Martel looked out from Rellcine onto Novan, the world of pleasure, with serious eyes. Often he’d look out of this window while he and Uonil discussed Graid’s progress and the problems in the mission. He saw mitterlight reflect off the spires of a seemingly beautiful world, a jewel of technological advancement. Transports sailed with grace through the morning light, dancing a similar dance every roa amidst their stoic, unmoving partners. All Martel felt in the face of this intricate technological ballet was resentment against the enemy he must fight, resentment against a world built on stolen technology and broken promises, resentment against a culture whose very foundations called for the destruction of him, as well as his people. A million of those people passed by his eyes every droa, but right now all his attention was focused on two that, because of those million, he could not see.
He was a youngish looking man with dark brown skin, whose features seemed to remain the same no matter how old he became, and even with his fifty-two cas, he looked no older than forty. Never one for indulgence for it was against his world’s philosophy, he was thick yet strong. Of medium height, he was a man of generic appearance, yet one who betrayed a passion behind his red eyes, fiery under a mop of graying black hair. He was balding a little, no doubt because of the immense stress he always lived under. He had commanded more men, been on more missions in his life than almost all before him. He refused to take any medication, have any enhancements done to correct it. His father before him was the same, wearing his baldness almost as a point of pride of all that he had accomplished in his life. Martel remembered when he loved his long black hair as much as Arciss, one of his subordinates, did now. At times Arciss seemed vain to him, at others, a skewed reflection of himself. Often in the mirror beside his wife Martel would think on his youth, when he first met his wife, when she used to delight in combing his hair, stroking it while they lay next to each other in bed. And even now that there was less hair to touch, she would still run her hands through his hair with the same look she had when it was full and long.
Martel always wore a second-skin — a tight fitting dense material that gave warmth as well as dulling a person to most scans. Over it a short vest and always his union bracelet — one of the few things the Novan and Rell still had in common. Many times during the roa he would finger it, kindling some memory of his wife, whom he loved with unending ardor. He fingered it now, giving some comfort, for he felt the Mentra, Uonil, had some bad news for him.
“It’s nearing time to get him again,” said Uonil, seated at her desk, in a small suite she called her own. She existed in this place more than anyplace else in all her life. Here she monitored the turbulent adolescence of the Kal-Alçon. Here she had co-ordinated agent movements over all of Novan and Rell over the past ten cas. Here she trained countless assistants, had endless meetings with the Kal-Alçon once he came of age. She had exchanged this office dozens of times over the cas; a new desk, new emitters, changed the finish and color of the walls countless times, even installing real grass on the floor for a short time. Through it all stayed the chair she was seated in now — a large, thick throne-like creation, resting on four hover-motors. She had few possessions she cared about, and this chair was the most important. Martel chided her mercilessly about it, how it revealed a pride of power that was distinctly un-Rellican. She knew the Alçons who came to visit her always took special notice of that chair, letting their disapproval slip through in some way. But, as she often thought to herself, she had no family, no lovers. She needed something to care about in this life that was hers, and she felt a chair was definitely a reasonable substitute. She sat forward, as Martel turned around, sitting down opposite her.
“Really, I thought it was a little longer yet,” said Martel.
“No. Our records indicate it is in two dcas,” replied Uonil, as she mentally called up the timetable and cast it to Martel.
There was a subtle beauty that graced Uonil’s youthful, doughy cheeks. Though Martel favored slimmer women, he could not help but be somewhat attracted to her chubby frame. Those full lips, ample bosom. Curious that the Mentra, a woman given power over the whole of operations on Novan, would herself seem to reflect that world’s predisposition to excess. Yet, he knew her better than to make that assumption. For she had an intelligence that was, in and of itself, excessive. I think that is what attracts me to her most of all.
“You’re thinking of me again.”
Damn.
“How kind of you to notice.” A charming sweetness covered his embarrassment, as he fidgeted with his data-pad and worked to shield off an obviously vulnerable part of his mind.
She had but thirty-one cas under her belt, yet her mind could dominate the most powerful, thought Martel. When others probe a mind, it always feels like they’re jabbing some pointy stick into a tender area. The more powerful the mind, the less the sensation. When she reads thoughts, she is as graceful as if she were skimming mist off the top of a heated ocean.
“What a nice analogy. Did you ever think what kind of poet you’d make?” asked Uonil, with a small smile creeping over her face.
“I’d cast to you, but you probably know already.” He suddenly affected a mock anger. “Am I allowed any privacy?!”
They had sat like this, facing each other across Uonil’s desk, too many times to name. Most of the decisions that affected operations in Rellcine were made in this office, at that desk. The respect and affection they felt for each other went far beyond friendship, and was something akin to love.
“Not when you’re with me,” she cooed. “Anyway, how our Kal-Alçon coming along?” Uonil pulled out her datapad, and sat forward, reviewing its contents.
“Excellently, better than expected.”
“Such high praise from you . . . extremely unexpected.”
I know she does me the courtesy of this light banter, for she could easily search my mind for what she needed to know.
“The Kal-Alçon is a unique specimen, Mentra. His mental abilities could eclipse your own.”
“Ahh yes, they could. If he only possessed the desire to use them for constructive purposes. Often I look at him with some jealousy at the power within his small frame.” Uonil was distracted for a moment by the myriad of sights out her window. “And then I’m saddened by his disrespect for all we hold dear, his refusal to accept what he knows is right.” Uonil rose, a short girl, barely a woman, in command of a tall, mature man. “Walk with me, Martel.”
They exited the office and eventually made their way out through the multiple checkpoints and security barriers into the courtyard of Rellcine. The spires of Rellcine rose hundreds of feet into the air, giving a luxurious sense of open air, on a planet where space was at a premium. Situated on Core, the exterior of Rellcine had an elegance, a beauty to its architecture that was unique among its garish neighbors. Between the milky-white spires rest a jewel of a building, constructed in a faceted pyramid design. Concealed within that design lay formidable defenses; emdec cannons, several mental and energy barriers, and even an armory filled with dozens of well armed hovercars. Novans — TELREC in particular — would have sacrificed a million lives for the location of this Rell center situated so openly on Novan. A sophisticated holo-shield made Rellcine appear to every passerby and scan as just another Novan temple, a small Iggaraout, where the few faithful would come and pray. For the Rell, it was an invaluable opportunity to study those few Novan faithful, and study Novan society in greater detail.
Uonil was a unique figure in Rell society. Religious code had made no allowances for such a young woman to attain a high rank of power, certainly not the one to which Uonil was entrusted. Barely twenty-three, she was promoted to the rank of Mentra, the second most powerful person on Rell — second only to the Kal-Alçon — and was chosen by the Kal-Durrell themselves. She was a genius at birth, a child that could see far into the future by means of a crude chaos theory. She looked at the available data, looked at the potential for deviation, and within mroas, could accurately predict the course th
at society would follow. The TELREC did this by means of complex computer-based analysis; she did this by raw mental power. But, with all her intelligence, she was never allowed time to truly mature as a child should, and as such stumbled somewhat in relations with her subordinates. Never in a relationship, never voicing sexual thoughts to another, Martel was the closest figure in her life. He was also a very intelligent man, but tempered with a life experience that was refreshing to Uonil. He possessed great power also in Rell circles, being Steward to Graid, mentor and director in his education and training, but it all came easily to him. Few incidents sparked obvious demonstrations of concern, he swiftly assessed a situation and dealt with it.
Often Uonil saw Martel as a family member, as an older brother who, in spite of her superior mind, guided her in life. A roa when Martel was out on a mission, or when she had to go back to Rell for a meeting or briefing, was a sad one to her. He brought some joy to the mission, some reason to stay sane. Somewhere, in some dark recesses of her mind, she knew she had other thoughts about him; dangerous, Novan thoughts. But, as is the Rell way, she banished them to near oblivion, and never dwelled on them in her conscious thought.
Martel had risen to great distinction in the Rell hierarchy. A born soldier, he proved himself in several skirmishes with TELREC over the cas. Most took place in the outlying colonies in the void. Martel became an expert at engineering, mental warfare, and strategy. Countless times he defeated the TELREC, countless times his actions averted destruction of a colony due to TELREC sabotage. Lately, with the union to his wife, his warrior reflexes had become dulled, as he spent more time behind a desk, or talking with his wife. A part of him was extremely anxious, as he yearned to do battle once again. But a larger part of him was reconciled to his new life. He loved both women in his life, and appreciated the challenge of training Graid.
For it was the creation of Graid, the Kal-Alçon, that brought Martel in from the field. The Kal-Durrell specifically requested his presence, asked him to be Steward to Graid, as they asked Uonil to be Mentra. Martel knew Graid like he was his own son — no matter how vastly powerful this son was to his father. Martel saw him mature from a questioning, tentative youth, to a brash, headstrong young man. Martel cursed himself for his inability to sway Graid from his pursuit of Novan pleasure, but he knew some things were going to be beyond his control. He thought on Graid for a moment as they exited Rellcine.
I know he is hiding something, thought Martel. He lets it slip, once in a long while, especially when he is impatient. The struggle on his face disappears, and a cool ease comes over him. But why would he conceal his true power? And do the Kal-Durrell know of it? I remember, a long time ago, he mentioned his fear of the Kal-Durrell, and of the Rell. What did he say . . . that once we no longer need him, he will be destroyed, because he will be a danger to his people? I tried to make him see reason, but I’ll bet that thought stayed with him. Honestly, I don’t know what would happen if anyone found out the true limit of his power. I know it would be less of an issue if he acted more Rell, instead of this damned fascination with the Novans. I would just love to get rid of that Selva — he seems so smitten by her. He knows I disapprove of her, but he flaunts her any chance he gets. She is so . . . Novan. We tried to seduce him with Nahlai, and outwardly, he seems to like her. But I know different. He puts on a show for me and the Alçons.
Martel looked around, and found himself lagging behind Uonil. He quickly caught up, putting the issue of Graid back to the recesses of his mind from whence it came.
Uonil gathered her advisors on the way out and adjusted to the Novan colvition, bringing a sudden silence as they began to cast their thoughts. Every once in a while, someone would forget, and continue using spoken voice, brining looks of disgust from Novans passing nearby, and swift censure from those within Rellcine. Uonil walked a while, thinking of the mission, going over issues of the roa with her advisors, but couldn’t resist also asking Martel about his personal life, for it was a fuel for some part of her soul.
^How is your wife doing?^
^Oh, she has her good roas and bad ones,^ he responded, with a sigh. ^She is handling the pregnancy as well as could be expected, but often I lie awake, anxious about her health.^
^She wouldn’t have gone through with it if she thought she couldn’t handle it, despite what happened to her mother and grandmother.^
^I know, I know.^
^So relax, and support her, Don’t forget, sex is the best way to say ‘I love you’^
^Very funny, my lady.^ Don’t show your inexperience quite so obviously, thought Martel, very carefully. I think I need to have another private conversation with her.
The group rounded the outermost spire of Rellcine. Open air greeted their faces, with a slight chill. The sky was clear for til above, revealing the grey ceiling that formed the foundation of ExterNovan. The life-emitters cast harsh light on those below; poor substitutes for the real sun. All of them glanced upward, at one time or another, and shook their heads in pity for that lie of a world. The courtyard was sparse, with only the occasional disguised Rell agent passing by. Close by could be seen the monstrosity that was Novan civilization—a blur of buildings, trans, and people, the grounds of Rellcine a rare open space on the congestion of Core.
^The council of Alçons is becoming quite anxious at our rate of failure.^
^Yes. I received the download too,^ she replied, glancing up at him. ^That is the pitiable role of our Alçons, to worry about every little thing. Sometimes it surprises me that our culture has advanced as much as it has being hampered continually by their constant second guessing. But, I suppose their influence has kept us from degenerating like the heathen Novans.^
^Heathen Novans?^ asked Martel. She is so much into her faith, it scares me sometimes. Not that I would wish for us to ever abandon it, like the Novans. But if there is anything my cas outside of war have taught me, is that tolerance is a virtue priceless to all living beings.
She stopped to face him. ^What of them?^
^Don’t you ever wish for our animosities to be over?^ asked Martel, taking an attentive yet respectful posture toward the Mentra. ^Why have we ceased to explore peaceful solutions to our problems? Mentra Uonil, I know of all the atrocities over the centuries, over the millennia they have committed against us. But a path of hatred can only bring evil as its reward.^
She crossed her arms with a wry smile. ^A rather simplistic view! How many times have we extended the hand of peace, only to have a dagger thrust into it? I know of the value of forgiveness, but their culture is dominated by an evil, ruthless force; the TELREC. They, no matter how much the Novan people desire it, will never allow our peoples to be united. Especially when their ultimate goal is so close within their grasp. And where will we be then, when they take final control of their Cuhli-pra? What if we never produced Graid?^ She paced for a moment, growing more heated. ^We would have no response to them, and would certainly face utter devastation!^
Martel pressed on despite her mood. ^Honored Alçon, we must act as the adults to these Novan children. We must find a way to gain an upper hand, and bring them to realize their own mistakes. Make them realize our destruction means their destruction. I have been among the Novans, and I know many of them are not the pleasure addicts we make them out to be! There are some who have an almost Rellican —^
^Enough,^ she cast firmly. ^I will indulge your musings, from time to time, but I will not tolerate heresy. The Kal-Durrell have spoken, and we must follow, without question, for they are the faces of the universe, with wisdom far beyond anything we could hope to achieve.^
He bowed, accepting her authority. ^I understand, Mentra Uonil. What do you intend to do about the download?^
^The council of Alçons have waited thousands of cas for the demise of Novanism, they can wait a cas longer, until we are sure all will not fail. Let’s continue our journey.^
In truth, she thought, I understand and sympathize with Martel’s views. The Council has led us
on a path single-minded in nature. In the past, we would continually try to seek peaceful solutions. Now, it seems they are content to spar endlessly with the TELREC. All they talk of is the inevitability of war, the need for the battle lines to be drawn, and the Kal-Durrell say nothing! Not that they were ever very involved with politics, but just one statement from them would accomplish so much. I don’t know how the TELREC can be defeated, but I fear we would definitely lose in a conflict with them.
Maybe it’s the power factor, Uonil thought, as she slipped deeper into analysis. The Alçons know myself, and Graid, wield a great deal of power, authority that they had only a few decades ago. Graid is an accessible symbol of that power — he will surely rule if he is victorious. And where would the Alçons be? Mere advisors, stripped of authority. I am one of them yet not of them, called a Mentra, and they hate me for it. They hide their hatred under criticism of my appearance, little things like my furnishings, but it comes out. They sow seeds of discontent in the people against me, and even Graid! Proclaiming him to be merely a tool, one to be discarded once his usefulness is ended. And our failure only plays into their hands. I fear this crisis of the Cuhli-pra will mean our destruction, whether it comes at the hands of our enemies, or our own people. Devring is the worst of them, constantly criticizing my decisions, constantly questioning my analysis. Wejholl, though not at caustic, still is too outspoken for my liking, often reinforcing Devring’s words with a passion that rallies the other Alçons around him.
And to hide their heresy under the service of Kal! Uonil was becoming agitated. Have they learned no lessons of the past? How many lives have been lost through the service of primitive gods? How many priests of ancient religions, no different than our Alçons, caused untold pain and misery? The numerous wars that divided our worlds were caused by our religious differences, and the zeal with which our Alçons proclaimed our superiority. She felt her gaze wandering over to Martel, walking by her side, a pillar of strength and focus. How different Martel is from those Alçons — he can barely tolerate their presence, sometimes. He sees the falseness in their eyes, the lust for power. He brings what we need more of in our government; battle experience, command experience, and a sincere desire to see only the best for our people, regardless of personal gain. His mind is never bound by scripture, or dogma. I thank the Kal-Durrell they chose him to be Graid’s Steward — I feel his influence eventually will make Graid more balanced, more compassionate. I don’t know what I would do without him myself! He has been an invaluable source of knowledge for me these past cas; his knowledge of life, his experience with all types of people. But I dare not tell him I share some of his concerns, harbor some of his doubts, at least not now. What we need now in this time of crisis is decision, not chaos. All may come down to one choice, and we must make sure it is the right one. I only wish the Kal-Durrell would say something to us, give us some guidance. Wait — what’s this?
A wave of sadness suddenly washed over Uonil. She glanced up into the clouds, and the ‘mitters, and for a moment contemplated the simplicity of another existence.
^The Kal-Durrell have just connected with me.^
She cast that thought to all the advisors surrounding her, and the effect was immediate. Some stumbled, others fumbled with their datapads, still others reeled in dumb confusion. Communication with the Kal-Durrell was rare and in all cases signaled a matter of critical urgency.
^They also have begun to feel that we cannot afford any more failures,^ she cast to all. ^We are dealing with a special creature, this Novan Cuhli-pra, and though he does not realize his potential, sending him back again and again to the same point in time will surely awaken his mind and cause the Ascension.^
The Rell team had only returned a few roas ago, relating the details of their fourth journey back in time. Once again Kolob failed to kill himself, failed to pull the trigger ending the life of his infant self. No matter the entreaties of Nahlai, no matter how thoroughly she seduced him, yet again, he was unable to muster the strength or courage to kill himself. In a certain sense time had reset, as only the team members retained knowledge of the future timeline that was. Kolob’s memory was wiped on their journey back, but Graid instantly possessed not only total recall of what would be, of the two cas between the present date and the moment the team departed for the past, but knowledge of the failed mission.
I will never understand that, thought Uonil, as he advisors frantically worked their pads, rethinking preparations that had been for the past attempts. How is he outside of time in that way? By all the laws of time, when the team came back, and their present selves disappeared, Graid should have no knowledge of the future events that led up to their departure. And yet, he remembers it all, from each and every attempt. Why? Uonil lowered her head in thought and then cast in somber, firm tones;
^Graid will accompany Kolob on this next and surely last mission.^
Several advisors stopped, sighed, then plunged back into their datapads.
^Martel, I need you to accelerate Graid’s training. Nixoh, you will—^
An advisor’s head looked up.
^You will get the latest psych analyses on Kolob as well as the latest TELREC assessment of him and their current surveillance. Molorn—^
And again she linked with each advisor, outlining in silence future stratagems concerning the next mission; the preparation involved, allocating additional resources for the training, securing necessary contacts and residences, though a part of her was allotted for contemplation.
Am I truly capable for this? thought Uonil. Thousands of cas of planning, waiting, and I am trusted to bring our most sacred mission to fruition. Me — a fat, awkward child with a perversely immense mind? Ah, well. I have thought every twist and turn out, accounted for almost every variable. I’m sure the TELREC computers couldn’t have done better. But I feel myself growing fatigued. I feel my responses growing faintly slower. Sometimes I wish I could have a piece of Martel’s concerns; the well-being of a spouse, the planning for a child. My entire life has been about the Kal-Alçon, the Cuhli-pra, and nothing else. I have read more than most communities; I have a more thorough knowledge of Novan and Rell history than most library computers. Faceless ment-sim sex just cannot compare to the depth of feeling he has. Enough of this reverie! Kal didn’t generate me for idle mental chatter.
To the plan! To the beginning!
Chapter 4