^Well, happy to see you again!^
His doctor, Ikthon, stood before Kolob with a wide, beaming smile full of perfect teeth and complimented by radiant, glittering brown eyes. There were times Kolob started at that smile, so artificial did it seem. He noticed many cas ago how precise Ikthon was—with words, with movement. Ikthon moved slowly, yet with a finishing quickness to his motions that spoke of a fanatical precision.
^So, what seems to be the trouble this roa?^ asked Ikthon.
Ikthon cast his thoughts absently, as if he were a computer terminal waiting for input. Kolob gleaned how many other patients Ikthon was casting to, how many other CMS systems he was modifying and amplifying. Once he tried to let Ikthon access his CMS system remotely, and all it brought was pain. Kolob looked at now him with disgust, tired of being treated as if he were just another mental signature. He thought it low, trying to conceal his thoughts from Ikthon. Kolob always had problems concealing his thoughts—he never understood why, but often he would be rebuked often about a rude comment he thought a little too strongly.
^It’s my stomach. It seems to hurt after I eat, and sometimes when I sleep,^ cast Kolob, focusing on his pain.
Ikthon moved slowly around the small office, his feet raising steadily up and down, the soles of his shoes sticking slightly on the gleaming floor. Kolob had been coming to this same Medical Center so long he probably could trace the path from his suite with his eyes closed and his mind disconnected from the cast-net. Always on the fifth floor, always to office 45-D. Kolob always had to wait, between ten and fifteen mroas, before Ikthon would deign to see him. Which always puzzled Kolob, for very few patients needed to see a doctor in person—he never saw anyone else waiting in the office before him.
I think he just wants to feel important, and make me feel meaningless.
His office was a small one, devoid of adornment, without any posters reassuring nervous patients or even diagrams boasting of the intimate knowledge all doctors had of the inner workings of the souman. In the outer waiting room there were three chairs, and one window. There was one small panel with a silver speaker, for those completely unable to use colvition. The light was dim, yet purely white, and the office smelled faintly of meta lubricant.
Kolob watched Ikthon’s face change expressions with every passing til as he flitted between his patients. For a moment Kolob glanced down to the floor, into his reflection in its wooden surface. He could remember sitting here so many times, in the same position, with his aunt hovering close-by, her eyes distracted by the open vista through the window.
She never looked at me either. She always cast about me, thought Kolob, cast to me how useless and sad I was, but she never looked at me.
^Well, let’s run another scope and see if things have deteriorated again,^ cast Ikthon. ^Wait—one of my other patients is having complications . . . hold on.^
Kolob sighed, wishing he could sit back, instead of resting his weight uncomfortably on his arms behind him. He hated having his shirt off, for his skin was so very pale, and his stomach sat as some gelatinous lump under his chest. He couldn’t stand looking at his naked reflection—he could lose himself in his imperfections, and then the merciless figments in his mind would rise and torment him.
Ikthon beamed with satisfaction. ^There we go, she’s doing alright now! Sometimes I wish they’d refine the processors so issues wouldn’t surge up unexpectedly, though I guess you rarely deal with that problem.^
^No, I don’t.^
Ikthon paused for a moment, looking directly at Kolob, who became startled. ^Do you miss your aunt? I remember she used to come with you all the time, when you were younger.^
^Uh. . . no, well, I suppose I do, sometimes.^
^Hmm . . . Well, the scope shows a twenty percent reduction in your enzyme count,^ cast Ikthon, his mind distracted again by his other patients. ^I’ll give you another stimulant and you’ll feel better by dinner . . .^
^Thanks. Why do you think this happens?^
^Well, as I cast to you before, more than likely it’s mental. You need to develop faith in your body to overcome small infections and do its job.^
^So you still don’t think it’s spinex dislavia, even though I show most of the symptoms?^ asked Kolob, his thoughts taking on a pleading tone.
^You only exhibit minor symptoms, not the two major ones,^ replied Ikthon dismissively, as he focused more on Kolob. ^I suggest you go home and review those inner journeys I discussed with you, and stop trying to self-diagnose yourself through the cast-net. Sometimes I wish they would ban sections like that—that kind of information only causes more harm than good.^
Inner journeys, thought Kolob carefully. Like I look like someone who believes.
^We’ll see. I’ll think about it.^
^Kolob, do you know how advanced our medicine is this roa?^ Ikthon stressed his words, as he paused to focus completely on him. ^There was a time, many millennia ago, that doctors gave patients drugs—liquid or powdered medicines, to cure their ills. This roa, we merely stimulate the brain, and it produces the necessary protein sequences to cure infections. It is an evolution of process unparalleled since the dawn of time.^
Kolob looked at him with confused eyes.
^Our treatments don’t work when the patient themselves refuses to be cured,^ explained Ikthon. ^That is why there are doctors like me. Are you sure there are no other mental issues that may be complicating matters?^
Kolob thought of the figments that tormented him in the quiet moments—cruel, pitiless specters that oppressed him mercilessly since he was able to cast.
^No, I don’t think so.^
Ikthon sighed. ^Have you thought about the enhancers for your MPR?^
^I don’t think I can afford them.^ All my lottment goes to visit you.
^You know you’d be able to get assigned better employment with those enhancers,^ cast Ikthon earnestly. ^Colvition wouldn’t give you any more problems—you’d be able to focus better on the cast-net, and maybe even watch long virt-lives without discomfort. I know the strain you’re always under. Your difficulty with colvition is the one thing I can’t treat. You have a fairly high Mental Power Rating, as I’ve cast before; thirty-two is well above average. That’s probably why you have so much trouble concealing your thoughts. Something is just disrupting the signal coming in from the cast-net before it stimulates your cerebral cortex.^
Kolob shrugged. He had lived with the problem so long that he couldn’t imagine his life any differently. Ikthon always made promises, always had suggestions as to how to fix it, yet none of them ever came to fruition.
^Are we done?^ whined Kolob, now irritated and tired.
^One last thing before you go. While you were here, I did a mental cellular scan of you, and I have a strong suspicion you are using an illicit drug. Namely, lleldin.^
Kolob grew nervous, but tried to conceal his thoughts. ^Lleldin? I . . . I don’t have that much lottment.^
^Well, nonetheless, I have that suspicion,^ cast Ikthon firmly, as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking to Kolob as too much of an authority figure. ^I will remind you it is a grave sin to abuse your mind in such a way. An MPR enhancer would eliminate the need for such a destructive drug. Maybe you’re not aware, but recent studies have concluded lleldin can cause dementia, even thoughts of suicide. I want to see you back in six roas to double check my findings.^
Kolob felt cornered, and scared. He nodded quickly to Ikthon, and rose to leave, trying to suppress his thoughts. As he rose, he felt some pressure on his mind, another presence in his thoughts. He stood still, shaking his head.
^What are you doing?^ asked Kolob.
^What do you mean, I am just—^
^GET OUT OF MY MIND!^ slammed Kolob, making Ikthon reel back from the force of his thought. He stumbled, and luckily braced himself against the corner of his small desk, or he would have fallen back out through the doorway. A small drop of fluid oozed from his eye, as he struggled to regain his shattered composure. Kolob could glea
n that ten different alarms went off inside Ikthon’s head, as links to patients were severed and open files lost.
He should have known better than to force an issue with me, thought Kolob.
^Sorry about that, but I—^
^Just remember to stay out of my thoughts,^ interrupted Kolob angrily. The doctor winced at the force of the thought, more out of remembered pain than anything else. ^I’ll see you in six roas.^
Ikthon nodded, running his head. ^Goodbye, Kolob.^
Kolob walked out of the Medical Center into the brilliant glare of the life-mitters; false suns that illuminated and heated Core, for the first time in a while longing to see the real sun. Usually he liked the rain, but now he wanted to feel the warmth of real sunshine on his face. In all his life, only once had he been on Topside, and that was as a young child. He didn’t know the difference back then between CoreNovan and ExterNovan (called Core and Topside for short) the grand solution of the TELREC to solve the population crisis, for one light felt like another. He remembered trying to feel the excitement he nest was so strong from his wealthy friends, who went often and delighted in recounting their experiences, trying to feel the pure joy of basking in a real sun. He was too young though to truly appreciate the event. All Kolob remembered caring about back then was trying to fit in with everyone else, and experiencing the joys of nature was not part of his anti-social clique. Only cas of living and working below, on Foundation, could give him the appreciation of finally being ‘on top.’ Now he understood what it must feel like to venture above for the first time; the fresh, unfiltered air, warm caressing sunlight, the cloud-mist reflecting, in every thousand molecules, the brilliance of the sun. Even the main complaint of those who went — the randomness of the weather, held great appeal to Kolob, for it was something different, and unexpected. Unlike my life, he would often think to himself. And to finally feel as though there was nothing above you–only the openness of the sky and the vast limitless void, with the nighttime bringing a thousand pearls of hope which fired the imaginations of every Novan artist — for it brought the potential of discovery — held great appeal for him. Every ment-cast extolled the surface life; from plot lines in silly virt-lives of the virtuous surface people to the hawking of vacations on every Escape channel. He nest that it was dry though, on account of the surface being mostly land and the atmosphere being thinner than on Core. That was the one benefit of the inner sphere; the constant, unending rain. He could live in perpetual rain. Drowning out the noise, washing away the dirt, purifying all existence. To forget the immediate, and drift on the transient.
Novan towered above him, its buildings standing as so many sentinels ever unmoving, ever inflexible. Most of them stretched so high in the sky that clouds and fog obscured their summits. The word ‘horizon’ held little meaning for Novans who lived on Core, as one could never see the horizon line. It was as if those millions of buildings were petrified Titans holding up the Novan way of life, supporting on their bulk the umpteen billions who lived. The last official census, done fifty cas before Kolob’s visit to Ikthon, stated the population to be at forty trillion people. But one could never get a sense of what that number meant. There was no way to achieve a perspective on the immensity of Core. As one traveled by trans through the skies, no matter how high one rose, the immense structures were the one constant — great corridors in the sky of metal and stone. A thick network of structure hung between the monoliths the closer to the ground one was, comprised of stacks and stacks of construct built on top of each other, pipe and cable, a web-work linking it all together.
And in all those towering structures was the other constant; the people. At the entrances to buildings, there were people. In the streets, great hoards of people moved back and forth and cutting in-between. The sky was a series of moving machinated clouds; trans, maintenance meta, CRODAM patrol vehicles, all moving briskly overhead. Great cargo vessels embarked often from Foundation, their exhaust plumes billowing through the sky, carrying waste from those trillions into the void, to be jettisoned into the sun. There were precious few places on Core that had an absence of people—usually places of learning or worship. In the alleys they sexed, ate, drank and died, a vermin that fed on itself and replicated with astonishing speed. There was a constant hum all around filled with the sounds of moving feet and machinery, doors opening and closing, lips smacking on fake food, an eternal static that only the most expensive of rooms could filter out.
To say the Novan civilization dwarfed its individuals would be a massive understatement. Long ago, in Novan’s past, most of the myths were about solitary heroes; uniquely strong and intelligent men who would save the whole world from certain doom, whose names were known by all. Over the millennia, as the structures crept higher and higher, as the planet grew more and more segmented, fractured by divisions between Provinces to the point where one structure was considered a city unto itself, through those long cas the individual grew smaller and smaller. The community was the focus of popular myth — a union of hundreds who could affect change. To be in a world where meta were stronger than oneself, where travel between buildings within one’s sight could take up most of a roa, where the entrances to those buildings dwarfed the average Novan, as if built for a race of Titans past or yet to come, had a profound effect on each and every member of the globes. The only name everyone knew was that of the Cuhli-pra, and even that name was pronounced and spelled differently from Province to Province. Some, like Kolob, were always keenly aware of their insignificance in the world, the futility of their existence. Others strived for control over whatever small parcel of land they lived in, buying safety and security at the expense of another’s life.
Kolob only had a few hundred til to walk before the channel to Illint Plaza opened up, but it was a maze of people to navigate. Always it was the same thing—a sea of disconnected faces, borne along on bodies vague and non-descript. Everywhere was crammed with people, spewing constant cast, their minds focused eternally somewhere else, their bodies guided by CMS systems. Few shared the same vision of Novan that Kolob had — that of a silent, physically isolated, cold and unforgiving world. Part of him wished he could abandon himself to the cast-net, to be distracted by the endless inane chatter, the ridiculous programming.
Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so alone.
He wove his way through the cacophony that was Novan, through crowded alleys filled with the refuse of society, along narrow paths hugging great towers in which the elite of Core lived and sinned. Down on lifts, up on lifts, sharing great moving walkways with the huddled masses, alone in a sea of soumanity, he kept his mind focused on the directional beacon leading him to Illint Plaza.
His thoughts drifted back to his doctor’s suspicions, and the consequences it might bring. He wished he could forget this new problem, this nagging anxiety growing in strength and scope. He knew the more despair grew within him, the closer the voices came. He needed to forget, and focus on something else.
There are just too many people out. I guess I don’t feel like sunshine after all. Kolob thought. I really wish it would rain.
Illint Plaza opened up ahead as Kolob made his way to the promenade court to meet his friend, Rhonva, for lunch. Ten levels high, three square til across, Illint was one of the largest shopping plazas in this province. Eight smooth beige obelisks defined its outskirts, monstrously large monuments that towered into the afternoon sky. From as far as fifty til away their summits could be seen and from their peaks it was said one could touch the bottom of Topside. Floating along their beige surfaces beautiful women and their kept men sold everything the heart could desire, all projected from massive holo-reflective panels. Whatever kinship to the ancient past died when the sales pitch started and the music cast into the minds of the willing and the not-so-willing.
Colors blazed all around the entrance—huge colorful flags arcing in the sky, hundreds of spotlights showering the entrance, while a myriad of displays made motions, beckoning through cast. Thousands of
people streamed in with him; tourists from other provinces, locals just looking for a roa’s distraction. Some were genuinely enthralled by the festive greeting, stopping to show their children, taking in every cast. Others, like him, tried their best to screen out the noise and hurry past.
For a moment Kolob looked back at the forest of metal and concrete from which he came—it circled Illint Plaza like a great army perpetually gearing for assault. Within its lines could be seen the movement of a million people covered in the haze of pollution, drifting like great clouds over the landscape. Kolob saw Illint as an oasis, an island of calm and quiet, and for good reason.
Kolob had been in about half of Illint, wandering in and out of shops in his youth. Sometimes he thought to himself that he spent more time in there than at home. Practically most of his shopping had to be done there, or in some other ‘real’ store, for his trouble with colvition made mental commerce extremely frustrating. The wealthy mostly shopped in the Plazas, for personal service was costly and time consuming. Kolob afforded it, barely, with the help of a medical disability account that gave him an extra share of lottment. Distribution centers were how the rest of Novan did business, with cast orders being filled all droas of every roa, never late, never wrong, yet never offering the experience of barter, of negotiating with a live person. Only images in the mind, which was good enough for most everyone.
Kolob ascended the stairs into the broad foyer leading to the Plaza’s heart. As he walked in, he noticed the Novan standard fluttering high above in the light breeze, for a brief moment catching his eye, then dwarfed by the larger, TELREC standard. A myriad of smells were conjured in his mind, reminding him of his growing hunger. Hundreds of varieties of roasted meat, succulent fruits and sweets, decadently sinful confections and pleasure giving brewed concoctions whetted his appetite, and though none of it was real—all of it being a manipulation of the sensory organs of the souman mind to disguise the vegetable-protein mush that it really was—it still looked and smelled delicious. He stopped for a moment in front of a broad glass window that reflected his image.
Do I really look like that?
Kolob stood for a moment, straightening his back, adjusting his clothes. He was never pleasantly surprised by what he found in the mirror; always it disappointed him, always he tried to avoid that image whether it meant cleaning his teeth by memory instead of sight, or dressing quickly then leaving, never looking to see what others saw. In the mirror he saw a slightly tall, thin man who was still a boy, with unkempt stringy black hair and pale light-brown skin, almost a golden bronze except for its unreality pallor. His small, jade eyes glittered in the light, the only detail about him that would draw an overlong glance. He slouched, turning away, slipping into his favorite outfit; resignation. He moved on, banishing the image from his mind, now determined to have some food before Rhonva arrived. Near the end of the foyer he noticed a newer display; what appeared to be a pleasure center at the far right. Normally they keep them out of the larger malls, thought Kolob, but I guess the TELREC decided otherwise.
The promotion outside was garish in sight and cast sound. Ten women and men, dressed in a sheer fabric, cavorted and grinded, acting out and fantasies from the people who passed by. The performers picked up on their stray thoughts, and without identifying the originator, acted it out for all to see. Set in a cave-like rock wall, their hair was wild and their bodies smeared with dirt. An announcer, dressed in a tight fitting flesh colored bodysuit, moved his mouth as if speaking to the words he cast, while music cast in the background.
^Enjoy the one eternal constant,
Forget the ceaseless grind
Rediscover your primitive self!^
The music conjured emotions within Kolob and the other spectators, eliciting feelings of desire, warmth, and joy. It made them laugh one moment, made their heart race another. The crowd in front, filled with women and men, old and young, and even a few designates from a local Iggaraout, gazed with rapt attention at the erotic performers. Two male performers ventured out and involved some women in their sexual dance. They guided the female hands and stroked their bodies. The women’s eyes deliciously swallowed the beauty of the performers’ taut stomachs, and bulging muscles, and with relish allowed their hands to explore their bodies. The men responded in kind, caressing their breasts and arms. Several in the audience cast directions to the volunteers who responded by acting out each other’s suggestions. Off to the side, women lined up to register for a session with the performers inside the display. The lone woman not involved in the current dance from the troupe cast some seductive phrases at Kolob. She ran her fingers down her body, begging that he come over and be with her. He smiled weakly, and then turned shyly away.
I think she would be a little too much for me. I wish I could meet someone quiet, Kolob thought to himself, as he pried his mind away from her seductive thoughts. Someroa, when I get rid of this stomach, and feel better about myself, maybe I’ll try to be with someone like that.
He passed by the pleasure center and ascended an entrance ramp to a viewpoint within Illint Plaza. The complex sprawled out beneath him, stretching forward as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of shops on eight levels surrounded the central courtyard, illuminated with a brilliant yet artificial light. Visually, every shop competed with each other by presenting garish, multi-colored displays, trying to gain the attention of any passerby. Mentally, Kolob could feel each shop casting a distant message, beckoning to the undecided to sample their wares. Tens of thousands of people were massed within, migrating in and out of the shops, all in absolute silence. The only audible sounds were those of children too young to have a mental implant, and their cries were few and far between. The enormity of the world pressed in on his thoughts.
I am but a speck in this small center—what am I in relation to this world? No one here knows me, no one cares if I live or die. I am not even a speck in the enormity of the globes. What do I matter to anything? What do my problems mean to this eternal cosmos? If in physical space I am insignificant, what am I in temporal space? This world has existed for a billion cas, recorded history for thirty-thousand. I truly am a worthless cipher. I’ll never amount to anything.
Voices in his mind, familiar and angry, rose up, demanding audience.
“Oh, did ya’ nest that? The whiny baby feels alone. Aww . . . maybe he needs ta have his mommy.”
“His mommy, yeah! Ha, Ha!”
“Does baby want his mommy?”
Kolob staggered for a moment, grabbing hold of himself, steeling against their onslaught.
“Again, and again with the doc. You’d think by now he’d be better. I think he likes the doc.”
“Kolob doesn’t like anything . . . or any one.”
Be null! Not now, I have Rhonva to meet, thought Kolob. He struggled to regain control over his mind, and quell the aspects that had plagued him for so long—aspects that criticized his every move and laughed with a bitterness he could barely endure. Often, they disappeared for dcas at a time. Then, without warning, they would surge forward and dominate his life. Never had Kolob told anyone about them, not the aunt who watched him after his parents died or the doctor whom he felt surely hated him. Lately, it’s harder to remember a time when I felt peace in myself, and I fear I’ll never completely get it back.
He walked down the left-most aisle in front of a multitude of brightly colored shops. Yellows and oranges blared in his eyes, images assaulted his mind. The casts he could nest in the distance grew stronger as he passed each shop, and he struggled in vain to push those unwanted intrusions from his mind. Sometimes he felt as a ship on an ancient sea, tossed to and fro by the waves, unable to counter the might of the water or to calm the sea. Constantly Novans were bombarded with casts of every sort; advertisements, news announcements, and programming to suit every individual taste and he was sensitive to them all. Strong broadcast especially hurt Kolob — most Novans could accept them almost naturally, automatically adjusting their relative streng
ths but Kolob always had a difficult time. It was as if someone was perpetually yelling in his ear, and he couldn’t move away. He paused in front of a blue and green shop from which a spicy, meaty smell emanated. He merely looked at an attendant, and she immediately presented a small mound of what looked to be hot meat, with a small portion of greenery.
She read my mind well. Looking down as she turned, he felt quick desire for her sweaty, fleshy form, barely dressed in a drenched white dress. Hopefully, not too well.
As he left the shop, Kolob searched for Rhonva. They agreed to meet somewhere nearby, and after a while of walking he spotted Rhonva casting to some women. He smiled, and sat at an empty table near them. Rhonva always could cast to the women, he thought. Rhonva could have been born the ugliest, poorest man, yet could probably cast his way into bed with the most powerful. He looked down at his food, and decided to start without him. Soon, Rhonva ventured over.
To say Rhonva was plain would be doing him a disservice. Rhonva was more of a chameleon. He was not striking in any of his features, at least not so that he appeared to belong to any particular group or class. He had short cut brown hair, worn in a typical fashion, close-cropped, hanging low on the forehead. His clothes were bright and soft, loose-fitting, letting the air blow his pant legs a little; typical of young Novan men. His body was not thin, instead it was well toned, yet not offensively so, his skin some middle hue of burnt umber with a vermillion glow. On first glance he was not threatening to men or women. He appeared to be of medium height, and weight, and while many of his features could be described as ordinary, he did have unusually large, brown eyes. He used them to his advantage, for Rhonva was a man who liked to use all his features when he cast; his eyelids dancing with each thought, his mouth pursing in response to a sour word or tone. And when one came closer, and cast with him intimately, he would betray a fire in his eyes, some deep passion that was ultimately seductive for women and threatening to men. To Kolob, he saw some of the unpredictable in Rhonva, and was ultimately surprised Rhonva kept him as a friend.
Kolob, on the other hand, was physically somewhat distinctive. Lanky, with little muscle, he was tall for his weight, appearing at times spindly, at times emaciated, but always with the little round belly that he tried to hide with the same loose clothes Rhonva wore. In fact, ever since Kolob began to make Rhonva’s acquaintance, he began to copy his dress, looking like a weaker, sloppier version. Rhonva always would irritate him by criticizing his hair, which was an unkempt, often unwashed mop that hung over his eyes and down his shoulders. Kolob usually looked away when someone cast to him, sneaking glances from under his hair, which hung a little too low over his forehead. Kolob wished nothing more than to be unseen by everyone, just part of the background, unnoticed, and unmolested.
^So, I see you finally made it,^ cast Rhonva with a quick flourish. ^How did the doctor’s visit go?^
^Alright,^ shrugged Kolob absently.
Rhonva sighed, remembering the game they always had to play. Kolob never volunteered much information, as he was usually sullen and withdrawn.
^Come on,^ prodded Rhonva. ^What happened?^
^Well, I really wish he would take me seriously and do something about my stomach and my head. It really worries me, sometimes.^ Kolob leaned in to the table, tense and anxious. He fiddled with his hands and picked at some skin as he seemed to lose his appetite.
^Well, you have to be aggressive with him, and cast him you’re really concerned. Was that all?^
^He tried to scan me.^
^Scan you?^
Kolob weakly laughed, trying to appear unconcerned. ^Yeah, I showed him! Made his nose bleed.^
^Ha! Would have liked to see the expression on his face.^ Rhonva sat back in his chair, turning towards his female friends, with an easy smile and thoughts of lust. ^Those medics think they’re so smart. You showed him—good job!^
^Well, he’s smart enough. He discovered I’d been taking lleldin.^
Rhonva abruptly turned back. ^Seriously? What did you cast?^
^I didn’t cast anything — he doesn’t have any hard evidence against me,^ cast Kolob, trying to assuage Rhonva’s concerns. ^Besides, he was probably too busy with his other patients to care too much about me. ^
Rhonva relaxed, and leaned back again in his chair, but now in a thoughtful pose. Dressed in the latest in Novan fashion—a flowing gold robe, accented with white scarves and white shoes, he always acted as though he cared what others thought of him, particularly women. In this case, he was still making a show for his female friends, who he could tell were still looking over at him. He knew he could attract women of all ages, and delighted in savoring the different female fruits.
^Do you think you want to cut back?^
^No.^
^Are you sure?^ pressed Rhonva, as he casually leaned on the table, posing for the women. ^If he used a stronger mental cellular scan, he might find the traces of lleldin. Those micro-meta don’t miss a thing.^
^No!^ cried Kolob, getting a little upset. ^I’m alright.^
^Ok, fine by me,^ shrugged Rhonva, inwardly amused by Kolob’s dependence. ^I’m getting another shipment in two roas. I’ll assume nothing will change?^
^Yeah, okay.^
Kolob looked away from Rhonva over the gallery, suddenly thrown into thought. What has my life come to, that my only friend is my lleldin supplier?. It was mid-afternoon, and they were surrounded by throngs of people. Business people on mid-break, young kids jabbered and window shopped. But I need it so badly, it gives me the only peace from this world. I wish I could be like Rhonva — so carefree, easy with men and women. Everything is a chore for me, to approach someone, to cast to them. Even my friendship with Rhonva was a coincidence, and I never expected him to keep in touch with me. Sometimes I don’t think I deserve to live—at least not like this.
Rhonva seemed to materialize in Kolob’s life five cas ago. It was after one of his visits with Ikthon, at a point when Kolob was having a particularly hard time with colvition. He lied to Ikthon, giving him false symptoms in hopes he would prescribe a sedative. Ikthon saw through Kolob’s ploy quickly and sent him away. Kolob was devastated, and spend the next few droas sitting on a bench in front of his office trying not to cry, attempting to compose himself. Rhonva happened to walk by.
^You should hide your thoughts better. Someone might take advantage of you.^
^Sorry. I just . . . well, it’s been a tough roa.^
Rhonva had sat down next to him. ^Do you have trouble with colvition?^
Kolob had looked at him slowly. ^How did you know?^
^As I cast before, you need to hide your thoughts better.^ Rhonva had reached into a pocket in his jacket, bringing forth a small vial of blue liquid. ^Try this.^
Kolob has taken it, looking down at this vial. ^What is it?^
Rhonva had smiled. ^Just take it. You will feel so much better.^
He had looked at Rhonva, studying his face for a few moments, searching his features for an explanation.
^Whatever.^ Kolob had slid forward a tiny lever, bringing forth a small droplet of the fluid.
^A drop or two should be enough. Wouldn’t want to turn into an apathet!^
He had pulled it onto his fingertip, and had placed the droplet on his tongue. He had paused, looking at Rhonva, thinking of what he was doing. In the moments after he had swallowed, the cast-net faded, and a null peace reigned over his mind.
^My name is Rhonva, and I deal in this drug, called lleldin. You’re not alone in your needs, Kolob. There are others like you, others who have problems with colvition. Doctors can’t help you, but I can . . .^
I can . . .Those words echoed in Kolob’s mind, the beginning of a friendship. He became more and more dependent on Rhonva and the lleldin over the past cas. Rhonva was there to listen to him, to distract him. And the lleldin was there to make life more bearable.
I don’t know what I would do without either of them, he thought to himself. Rhonva turned back, engaging in cesct wit
h his female friends. Kolob dug back into his food, not really hungry now, as much as he was bored.
Boredom. I think that sums up my life. Every roa the same, nothing new or different. What I wouldn’t give for a change, for something exciting and new. Deep down, Kolob wished he would find a woman, a friend, a lover. He looked around, gleaning cesct around him. A few tables away sat a woman with three children — two boys and one girl. He could tell they hadn’t gotten their implants yet — the two boys were constantly pushing and running, yelling at each other, while the girl was poking and tormenting a baby at an adjacent table trying to elicit some response from her mother. The mother was clearly reluctant to watch her children, for there was a vacant look on her face. She was leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed on her chest. She must be watching that new broadcast ‘Royal Tenderness,’ on CN 804. Geared towards women, it depicted strong violence and dominion over men, and had a forty-percent draw of all women. Those with a higher MPR could become one of the characters and have sensory input downloaded in sync with the program. It was as if you felt every touch, every embrace or rush of adrenaline the character felt. Oh — there she goes. She pursed her lips, as if being kissed. Must be an intelligent or wealthy woman.
I wonder what having children would be like. He thought back to his own childhood — his mother and father dying while he was young, the pain he endured being brought up by his aunt. I would never want anyone to go through what I have. He looked back at the woman, her eyelids closing, letting loose a sigh. Why some people have children I’ll never know.
Kolob could also glean the casts of what seemed to be three professional men seated behind him. Looks like they’re using a colvition amplifier—must be from a small company. He took a quick look at them to confirm his suspicions. Two of the men were heavy, obviously too poor for the CMS stimulants, while the man seated to the side was quite thin. The heavy set men tore into their meal with gusto, smacking their lips, their clothing bespattered with the juices of their repast. They served up humiliation to the thin man in the form of negative performance ratings and quotas that remained unmet. This must be a demotion meeting, thought Kolob. How sad to conduct it in the middle of a mall. The thin man had a meal in front of him, but it was scarcely touched. He merely held onto his datapad, nervously fingering it. Suddenly one of the heavy men brought his fist down on the table, toppling over their drinks. The thin man was shaken out of his reverie — he passed his datapad over to the heavy man.
I guess that’s one of the advantages of working for the meta, thought Kolob. Meta-sentients don’t eat, don’t even need to go to the plazas, and they don’t have emotional outbursts. Kolob had been transferred enough to almost prefer a meta as a superior. Too many things bias soumans as supervisors. I mean, what could this man have done that was so wrong? Kolob snuck a glance at the expression of the thin man, haggard and pained. Looks like the TELREC will be finding him another job. Maybe I’ll even see him down on Foundation.
Kolob worked as a meta repair and cleaning technician on Foundation, at least that was his title. In truth, he mostly did cleaning, with only rudimentary diagnostics justifying the ‘repair’ in his title. He had been through his share of meetings with management, that all resulted in his transfer. And every time the TELREC found another place for him to work, another place for him to get bored at, and tired of.
Well, at least someone will be more miserable than me this roa. He turned back to Rhonva, just in time to glean him inviting the women over to his suite for some recreation. Rhonva cast to him at the same time.
^Why don’t you join us? After all, there are three of us, and I’ll probably only need two.^
Giggles erupted from the three women, gleaning his cast.
^Look at the ears on that one, Rhonva!^ privately cast Kolob to Rhonva. ^Why did she get them so big? And gold eyes on the other? She looks like some kind of meta.^
Rhonva laughed. ^You know a lot of people are into the whole primitivism thing. Those were our ears, eight thousand cas ago, before the cast-net. And as for gold eyes, well, you should see them in the dark.^
Rhonva turned, casting some lascivious thoughts at the gold-eyed woman, making her laugh.
Kolob sat back. ^No thanks. Besides, you know I’m not into the group thing like you are.^
“Talk to me!” yelled a voice from within the gallery. People began to crane their necks to seek out its source.
Kolob scanned the gallery as Rhonva sat up, looking around. ^Was that voice?^
^Oh boy, here we go again,^ cast Rhonva, making his three friends giggle.
What does he mean ‘here we go again?’ thought Kolob.
“Please, would someone talk to me!”
An older man staggered aimlessly through the gallery. His red eyes seemed frantic, searching the peoples’ faces for something. Passing from table to table, he seemed as some puppet, jerked awkwardly by unseen hands. Those he faced either pushed him away, repulsed, or threw food at him, laughing as he tried to shield himself. Eventually he stopped at the table where the three women were, and bent down, what was left of his graying hair falling along his face.
“Please, would someone talk to me? Stop thinking and talk to me!”
He was eager and demanding, pounding his fist twice on the table, his frantic eyes darting between the women. Two of them merely turned and laughed to themselves, while the other two scowled and pushed him away. She cast to Rhonva; ^can’t you get this filthy scum away from me? Where are the TELREC when you need them?^ The businessmen close to Kolob turned and guffawed, with even the demoted one amused for a moment by someone else’s problems. The wild man stood, sighing, his arms outstretched.
“I just want someone to talk to,” he pleaded, “to hear someone’s voice.”
^He must have recently had his implant upgraded, to total information input.^ Rhonva cast. ^I’ve nest it can put a massive strain on the mind and can induce paranoia or anxiety, for those with low MPR. I wish he would shut up — I hate hearing voice.^
Kolob looked up, into the man’s eyes, and the man looked down into his. Kolob had been all over his home province, seen the best and worst of Novan life. More than once had he seen the delusional, ranting on some violent tirade that often left somebody dead. But now, looking in this man’s eyes, he saw nothing of the lunatic. Instead, he saw someone of almost regal bearing, as his body paused for a moment in a pose he seemed to have taken many, many times — so often that it was as instinct and habit. It betrayed him, only for an instant, until a slight smile flitted across his lips and the maniac disguise distorted his face and skewed his limbs.
As they cast looking on the speaking man, a disturbance rippled through those seated further down in the gallery. The southern half of the gallery began to leave in waves — hundreds of people left their seats and moved towards the exits in some frenzied mass exodus. Kolob stood slowly, trying to see over the multitude of bobbing heads.
^What could be causing that?^ Kolob asked.
Rhonva looked, than pointed. ^TELREC.^
People didn’t just run, they scrambled out of the path of the five figures rapidly approaching where Kolob and Rhonva were. Wearing brown and gold robes, they moved with a calculated precision, for a moment reminding Kolob of his doctor, Ikthon. They carried no visible weapons, cast no words of warning. Kolob had nest of the power of the TELREC, and as they drew nearer, he felt it firsthand. Their minds emanated some kind of dampening field making it harder to think, one that slowed one’s physical reactions. He watched as all kinds of people, old and young, poor and rich, fell over chairs and crawled on the floor just to get out of their way.
Rhonva watched with an approving grin. ^When they want to make their presence known, they make their presence known.^
The women near them stood and began to move off, as Kolob was just making out the faces of the TELREC. He could see there was a woman in the lead, tall and strong. As she got closer, Kolob saw her expression and that of her companions we
re devoid of emotion — their faces carved in stone. Kolob could see the physical power in each of them, yet knew their mental power far exceeded even that impressive appearance.
The wild man turned, sensing the TELREC approach, and Kolob saw his body betray himself again. His fists clenched, and his jaw straightened. Kolob could almost glean what the man was thinking, until he disguised his thoughts and manners once again.
“Oh look, the accursed TELREC! What have I done wrong now?” shouted the man, flailing his arms comically, affecting the mannerisms of a fool. He looked back for a moment at Kolob, a long, searching gaze, as if he was looking into his very soul.
^We better get out of here,^ cast Rhonva as he stood, pulling Kolob. ^The TELREC will take care of this scum.^
“Don’t think at me, talk to me!” he shouted. The TELREC surrounded him, the female lead TELREC turning the stranger around.
^Fine sir, please come with us,^ she cast, with folded arms. Kolob staggered backwards, being pulled by Rhonva towards a nearby stairwell.
The man defiantly stood his ground. “No, I won’t. Can’t you see what’s happened? We don’t talk to each other, we barely see each other outside of our minds!” Suddenly he staggered back, almost tripping over himself, after being hit by a mental blow. Kolob could see a youth behind some tables with some friends, laughing at his pain. Kolob struck back, sending the youth reeling in pain. He looked back to the stranger.
“Thank you,” he said, with the TELREC moving closer to him.
Kolob smiled, wishing he could do more.
^Come on, let’s go,^ cast Rhonva, impatient to catch up to his female prey.
They exited the Plaza the same way Kolob came in. The skies had grayed, and it appeared showers were rolling towards them. A cool air played against their skin and rustled through their clothes. Kolob loved that feeling of submission, with nature assuming control. He saw others scurry into other buildings, while the wealthy switched on their omni-shields. The three women could be seen up ahead, waving to Rhonva. Rhonva waved back.
^I better get back to work,^ cast Rhonva. ^Think about coming with me and those three lovelies. The one with ‘big ears’ as you put it, might be just what you need. She can be rough, and well, quite exciting! I know all you need is some fun to distract yourself from your problems.^
Kolob furrowed his brow and wrinkled his lips in a sneer, in a silent show of disagreement.
^What was wrong with that guy?^
^Who knows,^ shrugged Rhonva, ^it doesn’t matter to us.^
^What will the TELREC do to him?^
^Why are you so concerned?^
^Well,^ stammered Kolob, as he tried to assert himself, ^they have such power — I could feel it. Yet, they came all that way, just for a lunatic using speech?^
^Who are we to divine the purpose behind their actions?^ Rhonva’s cast was impatient and off-hand, and Kolob could sense his mind was still on the missed opportunity with the three women in the gallery. ^For all we know, he was a wanted criminal. He may have refused to chronicle. He may have been plotting against the TELREC or the Cuhli-pra.^ He leaned in close to Kolob. ^He may have even been using lleldin.^
Kolob sneered, then pushed Rhonva away. ^Funny.^
^Anyway, I’ll stop by your complex in two roas, and I’ll bring your lleldin. Do you have enough until then?^
^Yeah.^
^Alright, good journey to you,^ cast Rhonva, turning towards the transports, and the women.
^And you.^ Kolob debated with himself for a moment, as he just couldn’t get the image of the man out of his mind. ^But really, what do you think will happen to that man?^
A crackle of thunder signaled the beginning of the downpour. Rhonva cast as he ran for a transport.
^He’ll get what he deserves. Don’t worry about him. If he chose to negate a life of pleasure for protest, then let him suffer. It was his choice.^ Rhonva boarded a large trans filled with people. ^Don’t use that lleldin too quick, Kolob. That stuff is getting harder to come by.^
Kolob watched as Rhonva disappeared on board, merging into the faceless horde of people, the only one who cared if he was any different. Sometimes he looked on Rhonva with a certain jealousy — his success with women, his cool demeanor in the face of the TELREC. Rhonva had an answer for everything, a solution for every problem. Life seemed to come very easily to him, and often Kolob couldn’t understand why he dealt in illicit drugs. He stood for a moment, thinking on the smallness of his life, feeling the rain descend upon himself in great drops, splashing on his clothes, matting his hair. He woke from his reverie, turned, and ran into a small Sky-tran stop for cover until the storm passed, warmed by the thick glow of the mitters. The next Sky-tran wasn’t due for mroas yet, and he suddenly felt the need to enjoy this storm. A fierce rain washed through the central space, blurring distant buildings. The upper sections of the buildings around him were obscured by clouds, making the whole world seem smaller than it was. Even the hovercars slowed, their engines groaning against the strength of the winds, the pound of water on metal. He sat down, relaxed, and tried to tune out the myriad of transmissions clamoring in his mind. But they always seemed to get worse when he was alone. Which was ironic, because on Novan, no one was ever alone for very long. The channels flitted by, each one pleading to be watched.
^Tonight, on a very special service for all you who have relaxed your faith —^
^Hey, Mr. Roba, can you get the toy for me?^
^Whell, golly frin, I guess . . . oops!^
^Hahahahahah!^
I hate children’s programming. There has to be one peaceful station. He concentrated harder.
^ONCE IN A LIFE SALE!!! NOW AT —^
Kolob winced in pain at the strength of the transmission. He tried another.
^Uld has managed to obtain permits for pleasure clubs in the larger Plazas, garnering increased investment in —^
^— but don’t you feel the TELREC must know where the Cuhli-pra is? I mean —^
^If the Cuhli-pra were born, he would have showed himself by —^
Damned politics. Not that.
^With the proper focus, anyone can attain the state of Nerval.^
^— and now, we introduce Fros Ksilte, who recently lost an effort for more regulation of . . .^
Sometimes, the entirety of Novan existence seemed to be an endless plea to Kolob, a cry for attention.
Enough! I love the rain, and the tranquility it brings. I will not lose this restful moment.
His hand slipped into a fold of his flowing suit, and produced a small vial. Slipping back the enclosure, he pulled a small droplet out with his finger, quickly placing it on his tongue. Almost instantly, a warm calm rushed through his mind. All his thoughts were suddenly softer than a whisper. His mind cleared, and all that he was slowly slipped away. Where he was, who he was, where he lived, all became forgotten. All that existed in his universe was the immediate; the softness of the bench, the chill on his skin, and the fierce, driving rain.
Chapter 3