found a great deal."

He came close, the old Graid, and gleaned some of the thoughts from the new. He reached up his hand, as did the new, and their fingertips touched, and in that touch, their minds connected. They stood for a few moments, as Wejholl looked on in amazement. The old Graid suddenly pulled away, then moved through the mist to the edge of the ravine, which overlooked a bottomless abyss.

"I guess this part of you truly is gone forever."

"The lessons I learned stay with me," replied the new Graid. "My time with the Novans was necessary, as was this time with my own people. One should never be ashamed of one's past. I was, once. But all it takes is one person to see all of your past and forgive you for it, or love you in spite of it, and it immediately becomes a part of you like not thought possible. Even terrible mistakes," he glanced at Wejholl, "must be assimilated and integrated."

"Do you still feel temptation?" asked the old Graid, looking off into the distance.

"Of course I do! But it will never control me, as it did before. I had such hatred inside of me, for myself, for my own people, I sought to destroy as much of them as I could. Now, a warmth fills my heart and soul. Friends and lovers fill what once was empty."

"You still have much hatred for yourself," he said, turning to face the new Graid. "I can sense it."

"I can't get rid of my past, only work to understand and embrace it."

The old Graid stepped to the very edge, balancing on the lip. "I am your past. Let me take that part of yourself, that has corrupted you and only brought you shame. Let me die, and with my death, brighten your life . . ."

He seemed to float off the precipice, his body as light as a cloud. The ribbons enveloped him, as he seemed to disappear into their form. Wejholl followed the figure's descent as far as he could, then stood mute before the Kal-Alçon.

"I wish I knew why this time is so different, why these experiences are so unique," said Graid, looking off towards Piros. "There are times I feel guided by a force more powerful than anything I could ever be. And I know in my heart, I must surrender to its thrall."

Wejholl couldn't speak, so entranced was he as a witness to the travails of the Kal-Alçon.

"Come, my friend," he said, smiling at the awe on Wejholl's face. "There is much to sort out at Piros, before I head back to Novan for what surely will be the last time."

CONTINUED IN A MEANS TO AN END

1
