The Rise of OLMAC
Book Four of
Allies and Adversaries
by
Kevin Gordon
Copyright © 2013 Kevin Gordon
All rights reserved.
1
Civilizations fall when the freedoms they value most turn to excess, and good men and women fail when vengeance rules their souls.
- Unknown source
It was a clone. A small, unclothed, child-like bag of flesh and bones, with little fat. It sat there, and had been sitting there, crouched in between something hot and something wet for thirty-two thousand breaths. It knew how many breaths it had been there, because that was what it liked to do. ‘Like’ was a subjective word, as it didn’t have the capacity to feel emotion. Counting breaths was the only thing it could do, besides count its heartbeats. It had no education, no conception of language. It was, more accurately, a pair of eyes and ears connected mentally to a controller. It had been alive for over thirty-four million breaths.
It had no identity. It knew only ‘same,’ ‘different,’ and ‘controller.’ Many others the same as it were hidden also, nearby. Sometimes it could hear their breaths, and if it was very still, and there was no noise, it could even hear their heartbeats. There were fifteen the same as it, though there used to be eighteen. It did recognize the word ‘sentinel,’ as that word had been used while the different pointed at it, and the other same.
It had seen many things in its life, mostly different people scurrying through dark places nearby. Sometimes it didn’t even see or hear them, but it mentally sensed their presence. Inevitably, soon after, its controller would appear, and it and the others like it would be pulled from their hiding, and put back into the liquid pods they also spent many breaths and heartbeats in.
It couldn’t tell which it liked better; the liquid, or the darkness. The darkness, though quiet for long periods of time, always held the potential for diversion, for more ‘different’ to come into its sensory perception. Sometimes it caused interference—a part of it might leak, or get stuck, or go inactive due to heat or cold. In the liquid it felt bigger, wider. Though it was more alone, when it closed its eyes, it felt . . . contentment. There was no diversion, though sometimes a controller would stare at it for a long time and its head would ache. But it would also get to see more ‘same,’ and it would examine them for a long time, as the others would examine it.
It was a clone. A small, unclothed, child-like bag of flesh and bones, with little fat. And it had now been sitting there for thirty-three thousand breaths.
2
Technology had been shown to force evolutionary change in societies long before the implementation of colvition, but never on so wide a scale as colvition. While airborne pollutants caused marked changes in the respiratory system of all air-breathing animals, it paled to the multitude of effects colvition had on the Novan.
When colvition was first implemented, society did not know how to adapt to it. Testing in schools could not be done the same, for how could a teacher check to see if a student was not accessing the answers mentally? Even mating was more difficult, as one instantly could tell what the other was thinking. As shown by the disastrous summit of 2235, few understood all of the ramifications the colvition technology would have on society. Colvition eventually forced society to become isolationist, pushing more and more of their interactions onto the virtual plane.
For the first thousand cas after colvition became the dominant method of communication, speech made several notable resurgences. And always, the speed with which one could communicate mentally negated any benefit speech had, and soon the appeal of actual speech faded into memory.
The Novan society evolved to meet the demands of colvition—since sexual partners were no longer chosen based on physical appearance, olfactory triggers or even ocular demonstrations, the depth and complexity of one’s mind became the dominant sexual trait in the early roas of the cast-net. To be able to create new and unique experiences for one’s mate soon became the basis by which preferred mates were chosen.
Vision has been shown to have dropped by ten percent over the past seven millennia; muscle density reduced by fifteen percent. Reaction time to unforseen events slowed by forty-percent. Bone strength deteriorated by eight percent, while brain mass and wrinkle density in the cerebellum remained near constant.
The lack of growth in the last factor, concerning mental development, can be directly attributed to the nulling effects of colvition on the Novan mind over the past four thousand cas. As there was less and less reason to use the plethora of information the cast-net provided, Novans lapsed into apathy concerning their intellectual development. Attraction of a mate became secondary, as all physical pleasures could be duplicated on the cast-net. Most male and female pairings typically occurred before the age of ten—before they received their first implant. Typically this pairing would go on to explore the cast-net together, and become joined. The curious side-effect of colvition is that joinings typically lasted a lifetime, separations were rare, though relationships were rarely monogamous. Sexual organs shrunk in size and became reduced in the number of nerve endings, as pleasure was rarely solely derived by external physical contact.
In a cold grey room on one of the platforms within Malhrer, devoid of sentiment or adornment, with blank walls and a floor without the division of tile, Nemosini wept softly, wishing she bled so there would be some physical residue of her pain. Agilia stood near her, as well as Denged. Gilc and Errece waited outside, thankfully for Nemosini, as she felt sick when they gazed upon her. She knew not what happened to the other Coss—the last she saw of them was in the Plaza. Her next memory was of pain, as if twenty drills churned ceaselessly in her mind, dredging up things thought forgotten, burrowing into every hidden space they could find. She remembered how the Iganinagi tortured people, for the most part inflicting physical pain, as it proved effective on those with poor physiques and little tolerance for pain. But here, where every neural fiber was an endless source of torment, she longed for the simplicity of a beating or the blade.
^Do you know why you are still alive, Nemosini?^
Denged cast those words to her. She learned to hate him, since her arrival. He never flinched when she screamed, never turned his eyes away as she cried or begged for mercy – things she thought she would never do. His expression never changed. He just looked at her as if she was a blade of grass; not even a curiosity, just a totally insignificant piece of organic matter. Some part of her wished he would take some pleasure, some satisfaction in breaking this woman who thought herself unbreakable. But he took no joy, betrayed no pride in his work or any sense of accomplishment in her pitiful screams. Once he let slip he disliked being with her, that he would rather be hunting the last of her people, if there were any. She could sense he wanted Theia—all his questions led to where she would be; what hideouts there were, what resources she might have, where she got her food and clothing from.
He never physically came close to her, always stood at a distance from her. She tried to spit on him several times, despite the pain she was rewarded with, yet never managed to soil his precious clothing, foul his perfect face. She began to think she would die happy if she could just dirty him in some way, bleed on his pants, vomit on his head.
^Because you like my pretty face?^ she answered flippantly as she focused her mind, working through the distracting pain, lifting her head though it listed to one side. ^Come close so I may lock lips in enchantment sweet and soft . . .^
Agilia turned to Denged. ^Sarcasm still? You would have thought it would have been broken from her by now.^
Nemosini focused for the first time on Agilia, knowing her presence here could only signal her own usefulness was at an end.
^She may be sentimental, but she is still Iganinagi,^ cast Denged, still standing as stone. ^She has training that runs deep.^
Agilia knelt before Nemosini. Nemosini didn’t know what to make of her—this was the first time she met Agilia. She was introduced as a Monitor, and Nemosini knew it was almost unnest of for a non-TELREC to see a Monitor, even a prisoner doomed to death such as herself.
I didn’t even notice her. To think, that is who is closest to Mal.
^It is that sentiment that has kept you alive,^ cast Agilia. ^Your compatriots are dead. Quickly, if you would like to know.^
^How did you find out where we were?^ groggily asked Nemosini. Agilia glanced up at Denged, still immobile, but his lower lip twitched, just for a moment.
^He would like to cast it to you. He has been itching to cast that fact to you that since you were brought in. If he were anyone else, you would know by now. But he is immensely loyal, and has kept his word.^
^What is it? The name of the traitor? One of my Coss?^ Nemosini coughed and chuckled, a little blood dripping on the floor. ^I have accepted that one of them betrayed my people. What of it?^
^Nemosini, we know of Suld, of SC-1,^ cast Agilia brusquely. ^I want to make sure there is nothing else in that head of yours that we need