As Kolob looked for Rhonva in Illint Plaza, Martel walked briskly down the corridor from the primary transfer room in Rellcine, in spite of his fatiguing body. He had a long past couple of roas back on Rell. His wife kept him up late with her anxious unease, her pregnant belly seeming to grow with each passing roa. He dutifully obeyed her every command — another glass of liquin, a fresh morsel of meat, with little concern for himself. There were times when he would catch her napping for some brief mroas and it was then that he would stop and gaze lovingly at her face. She was a beautiful woman with long brown tresses, a graceful neck, and soft full lips. It was at those times that he felt most in touch with the Kal-Durrell, and thanked Kal for her creation.
Often he prayed at derasar trying to draw strength from the Kal-Durrell and Kal above. Earlier this morning, before his meeting with Uonil he had done just that; kneeling in the darkness, gazing at the icons of the twelve Kal-Durrell, beseeching each figure for solace. He prayed to the Kal-Durrell Oolin, symbol of balance and Kona, symbol of strength. Each required a litany be said to invoke their spirits, call for their strength. Martel had said the litany more times than he could remember.
“Oolin, I give of myself to the cosmos, great beast of infinite life
Seeing within the chaos order, within the fury, balance
Many times do my opponents seek to disturb my calm,
Many times do those I call friends, and lovers, distract me from my calm
In their words, I seek solace and peace, in their motions harmony and clarity
I give myself to them, and in them, become one with all.
Kona, the energy within the void is summoned, and strikes!
So much potential now galvanized within, transformed to motion
The engine of creation never wanes, never halts, it moves as a torrent
Through the wake of the void, its brilliance giving life to the stars themselves.
My mind is that engine, my hands, feet and limbs those stars.
If my mind does think it, my body shall make it be.”
Martel was a devout student of the Ment-al-Ellin, the Rell holy book, in particular of the philosophies of those two Kal-Durrell. Martel admired Oolin greatly, for he could interpret the worst of life’s troubles into a naturally occurring necessity. Martel learned to accept his wife’s pregnancy, and his tremendously important role concerning the Kal-Alçon, all as a symbiotic whole. He could pick apart daily needs, and prioritize with effortless ease. And Kona gave him the strength to wake to each roa, the mind-set that no task is to difficult, no challenge too great.
There is nothing that cannot be overcome,
for I am water, I am air, I am the void,
I am the constant and the eternal.
He was allowed some short times on Rell and hated to go back to Novan where there were no idols, no derasars to reinforce his faith. As much as he may have liked Rellcine, and being with Uonil, nothing could take the place of his home. Novan was such a dead technological world while Rell lived and breathed with trees, plants, a real sun, and limitless life. As he made his way through Rellcine, feeling sorry for himself, he thought of the Three Hundred — Rell in the past who sacrificed not only their lives, but their souls and salvation for the future of all Rell and Novan kind, whose images were a most cherished source of inspiration for this faithful Rell.
If they could sacrifice their lives for the faith, why do I hesitate, why do I doubt? All of them had families; they left children and wives behind, destined for misery unknown. They sacrificed the whole of their eternal souls, all for us. Who am I to question their dedication, to give any less to my people?
Even with all his trusted sources of support, those words gave him less and less strength in the past few roas for his wife was real, not a historical event or a distant Kal-Durrell. Her pregnant belly was an undeniable, immediate fact.
Has the Novan filth weakened this mind, this heart? I once was a beacon of hope to others, a shining example of what dedication can do. Now, I question myself, my past, and everything that I once held to be true. But I will have a child! A new life for us to care for. Everything changes in the face of that.
He stopped, looking out from a window onto the landscape of Novan; all grey and black, a monstrous machine that had living beings as its fuel. And when the life-emitters faded, and nighttime was allowed to reign, the other lights would blare, flashing on and off, selling everything from baby food to sex to death and sin. On his world, there was only man, woman, nature and the Kal-Durrell. Only purity.
“I could speak there, and hear a voice I knew to be my own.”
Martel reflected on the developments of the past dcas; the incessant inquiries from the Alçons on Rell, the near silence of the Kal-Durrell, the frustration apparent on the faces of everyone in Rellcine, as their failures kept coming. Most were convinced the most recent attempt would have succeeded, and it was a crushing blow when the team came back, with long faces and no good reasons how to correct the failure.
I only hope the Kal-Durrell are right in sending Graid back with the Cuhli-pra. Graid will have to face the possibility he will not exist, if he succeeds. But I sense no compassion from them, or any Rell, towards the misery we are putting Graid through. He had no mother, no father. Only the cold metal counter his DNA was assembled on, the glass tube he was created in, the plastic-gloved doctors who pulled him out of the embryonic sac dangling in a void room. They gave him no connection to us, no love. That is what Uonil has forgotten, what all Rell has forgotten. Love is what is underneath everything — outside logic, outside devotion. It is the one constant that binds everyone and everything in this universe. As we move away from it, so we lose touch with ourselves, as we substitute technology, or pleasure, or even religion for it, so we cannot accurately deal with our future, or our present. It is a lesson so obvious as we look out on Novan with smug superiority.
Martel headed for the Community Core, or ComCor for short, where he was sure he would meet an old friend, one who might help quell the rising doubts in his mind.
What are all those cas of devotion worth to me now, all those droas spent in Castiliad, in the dark of the night, when I lie alone in my bed, my wife with child on another world? When I think on my existence, my past and future, wondering what I have accomplished, and who I love? The potential in me lies dormant in that derasar, on my knees, reciting the litany, walking the path. We of Rell invented most of what Novan uses, technology stolen somehow right under our eyes. They use it, twist and bend it to suit their uses, and what do we do? The mental technology lies mostly dormant, except when we infiltrate Novan, and need to cast as they do. Who are we, when the final sums are taken of all existence? Do we merely stand as the faithful? Or do we need to take a more active role?
These questions had plagued Martel with varying intensity over and over again, relentless in their demands to be answered. He usually could banish them to the back of his mind, invoking some litany or prayer. But now his eyes did mist at his lost conviction, his heart pounded that some other Rell might discern the torment within his heart and mind.
Graid, now there is a question. Our greatest creation, so distant from the life the Kal-Durrell intended. And what sign from them? To all accounts, they ignore his transgressions; make no statement rebuking his words or actions. It greatly disturbs Uonil, who must deal with him every roa, face his blasphemy with every syllable he speaks, and must remain largely silent. How will she deal with this conflict? From what experience can she draw to finally gain control over him?
Martel realized he was thinking of her, and the Graid problem, as if it was his no more. He entered the large cavernous space that was ComCor, now filled with hundreds of Rell sitting and conversing. It was of some comfort to hear all those voices, hear so much life on such a dead world.
“Martel — over here!”
He scanned the room, and found the source of the voice. Valcha, one of his old professors, probably one of the most important figures in his life.
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“I was hoping you’d come for some food.”
“You know I’m not very hungry.”
She wryly smiled. “Why don’t you sit down?” she asked, pulling out a chair for him.
Martel sat, absorbed in the wizened face of his professor. With thick grey hair and deep wrinkles, she was extremely distinctive on a world that took great steps to be physically attractive. But her time in the field was long gone. Stubborn but amazingly intelligent, she was a key advisor to Uonil and Martel, one of the few people they both would take into their confidence, and one of the few people who could confidently stand up to Graid.
“You look troubled my friend,” she said softly.
Martel resisted the urge to lean down on the table, as sometimes he was wont to do when the stress was too much. He took a deep breath and straightened his back, the old military training clicking on within him. “You always knew me too well.”
“It’s your wife, isn’t it?” asked Valcha, more probing than certain.
“No, actually she’s doing quite well,” replied Martel, nodding approvingly. “The pregnancy seems to be as smooth as could be.”
Valcha shifted in her seat, placing her hand gently on his arm. “I wasn’t specific, I’m sorry. I meant, you’re upset because you can’t be with your wife. You have lost direction.”
“Now you know it wouldn’t do to have this conversation spoken in front of so many here.”
“You’re right.” Valcha switched to colvition. ^Sometimes, colvition has its uses. Now, tell me about your loss of faith.^
^I don’t know.^ Martel looked around at all the Rell faces — young and old, laughing and somber, seeing the devotion worn on their faces like a badge of honor, their absolute belief in himself, Uonil, Graid, and most of all the Kal-Durrell. ^Who are we?^
^We are Rell.^
^No,^ replied Martel firmly. ^We are Iqui.^
Valcha nodded. ^We have not been Iqui for almost seven thousand cas.^
^And if things go as they are now, we will never be again. It is wrong to turn our backs on our own people, even if they do wallow in sin.^
^You always knew how to think for yourself, Martel. It is something I remember best about you.^
^Why can’t the Kal-Durrell see that? Why can’t Uonil? We seem committed to a final end, going willingly to our slaughter.^
Valcha sighed in response.
^And what of the pending AG collapse?^ asked Martel, pressing on. ^We have allowed it to happen four times . . . four times! And we will yet again, because it suits our purposes. But how many people will die to suit our purposes? When does the sanctity of life override the goals of a mission? When one million, ten million, a hundred billion are on the chopping block?^
^What is this really about Martel?^ demanded Valcha. ^What has brought this crisis to you at this point? We have sent four teams back in time, what is so different about this time? What has shaken your conviction in this path?^
^I don’t know.^ He sat uneasily in his chair, his eyes drawn to this or that passerby ^Several things are different in this timeline. Minor things, but different just the same. But besides that, it feels like this is the last time, that things will be decided, once and for all, and it will not be in our favor. I fear we are on the wrong path, that we have forgotten, or ignored, something vital to our future. And because we have forgotten something, the Cuhli-pra will eradicate all Rell from the face of the cosmos, and the TELREC will rule all of creation.^
^Is the Cuhli-pra, Kolob, really to be so feared?^ asked Valcha.
^You know as well as I that it is his TELREC masters that are to be feared.^
^And if he weren’t to submit to them?^
^Then we would have a chance.^
Valcha thought for a moment, before casting. ^When is the last time you practiced Castiliad?^
Martel sighed. ^Not too long ago, but I fail to find much solace or solution in the Boolins I create.^
^Enter into one now, with me.^
Martel relaxed, and opened his mind. Valcha did the same. Between them, in their minds, a tree-like structure formed called a Boolin. Its foundation was based on ideas and emotions, facts and hypothesis concerning Kolob, and Graid, Rell and Novan. The ideas interacted with one another, creating new branches of thought, new avenues of logical exploration. Martel saw some of the branches Valcha built, distinctly new and original paths of consequence and thought. Martel built on those, taking some to their logical conclusion. The Boolin grew in their minds, and a subtle harmony reigned over its form. Martel opened his eyes, feeling a calm he hadn’t felt in a long while.
^I understand, now.^
^Then you know what you have to do?^ asked Valcha, as she put her hand on his.
Martel nodded in assent. ^We need to develop his sympathies for Rell even more, ignite his hatred of the TELREC.^
^And, make it all for the love of his own people.^
^You think so?^
^Yes,^ answered Valcha, emphasizing her point by rapping her finger on the table. ^He will never forsake his people — you can tell that by his psychological profile! Not for the lust of a woman. We have tried to make him into a Rell, to go against his own people. That is not the way; we should never deny someone their heritage. But if he were to believe that his treachery is for the good of his people, then we just might succeed.^
^You are talking about compassion.^
^Yes.^
^I’m not sure he has that,^ cast Martel, slowly.
^What is the other option? To try, once again, to use lust as a trigger to making him commit murder? You know as well as I do that not all Novans are the sinful heathen our Alçons would like us to believe. Many of them have forsaken excess, to lead a life of balance and morality. We must nurture and develop those sides of Kolob, and the first step would be to see if they are even there to begin with. I think you know what you must do.^
Martel nodded, following her train of thought. ^You always were a smart woman.^
^I am a smart woman,^ she cast, with a smile, making Martel laugh aloud. ^Have I quelled all your doubts?^
^No, but you have given me something more to think about.^
She squeezed his arm with a wide grin. ^Good. I wouldn’t want to be friends with a man that had no doubts.^
Martel rose, smiling, hope filling his breast again.
^Wish your wife well for me.^
^I will, Valcha.^
Martel headed back into the depths of Rellcine, back to the transfer room.
I must see more of Kolob. I must see if what Valcha believes could come true, if what I deduced in Castiliad is possible. I should prepare a segment download of this potential plan.
He thought for a while, allocating the necessary files, and casting them to the central registry. He walked on, and entered a room on his right. A large silver machine loomed in front of him, a matter transmission device, a device developed exclusively by the Rell, and a closely guarded secret. With it, one could instantly be transported to any point on Rell or Novan. The TELREC computer Mal always suspected the existence of such a device, but could never obtain concrete proof. Martel entered and cast his identification into the computer terminal there. He stepped into an opening in the device, and in a moment his figure became a bluish haze.
I always did hate these things.
Almost instantaneously he appeared outside Illint Plaza, behind an abandoned stand, out of sight. All his conflict, which brought impotence moments before, was forgotten as he attuned his mind to the Novan colvition. Ment-casts of all types flooded his mind, but in a moment he quelled their demands, and regained control over his thoughts.
The computers always do a good job of concealing us, Martel thought. If TELREC only knew all of what we have concealed on their world, I’m sure they’d go insane before they could kill us. He entered the Plaza, and mentally recalled where Kolob was located on that roa. As he thought on Kolob, more of his doubts rose to the surface and occupied his mind.
It s
eems that we must spend increasingly more time on this mission, analyzing reports, questioning projections, and training Graid. Why? Why couldn’t the Kal-Durrell have foreseen this and alerted us so we could deal with him earlier? We have been back to the past four times . . . four times! They are the omniscient ones, with full knowledge of the past and future, how have we disappointed them? I feel I’ve sinned to question their guidance, but the question still remains; why?
He headed down the central corridor to the shop level. It became difficult to move his way through the throngs of people.
Why can’t we just go back in time and kill his parents? Why have the Kal-Durrell forbidden it? Too many questions, too many secrets hidden from even my eyes. I doubt even Uonil knows the answers to those questions. I’m glad only Uonil and I know the full details of this, or morale would be in serious jeopardy.
Martel knew venturing covertly to Novan without consultation would have been considered reckless insubordination, not to mention the satisfaction of his personal needs would be against the self-negation tenets crucial to Rellcism. He knew he could be severely punished, but for the first time in a while he felt his needs, his family must come first. If Uonil would not allay his concerns, or assuage his fears, if the Kal-Durrell would remain silent to all but a select few, then he must venture forth and satisfy his need for knowledge on his own. He knew ultimately that he believed in the Kal-Durrell, the Mentra, and the mission, and gave his faith to them completely and without question. But he still needed to know more about this mission, and needed to see for himself this object of hatred and malice, and understand if his hopes had the potential for reality.
For I am Martel. I am unique, and my life is of value.
He arrived early, and decided to purchase some food to better blend in with the Novan crowd. He passed by several shops and eventually developed an appetite, even though he could never fully submit to the charade of the cast-net concerning their food. He decided on a confection and waited in line. It was a long one, for it was one of the best bakeries on this segment of the inner globe. He took special notice of the woman in front — an odor offensive to the nose drifted in his direction. She seems like the kind of woman that smells on principle. Martel, and other Rell stationed on Novan could not understand how a civilization so obsessed with pleasure could allow some of its members to smell so. He was immensely grateful when she finally oozed on. He purchased a sweet, and installed himself at a table on the outer perimeter of the gallery.
Here he comes.
Kolob walked in, purchased some meat, and seated himself for lunch.
This is what has occupied my every waking moment for the past twenty cas? This curious leftover of soumanity? Nine thousand cas of TELREC manipulation, and this is what we get? This is the being that could dethrone Kal? Ahh, the mysterious plans of the Kal-Durrell. I know the TELREC want him like this; weak, unsure, and dependant — but it is an insult to set him against us. If I am to die, let it be in battle with an opponent that is worthy and that I can respect. Not this pathetic waste. Wait . . . what’s that?
He spotted five TELREC approaching, about fifty til away. Their brown and gold suits inspired panic in those that first recognized them. They were headed in Kolob’s direction.
Why are TELREC here? They have never been here before. Accessing temporal records . . . no, not once. Clearly this is a new development. Have they deduced something? Are they aware of our time travel? Could they be taking Kolob into seclusion? Then again, I have not been in this place at this time before. Decisive action must be taken, I’ve got to draw their attention, or they may confine him before we can use him. And who is that with him? Rhonva! He is another curiosity. His actions in this timeline are different than in any others. There is something about him I don’t like. But all our research cannot find anything of concern about him. Enough of this — I must distract these TELREC. And see if Kolob has any compassion within him.
Martel paused for a moment, and then to his disgust with the role he knew he had to play, spoke aloud.
“Will someone talk to me?”
He grew louder and more boisterous with each phrase. He knew an arbitrary loon might somewhat attract attention, so he started to become persistent. Novans hated speech and more than that, they hated unwanted physical contact. He spotted three women seated close by Kolob and Rhonva. He leaned on one, and said;
“Please talk to me.”
His ploy worked, for the TELREC noticed him and altered their course to intervene. He allowed his mind to open so they would identify him as a Rell agent. He cast one last look over at Kolob, and thought; now we see. Will you run, or will you help an innocent . . .
“Oh look, the accursed TELREC! What have I done wrong now?” he said, with great sarcasm.
The TELREC finally arrived and surrounded him. The five of them, clad in traditional brown and gold, looked on Martel with dispassionate faces, all accustomed to execute sentences of pain and death. A woman, clearly the lead, strode forward, close to Martel.
Listras!
“Don’t think at me, talk to me!” he shouted.
^Fine sir, please come with us,^ cast Listras, her thoughts bearing down on him.
She doesn’t know me! Of course she wouldn’t. I was in disguise then and it was cold and dark on that moon. She was just a novice agent, but powerful beyond anything I anticipated. I defeated her, but only by the smallest of margins. Martel sighed. But I’m old now, and past my prime. Martel could sense her mental acuity, strong and well trained. Well, I must put up a good fight.
“No, I won’t. Can’t you see what’s happened?” he demanded, still playing the part of the loon. ^We don’t talk to each other, we barely see each other outside of our minds!”
Listras gave him a mental slap, forcing him to concentrate on her.
^Stop this play acting for the masses,^ she cast while her team took up positions behind her. ^What is the meaning of this trouble, Rellcist?^
Suddenly, Martel felt a jabbing tremor in his mind, the surprise of which momentarily crippled him. He turned, and scanned to find a Novan youth behind some tables, smirking with pleasure. The youth’s face suddenly writhed in pain, as someone else struck him.
Who was that? Was it Kolob? Martel looked over, and felt the blow came from Kolob.
“Thank you,” he said. He looked for a moment at Kolob, feeling he saw the solution to all his problems. Kolob smiled, turned, and was hurried out by Rhonva.
I was right! I can feel it. I know now why I came here. He turned, to face Listras. Seduction cannot work alone; he must be made to feel compassion towards our people, and his own! We have fallen into the trap the Novan’s did before us — forgetting about the power of sentiment, of love. All this was revealed to me in the Castiliad, but only now do I appreciate its significance, see its truth.
Martel looked on Listras, and her team, with a renewed vigor.
I must die here, at this time, in this place. My death will set Graid on the right path. None of my words, or Uonil’s, has had any effect. He feels his power insulates him, sets himself apart. But I have been like a father to him, since the roa he was created. I know this is the right path. In my death, Graid shall awaken.
“For my wife, and my child unborn,” muttered Martel.
^What? What are you saying Rellcist?^
Graid at last shall fulfill his role of Kal-Alçon; to purge us of all evil, eliminate those things, or people, that threaten to corrupt or destroy us.
“Don’t you know who I am?”
Martel allowed a little more information to slip out to her, as Listras concentrated for a moment, cross-referencing files.
^You . . . are Martel?^ She realized his importance in moments. ^Why are you here?^
“That’s for me to know, and you . . . not to know.”
^We shall see.^
Listras tried to burrow into Martel’s mind, at first plainly, then by taking back-routes around memories, sensing Martel was thwarting her pro
gress. The other four stood stiff, waiting to be called on, obviously strong also, thought Martel, but none of them possess her discipline. Even so, Martel was thankful for the cas of schooling in mental discipline for if I were a Novan by now Listras would possess all the innermost secrets of my mind. Martel prepared a compressed file of his thoughts, motivations, and actions, and mentally sent it off to Uonil. Again, he recoiled in pain. Blood oozed from his left eye. He began to have trouble focusing his thoughts.
Listras is stronger than I feared. I may not be able to make it as grand a death as I would have liked.
^Play stupid with us no longer,^ angrily cast Listras. ^Why are you here, Martel?!^
Another wave of pain tore through his brain, for a moment disassociating Martel with his very identity, his conception of what a ‘Martel’ was. Quickly, he regained his stance.
Damn. I can’t take another blow like that. I’ve got to end this now.
Listras moved closer to hold Martel. ^You will come with us. We will get to the bottom of this.^ She wore a dispassionate expression on her face like the uniform on her body. Martel could sense on the cast-net that there were several dozen TELREC advancing on this location, called by Listras.
So smug little TELREC? Oh, how I wish I was young again! Then, you would have a fight to remember.
“I think you need to learn who is in control here.” His voice was filled with a strength and rage that took Listras utterly by surprise. He brought his head down quickly, and knotted his face in extreme concentration. Suddenly, the four TELREC behind Listras winced, and crumpled to the floor in pain, then death.
One last valiant effort, so they think I tried my best. Martel sighed.
Listras grappled him, forcing her mind on his, trying to render him unconscious. Martel looked down at the four dead TELREC, their robes like sheets on the ground, one of the last things he would ever see. At least that’s some small satisfaction, thought Martel, as a wave of sadness spread over his face. I’ve got so little time. They danced back and forth, each exerting mental pressure on the other. She struck out at him, and he barely dodged, then they began to fight physically as their minds pressed forward the mental battle. He surprised Listras with his fighting prowess, not completely forgotten after the cas spent behind a desk or with his wife. She brought down her fist twice like a hammer, and both times Martel made her pay, jabbing at her midsection, making her stumble back in pain.
“You’ve learned some, but not enough,” he grumbled.
^Damned Rellcyst!^ slammed Listras, as she discarded her robe. They fought again, this time Listras using her feet in concert with her fists and elbows, deflecting his blows and connecting more and more with hers. After three strikes on his head, Martel fell clumsily back onto the floor, sliding a little on his own blood. He lowered his head again, and transmitted another urgent message to Uonil, which said in part;
Prevented TELREC from seizing Kolob, must assume they know of our temporal interference. I give myself in the name not only of all Rell, but all who once were Iqui . . .
He then whispered four words before a suicide toxin he activated ravaged his face and disintegrated his mind.
“I love you, dearest.”
As he died, he swore he could hear it rain.
Chapter 6