Cracked Dagger

Book One of Allies and Adversaries


By
Kevin Gordon



Copyright 2011 by Kevin Gordon
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

CAS -year (10 dcas)  DCAS - month (5 troa) TROA - week (10 roas) ROA - day (10 droa)  DROA - hour (100 mroa)
MROA - minute (100 til) til - second

Cast: the method of communication between the inhabitants of the planet Novan. Facilitated by implants received when a Novan reached ten cas of age which enabled thought to be transmitted between people on the cast-net. Colvition, or the act of casting, replaced speech among those ten and older by the cas 2296. To “nest” meant to receive a cast, while to “glean” meant to eavesdrop on a cast, and to be “null” meant to end one’s casts or to have an inactive mind. To “cesct” meant to converse with someone through cast. To “slam” is to forcefully throw one’s thoughts on another, to punctuate a point. Speech was primarily only used by children before they were able to get an implant. 

Cast-net: The ultimate vehicle for information. The cast-net not only provided limitless information, but instant communication anywhere on the globe, access to interactive games, interactive programming. Created in the 22nd century PD, it evolved over the millennia in response to various attempts of sabotage, both from Rell and Novans. Access to the various levels of the cast-net was dependent upon one’s MPR, or Mental Power Rating, and on the lottment one possessed. The higher the MPR rating, the more content one could enjoy without strain, and the more lottment one possessed, the better the content one could access. More and more parents genetically enhanced their children to facilitate a higher MPR. The more one could access the cast-net, the better one’s future was.


Kolob stepped off the trans into a sea of faces silent and closed, moving as atoms in an endless ocean. Some laughter could be heard from the fleeting faces—some sighs, some grunts and moans. Under his feet was concrete that a trillion others had walked on before, also silent and closed. Kolob felt as the eternal outsider; only able to visit their world in small pieces, merely taste, but never to ingest the content they lived on, that they were satiated on. There were times he could accept it, this barrier, this impenetrable wall. Other times, when he would pass by several people linked on the same cast-net game or in a virt-life, bonding in the unseen, noiseless way they did, he would feel a part of himself die and struggle to cry out. Often he would walk aimlessly, purposefully colliding with those around him just so they would notice and acknowledge him. So much of life happened on the cast-net, that he felt as a fish that learned to walk on land, a thousand cas before others would follow. Children were the only ones he could talk to, the only ones not linked by the cast-net. But they didn’t like him for they knew he was different. They called him stupid or slow, laughed at him and teased him. So he kept his mouth shut. He could cast to others and nest their responses but that was all unless he wanted to endure the pain. 
The world stood eternally above him, absolutely aloof, a testament to the millennia that preceded him—the defeat of an enemy, the pacification of a people. The buildings leaned in over him; stretching so high in the sky their ends could not be seen. They housed more people on the cast-net, playing games on an alien landscape, torturing heathens in a primitive playground. There were times they seemed to conspire in his mind—the people on the ground, the buildings around him. They all stood, silently looking down at him, making him feel insignificant and worthless. Sometimes Kolob wished he had a mother or a father, someone who cared whether he was alive or dead, someone who cared if he was sick or sad to be happy for him, take joy in his words and deeds. He saw some of that on what little he could nest from the cast-net—mothers and fathers, with sons and daughters. Not that it ever looked like that in real life. Whenever he saw children they ran unattended, their parents sitting nearby, their minds so far away. The children would come back and look on their distant faces and couldn’t wait until they would get their own implant, so they could sit, see, and feel what their parents were so completely obsessed with. Those were the times Kolob felt positively lucky. And those times were few and far between. 
Kolob muddled his way through the streets, pushing his way through people that seemed to want to go in any direction but where he was going. He stumbled along, his feet dragging on the concrete, his pants wrinkled and unkempt. His shirt was tucked in though — the one thing he always made sure to do. He kept some dream, some delusion that someone would notice him, some woman, and grab onto him, and never let him go. Pretty women would pass by, and he would shyly look at them, try to catch their attention. But their eyes were always glazed over, their mouths soundlessly mouthing words and sounds. The walk from the trans station to his doctor’s office was short, but Kolob always took a long time to walk it. He had been on this walk countless times in his life—Ikthon had been his doctor since he was a child. But this time, whether it was the position of the sun, or the mood of the crowd around him, or the slight chill in the air, whatever it was, something made him feel like he had made this walk before, seen this pattern of people around him before, thought those thoughts before. A tune began to creep into Kolob’s mind; a few notes that filled into a melody, and after a while Kolob could even make out some words.

“Give me a little time, and I’ll turn teardrops into wine
sad times into bounteous joy
Look into my heart and see hope made from despair
grace born from misery.”

Then a man stopped before him, his face filled with clarity and calm.
“Hello,” said the man, using voice.
“Hello,” answered Kolob, clearing his throat, responding in kind.
“It’s a nice roa, this roa,” said the man, glancing at the sky.
Kolob looked around before replying. “I guess it is.”
“But then, you always liked the rain, didn’t you?”
Kolob still wasn’t fully out of his stupor, the depression that consumed him whole, so he registered some surprise, but it was delayed, and wouldn’t fully hit him until later on. The tune he had just heard began to fade away, the words sinking into the oblivion of forgetfulness.
“Yes, I do,” Kolob replied, feeling at once nostalgic.
The man smiled. Kolob saw he was older, with some grey hair—a true rarity on Novan. His skin was wrinkled, this teeth, though white and straight, looked brittle, and near their end. His shoulders were strong, and thick, but just a little bent over, his body making some concession to gravity’s insistent demands. The feeling of déjà-vu Kolob felt earlier was completely wiped away. This man, this conversation, these moments, was unique and different.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” asked the man, his face like a literal question mark.
“No,” replied Kolob, confused.
The old man paused before he replied, looking at Kolob with an attention almost rude on a planet devoid of face-to-face conversation, smiling a genial smile that seemed analytical in nature.
“Good.”
The old man moved on, quickly, still with the slight smile on his face. Kolob turned around, shrugging, and continued on to his doctor’s office, not knowing just how much had changed.
Chapter 2


Lleldin: colloquial name for a drug created in the cas 9943. Lleldin dulled the user’s casting ability and suppressed neural activity in the memory centers of the brain. Overdoses resulted in the user ‘forgetting’ how to drink, swallow, or even breathe, resulting in death. Critics felt lleldin’s popularity grew in direct proportion to the disenchantment Novans felt to their decadent lifestyle, and their perceived oppression by the TELREC.


^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 glean 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 strengths 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 with 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 were 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


Iq: home to a race of people known as the Iquitians, located on the outermost reaches of the galaxy known as 358-90, 800 light-cas from the nearest populated planet. The Iquitians split in two in the cas 790, becoming the Novan people, who worshiped a newly created religion called Novanism, and the Rell people, who worshiped a modified form of the ancient religion called Rellcism. Eventually, as a result of what was known as ‘The Great Compromise’ which occurred in the cas 3318, Iqui was forever after known as Novan, as the Novans became the sole inhabitants.  All Rell were relocated to Iqui’s dimensional twin which was shifted off a neighboring brane.


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 that 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


It is not exactly known when excess became the guiding credo for the Novan people, but most historians attribute its birth to the Great Migration of the Rell. The architects of the time wanted to proclaim their conquest in the boldest possible strokes, to lay down their lines in thick impasto that would outlive the last child of the oldest generation. So they began plans to engineer this new world called ‘Novan.’
The world called Novan was comprised of three distinct sections. The first, ExterNovan, or ‘Topside’  for short, was a shell created two millennia after the Rell departed the planet in 3750 in what was called the Great Migration. Population growth exploded, and TELREC predicted they would run out of livable space. It was decided that either population control would be instituted, or the need for a second living surface would have to be found. It was decided to create an outer shell that would orbit Novan. Covering about eighty-six percent of the planet’s land mass, it freed up a tremendous amount of room, which the Novans quickly filled. ExterNovan, unlike the planet it encompassed, had equal amounts of night and roa. Topside became the seat of all government, headquarters for all business, and generally the home of the economic elite of the planet. Great efforts had been made to engineer some vegetation into the ecosystem of ExterNovan, for most non-soumanoid life died out on Novan by 5900. A beautiful world, Topside was built slowly and methodically, using only the strongest alloys, the most durable construction methods. What resulted on Topside were spires and buildings that almost reached to the stars. 
The second section, called CoreNovan, or ‘Core’ for short, became densely populated, a landscape with hundreds of levels. A purely artificial landscape, it was home to most of the population that lived in great apartment complexes hundreds of levels high. 
Briefly called ‘Inseef Novan’ or the ‘Womb of Novan,’ ‘Foundation,’ as it became called, was the lowest section of the world called Novan, created after the oceans were drained. On the sea bed they built a massive gridwork that formed the basis for the world to come. They built pillars a mile across and ten til high to support the continuation of the upper mantle of Core. They built roads, beams, and trusses to connect those pillars, and skeleton frameworks in-between, anticipating a necessity for future Novans to settle below ground. The fact that there had never been a tectonic shift of any magnitude, that no collapse had ever occurred of either Topside, Core, or Foundation, was a testament to the creativity and genius that those early Novans possessed. Historians jealously refer to that time as the magnificent millennium; a time in which Novan genius flowered and flourished with the departure of the Rell, to be burned and buried once complacency set in. So much technology born, and then forgotten, so many noble principles started, and then abandoned; relics of a past they would sooner forget. Foundation became the bowels of the Novan pleasure machine. Located up to ten til beneath the surface of Core, it was where all maintenance processes eventually were housed. Millions of maintenance meta from Foundation serviced the provinces, and billions of people ensured their efficient function. Great supply ships from the void descended through the Window of the World in Topside, through hundreds of openings in Core, to land on Foundation. All fuel was created on Foundation, as well as raw materials. Though food was grown on the AG platforms, it was processed and distributed on Foundation. To walk on Topside or Core was to see an effortless world of pleasure, but to venture to Foundation was to see the great mechanisms of the machine. 


He walked slowly down the darkened streets, a lone boy lost in a place of malice and despair. The water from the passing shower still sloshed against his clothes, soaking his sneakers, his socks, and creeping slowly up his trousers. A chill crept into the fetid air that circled him, slapping his face with a cold dose of unwelcome reality. 
I know I’ll get there soon, he thought to himself. Not yet of age to receive the first implants, he could not cast for help from his parents, or CRODAM officers. He thought it would be fun just to take a different path, rather than the one he took for the past cas — something seemed to implant the suggestion in his mind, and he was powerless not to act on it. At first it was inviting and exciting; the neon lights flashed high above, three- dimensional ads washing over him, people doing strange things in windows of shops that made him laugh. But whenever he laughed in that grim wasteland, all he got were icy stares of disgust and hatred. 
It wasn’t so much a fear that ran through him, as a sense of confusion. He had been told since he was little that the TELREC watched over him, knew his every move. He saw his mother and father chronicle every night, at the same exact time, no matter what was happening, He could remember once he fell down, on purpose, and cried out at the precise moment that they were chronicling, just to see what would happen — if they valued him, or the chronicling more. 
Where are the TELREC now? 
He heard at school about someone’s father who didn’t chronicle, and how the boy had no father any longer. He heard of people — monsters who avoided the chronicle — who lived below ground, in some tunnels or caves, some strange name beginning with an ‘I.’ He remembered hearing on the news (on an AV unit his parents only watched with him) about how the TELREC had caught some, and were put to death. He remembered asking his mother what death was, and getting only a cold reply.
I’ll tell you when you’re ready. 
In another troa, I’ll be ready, he thought to himself. I’ll be ten, and I’ll get my implant. Then I’ll know everything, and they can’t hide anything from me anymore. 
The sun sank lower in the sky, robbing the streets of their detail, and bringing a murky haze to the world around him.
Where is everybody? 
No one had passed him in fifteen mroas. He tried to backtrack, but the section of Novan he was in was notorious for its cramped, twisting alleys, a blend of the old cities and the new. It was filled with service entrances, where the great towers emptied their refuse and took in sustenance for the masses above. Mostly meta ventured where he was, with only apathets and gangs of youths roaming in the darkness.
What’s that?
Behind him, he swore he heard something, some motor. But the Novan streets were filled with so much mechanical noises, it was difficult to tell where anything came from.
Is that a light?
Slowly, a small trans approached him, its brilliant light blinding his eyes. He put up his arm to shield him, but it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. And by then, it was too late.
Chapter 5


TELREC: Time Line Reconstructionists. Ultimate authority on Novan. Created in the cas 850 and originally called TL Reconstructs, their mission was to establish a strategy to achieve the goals set out in the lost book of the Grechtchlen, called the Diad-nhuld. The Diad-nhuld outlined the destiny of the Novan people, how they were to progress to the next stage of evolution. The Diad-nhuld was a timeline of the future, which supposedly was a blueprint for achieving the birth of the Cuhli-pra. The Diad-nhuld which was lost in the cas twenty-five. The Cuhli-pra was described to be a catalyst for that evolution. To achieve this evolutionary development, the TELREC set about building the most advanced artificial intelligence ever seen. Their creation, Mal, conceived of a solution to achieve the birth of the Cuhli-pra, relying on a theory of chaos based on the system of chronicling. 
The TELREC took their first steps to ultimate governance of Novan after they instituted the chronicling system in 1100, shortly after the creation of Mal. The creation of the cast-net, and the myriad of pleasure channels therein, softened the public’s resistance to their rule. Over the millennia, though there were many attempts to overthrow them, mostly from Rell and the many terrorist groups culminating with the Iganinagi, the public accepted TELREC rule, as the only thing asked of them was the daily chronicle. 


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.
“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 seems 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 progress. 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


Rell: short for Rellcist — a people founded on the worship of Kal, an entity known as the living universe, and the Kal-Durrell, the faces of the living universe. Rellcism in its final form was based on the Iquitian religion by the same name, only modified after the arrival of the original Kal-Durrell. Devoutly religious, the Rell maintained a life focused on the negation of pleasure, or at least its excesses. Guided by clones of the original Kal-Durrell, they were noted for their technological achievements including the development of the inter-brane dimensional technology that made the Great Compromise possible, and significant alterations of the meta-sentients discovered on the dimensional twin Iqui, called Enq.


The mammoth shell of topside spun on, with a perfection dictated by the hundreds of thousands of meta that monitored every partition, every pipe, every power conduit that made up the second world. Never in the six-thousands cas of its creation did it ever falter, never was there ever an alarm sounded. To all the inhabitants on the twin worlds, that was how Novan always existed, two worlds, one enveloping the other. 
On that lower world, hidden among the concrete and steel, Rellcine lay unmolested; an alien nestled safely in a web of the enemy. And in one of the training chambers of Rellcine sat six figures waging a ancient mental war known as the Castiliad. Darkness tinged with shades of violet surrounded five figures seated on cushions, of which four were arranged in a large circle, with one solitary figure seated in the center. The walls couldn’t be seen, not even the floor outside of their circle. But above them grew the tree-like structure of a Boolin, blooming at a remarkable rate, fueled by their combined mental energies.
One of the figures in the circle collapsed backwards, the folds of his robes enveloping his body, as he slouched over the cushion, his head and shoulders falling into darkness. Three of the remaining four glanced quickly at him, acknowledging his fall, assimilating the consequences. Absorbed deep in their thoughts, following the paths of the Castiliad, they knew they could fall victim to a similar fate, if they were not strong enough.
Of course, strength was only one facet of using the Castiliad for competition. So much went into this competition, played out between those of superior mind and heart. Knowledge formed its basis, knowledge of history, mathematics, physics, art, culture, the totality of the Rell experience was wrapped up within its bounds. Interrelationship was key, the ability to conceive of a problem in one discipline, and solve it in another. But there was another factor, one of the competitor’s spirits that was an unquantifiable variable in the equation.
The fallen man, named Xusus, was unable to resolve a union between a question posed within the bounds of metallurgy, and solved with philosophy. He was weakest in details of philosophy, possessing a highly analytical mind — he often couldn’t resolve the harmony some could establish between fields of order and fact, and those of debate and ambiguity. 
In front of his position, branches of the Boolin shattered, falling to the ground, disappearing into nothingness. While a Boolin could be invisible and private, this one glowed with a golden radiance, pulsing with each new path one of the participants made. It was thought made into reality, growing new branches with each solution, with each question. In those thoughts rest either strength for an opponent, or weakness that would rot a competitor’s branches, weakening their resolve.
The Castiliad existed for thousands of cas, dating back, in one form or another, to the ancient Iqui. With the evolution of the Rell mind, and with it a crude form of mental communication, it grew in scope, now played mostly in the domain of the mind. The branches were visual manifestations of each competitor’s progress, and the harmony achieved between them all was one of the finest examples of Rell art. Some of the creations were visually recorded, cast in glass, and set on display for others to trace with their minds, exploring the paths the supremely advanced players took, the unions they made. For they all reinforced the harmony of Kal, reaffirmed the balance and cohesion of the entire universe.
Bronton, unlike Xusus, was well versed in matters of philosophy, and its relation with more quantifiable aspects of knowledge. He, along with Isten, laid many traps to finally ensnare Xusus. Tricks of logic, distractions with semantics, they all forced Xusus to become overwhelmed, his mind tied up in enigmas and paradoxes. They glanced at one another for a moment, then over to Nemprid, and Siudac. They concentrated, turning the Boolin on its side, building on older premises in a new dimension, forcing the mightiest opponent there, Graid, to counter their advances. 
They each had meditated and played the Castiliad since they were children. Some children demonstrated an aptitude for spacial-relationship gameplay; an ability to conceive of complex structures within their minds. This natural ability was enhanced by their studies in different disciplines, and by opening their minds to find relationships between the most disparate of subjects. Among the Rell people, those who excelled at the Castiliad proved to be their greatest scientists and tacticians, the most skillful and effective Alçons. It took decades for one to achieve that level of gameplay, to not only have the knowledge necessary to devise and solve problems, but to have the intimate level of wisdom needed to successfully navigate a game, and prevail. 
Graid was the object of their advances. Known as the Kal-Alçon to his people, the ‘Master’ to those close to him, he was a being of immense mental strength. Bronton was insulted the first time he was asked to sit opposite Graid in Castiliad, for Graid was barely alive for seven cas at the time. He wasn’t told beforehand that his opponent was the genetically engineered creation the Kal-Durrell had called for, the one who would face the Novan Cuhli-pra in a final battle. Bronton actually almost refused to play, his arrogance bordering on anger. Bronton thought sometimes on that first game, a game that grew deeper and more complex with each til. He started off simply, thinking Graid would take several moments to figure a response. But instead of one, Graid would devise a dozen, all of which had to be answered by Bronton. Within moments Bronton’s mind was overwhelmed, while Graid looked as if he had barely tried. He never again underestimated the Kal-Alçon. He, along with Isten, Nemprid, and Siudac, fought against him on a regular basis. Though they always lost, they knew it was an integral part of the training of the Kal-Alçon, though sometimes they felt it was they who were being trained. 
Nemprid anxiously looked up, an expression of desperation on his face, as he could feel his mental resources being drained, his strategy failing. He was gazing right into the Kal-Alçon’s eyes, with teeth gritted and brow furrowed, and felt he couldn’t hold on for even a moment longer. His mind was taxed almost to its limit, his mental resources depleted in his struggle to make any advance against the Kal-Alçon’s mental barriers. 
He must submit, he must.
^Concentrate, you can work out of it!^ slammed his teammates. Isten could feel Nemprid losing his grip, his mind shutting down, preventing damage to his body. 
^No!^
Nemprid fell over on his side, a portion of the Boolin collapsing into ruin.
Damn, thought Isten. We had our best chance with four. It will be near impossible with three. 
They had only asked Xusus to join them as a distraction for Graid, something to deflect their maneuvers. Recently they had worked out a new tactic, one they felt confident would lead, for the first time, to victory against the Kal-Alçon. But with only three remaining, all of them felt despair.
For Graid’s part, he was not really focusing on the game in front of him. Graid was occupying himself by perusing another report on Kolob, bringing up twenty files concerning the latest attempt back through time and the volumes of analyses it created. He was extremely concerned about the probabilities of success for the next mission, as the previous four all ended in dismal failure.
Why, why have we failed so often? We know the events down to the neonatal; we have his entire life mapped out in all our minds. His personality is known to us, all his responses foretold with precision. Yet, when it comes time, when he is asked to fulfill his mission, he always resists! For all our technology, for all our scientific advances, we often have such trouble manipulating simple souman emotions.  It is the Rell belief in negation that causes this. If we as a people cannot experience the range of emotions the Novans do, how could we ever hope to control them? How could we ever truly hope to understand them? 
Graid went deeper into his thoughts, momentarily ignoring his competitors. 
I could never practice their negation, no matter if I am of Rell! The pleasure of the flesh is too good, too right, too natural. It is because I have learned of their pleasure that I better understand the Novans as a people. There is much potential for joy in their life. Before the cast-net became their way of life, they were maturing as a people. Learning the importance of community, of the whole. The TELREC certainly knew what they were doing. Nothing could have broken their spirit more than the instant gratification and utter divisiveness of the cast-net. Only now has Novan culture begun to return, against TELREC wishes. The seeds of rebellion are there. Religion clamors at the door, begging to be let back in. But our people cannot see the depth of the Novan existence. To call pleasure a sin, is to demonize half of oneself. 
If only we could strike a balance between our faith and our bodies. But alas, that is truly up to the Kal-Durrell. No matter how powerful I am or may become, they are the true masters of this world. ‘All praise the Kal-Durrell,’ thought Graid with some sarcasm. And look at these four, thought Graid, as his attentions refocused on his instructors. They are good men, but so . . . one dimensional. They could never think as I do — it would create a crisis of faith for them that they would never allow. But true faith should be able to withstand some scrutiny, some doubt. It is just that doubt that makes me so dangerous. If only they knew.
The Boolin had grown to fifteen feet in height. The soft light it radiated reflected off the ceiling of the room. Typically Boolins only reached six, maybe seven feet in height. One foot typically was the result of ten thousand problem/solution sets, with each branch containing hundreds of interrelationships. Once before it reached that height, forcing the players to no longer devise new questions, but to re-examine old ones posed, searching for new avenues to explore, to add width instead of height. Bronton remembered that game. 
That one nearly destroyed my mind. I just didn’t want to give up. He looked over at Graid, sitting calmly, expanding the structure in front of him. He can be so smug, so arrogant! How I’d like to break him!
Graid smiled at him, momentarily opening his eyes.
“Anything’s possible. But just not that.”
Graid focused his attack on Bronton. Isten and Siudac strengthened his defense, coming to his aid. Bronton had flashes of the time after that game, his recovery on the high, snow-capped mountains in Dried province. It took him so long to recover control over his body, to regain full access to all of his mind. Never again did he play without some safeguards, without some way of protecting the core of himself. But more than healing his body and mind, his will needed repair. Often Graid could be utterly vicious in his victories, savaging an opponent’s mind, as he did with Bronton then. Nothing infuriates Graid more than arrogance — I shudder to think if he ever met someone who was as arrogant as he.
Graid sensed their defense, and instead of attacking Bronton directly, he exponentially increased his advances on Isten and Siudac. Around their structures Graid built gleaming branches which siphoned their strength. Isten and Siudac tried to defend themselves, but they could feel the end closing in around them. 
The chamber they played the Castiliad in was within Al-Hulce, Graid’s private sanctuary. Constructed shortly after the completion of Rellcine, it incorporated most of the latest technological advances the Rell had made. With walls able to withstand the energy from a stellar nova, with power sources microscopic yet that could power a small city, with oxygen-creating fungus that lived inside the walls, this training room could outlast the destruction of the planet itself, and keep the occupants alive indefinitely. Rellcine was built along similar lines, well-fortified, but everything they had learned from building Rellcine went into the construction of Al-Hulce, as it was to be the sanctuary of their Kal-Alçon. Graid had trained on everything this room had to offer, on every physical and mental combat form known to exist. 
“You know, I feel there is something different about these Kal-Durrell,” said Graid casually. 
Bronton was able to regroup, under the protection of Isten and Siudac. He took a deep breath, and tried to build new limbs Graid would be forced to deal with.
“They seem slightly more personable,” continued Graid in a relaxed drawl, “their message of hope and reassurance had a tone of believability and sincerity that none of the other clones had. It is almost as if, this time, they really care.” 
Isten collapsed from fatigue on the floor. Concern crossed over the Kal-Alçon’s face, but only for a moment. They were known to pull tricks when things got desperate. And even in their deceptions, there was a bland certainty of their actions that almost made them comical.  
“Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” said Graid sarcastically. “Isn’t there some idol you need to pray to or something?”
Siudac heard this needle, and allowed a quick thought Bronton. 
In ten til, a final strike!
They both seemed to draw calm for a moment. Sweat glistened on their foreheads, and their skins were stained with perspiration. They both relaxed, then clenched their fists and bore down suddenly. The Boolin gleamed with light, as they solved the hundreds of problems and paradoxes Graid had thrown up at them. The structure soared higher, and wider, its branches stretching over the competitors. They were able to solve those issues unresolved, and began to build new problems for Graid.
“Come now gentlemen; this exercise is concluded,” said Graid. 

As they battled, Arciss was walking down the final hallway to Al-Hulce. He slowed his stride just enough for some reflection. 
What will we do now? The great Martel captured, possibly killed! Who could communicate as effectively with both the Master and Mentra Uonil? She loved him as a brother, the Master loved him as a father. Few have been as devoted to Rellcist thought as Martel. And now, I am to replace him? I am to be Steward of the Kal-Alçon?! 
He stopped for a moment, a short distance from the portal to the training room. He leaned against a wall, and collected his thoughts. Drops of nervous sweat glistened on his forehead. Anxiously, he wiped them off. While Arciss had been in the upper echelon of the Rell government for quite some time, he was always content to be in the background, solving problems and offering new directions to others who could fight for them in public. He didn’t mind doing most of his work in a lonely office, or late at night, and never cared much for credit or recognition. But that was before this roa, before the Kal-Durrell commanded he be the new Steward. He took a deep breath, and thought back on the analysis of Graid that he had been reviewing for the past several droas.

“The master strikes down the weak!
He knows your thoughts before they are thought.”

Luckily, he is on the other side of the scan-proof door, or the master would nest my thoughts and revel in my weakness. I could never out think him, and yet I must complete his training. We have so little time to finish what others started, so little time to prepare him for a possible confrontation with the Cuhli-pra! I must comfort myself in the hands of the Kal-Durrell.

“The Kal-Durrell live yet for you!
Death cannot contain their eternal spirits!
Reflect on the millennia of their life, the eternal beacon of Kal’s love!
Release your mind and let the Kal-Durrell guide your thoughts!”

I still cannot focus. By the stones I am a weak man. Are all of us so weak? No . . . Three Hundred were not. Yes, that’s the answer . . . They had the strength of character to change these worlds forever, to bring peace and happiness where once there was only misery and despair . . . They accepted the price of eternal damnation for all of us. My problems are minute in comparison. How dare I shrink from my responsibilities, thought Arciss, with some disgust in himself. He straightened, composed his face into a politely friendly expression, and stridently entered the training room. His facade nearly shattered after he viewed the scene within. 
Towering in the room was the Boolin, thicker and stronger than any had ever seen before. Arciss had done some playing — all candidates for an Alçon position were required to become advanced players, but he was amazed at the complexity and density of this one. He saw three figures motionless on the floor, with Bronton and Isten near collapse. He examined the Boolin with his mind, and found the subjects to be tightly focused, keeping within mathematics, temporal physics, philosophy, and microbiology.
Graid glanced over at Arciss, and smiled. “I’ll be just a moment.”
Isten looked over at Bronton. ^We cannot lose. Not again. Are you ready?^
Bronton looked over, his vision getting blurry. ^Ready.^
They both concentrated, and were confronted with a new strategy. Graid introduced another support trunk, coming down from the ceiling. 
Never before have I even heard of this! thought Arciss. He’s going to have to —
In til, the new branch began integrating with all the concepts, all the problems and solutions in the primary trunk. Graid had taken it to a new level, one heretofore unseen. Introducing a radically different concept, he integrated it seamlessly and in til with every concept of the original Boolin. This gave him a massive advantage, as he could now come up with tens of thousands of new problems in til. For a moment, even Bronton and Isten were transfixed by the structures beauty, not only visually, but its sublime perfection in interrelationship of ideas. 
“How?”
Bronton managed that one word, then he collapsed, and Isten with him. The entire structure began to collapse, as their thought energy vanished.
“No, a moment longer,” said Graid.
He focused, and the two Boolins solidified and grew, with the second one twisting and integrating with the first. The combined creation spread out far across the room, becoming so dense it appeared as a small star. Arciss thought he had never seen anything so beautiful, so elegant, for a moment he believed it to be some sign from Kal. Graid then stood and outstretched his arms, becoming one with the structure, his body becoming an extension of its limbs. He floated up into the room, his body becoming the nucleus of the Boolin star. 
“By Kal,” muttered Arciss, “this is the Kal-Alçon?”
Suddenly Graid crouched into himself, into a fetal position, then screamed, flinging his limbs out with great force. The room itself shook from his power, as the Boolin seemed to pulse into another reality. He drifted back slowly to the ground, regarding his fallen trainers with a wry smile.  
“And only a fool as witness to it all,” said Graid, his every word filled with arrogance and dismay, as he casually straightened his clothes. 
The Boolins dulled, and began to fade. Arciss saw hundreds of thousands, possibly a million different branches shatter and dissolve, the light slowly fade from the room, his Kal-Alçon become one with the darkness. In moments the main lights went on and several medics rushed in, placing thought amplification obelisks near the collapsed bodies. They knelt and lowered heads in serious thought. In moments, they began to move, attaching ovular disks to each of the bodies. The bodies rose into the air surrounded by a whitish mist, and were quickly pushed out by the medics. One stopped in front of Arciss.
“How are their injuries?” asked Arciss.
The medic doubtfully shook his head. “I don’t know. Isten may never recover. We will see.” 
The medic followed the others into the corridor. Graid, the Kal-Alçon stood and approached Arciss. Wearing a simple violet second-skin, he appeared to be little more than a tall child, yet one a little shorter than Arciss. But as Arciss had learned, appearances can be deceiving.
“The three hundred, eh?” asked Graid, with a sly grin on his face.
He could sense my thoughts through our thickest shield? thought Arciss.
“Yes, my doubtful friend, as easily as I breathe.”
“You weakened me, didn’t you?”
Graid sighed. “Just a simple test. I wanted to know if you were up to the job. Now, I know. ‘Sul-Unitas.’ That’s one of your favorite histories, isn’t it?”
“Yes, there are many facets to the story that are applicable to our current times.” 
“Like what?” asked Graid, as he walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. “They were primitives compared to what we are in this time, who we have become.”
Arciss composed himself, not rising to Graid’s bait. “What premise did you introduce, that you were able to integrate it so totally with the others?”
Graid smiled. “Sex.”
Arciss stumbled, trying to keep his mental balance.
“With all due respect, master, there . . . there is a more urgent concern.”
“You mean the capture of Martel?” asked Graid. Yes I scanned you, and deduced it. I sensed disturbing ripples of thought earlier, and was prepared for the worst. None will know the extent of my discord over this occurrence. We will order him an honored one, a Kal-Mentra.” 
“A Kal-Mentra — only the . . . he is dead, Master?”
Graid nodded. “Yes, self-reclamation. That which was hers was given freely back, incorporated in Kal.” Suicide! If only I could leave our seclusion and destroy the whole of the TELREC! To wipe their sins from the whole of creation, and leave only dust in my wake. Their very name pollutes my mind . . . “Arciss, do you remember these sacred words?”

“His limbs drew deep from fertile womb
To ascend his spirit over lowly stones.
For short time he basked in one sun
And cooled those unfortunate for brief time. 
Sadly lower stones cut his dear life
Crushing his limbs to sickly delight.
With her his spirit forever will grow
And soar untouched by ignorant stones.”

“Yes, master, I do.”
“I think those words best fit his passing. I tire of our ancient comparison to a stone, while women are the source of all that is good.” Graid smiled to himself. “But the sentiment is still valid.”
“No, my master, we are lowly stones,” effused Arciss, shaking his head vigorously. “Unthinking, unfeeling primitives! I marvel she has given me so blessed a life.” 
“You disappoint me.” As do you all, thought Graid.
“Why, my master? It is written in the text that —”
“Has nothing taught you to look beyond the obvious to see what lies underneath?!” His frustration was apparent to Arciss, who stepped back out of fear. 
“Why . . . why would I have cause to doubt my faith?” he asked, becoming defensive. “Has it not given us peace and prosperity for thousands of cas? Novan faith will end; it is ordained. Yet ours will last for all eternity, may our Kal-Durrell be blessed!”
“Calm down, Arciss,” said Graid, scanning the room still faintly lit with the dying fragments of the Boolin, an air of exhaustion sweeping over his face. “We have much work to do. Walk with me.” 
Graid led Arciss to ComCor, along the way speaking of Arciss’ duties before, and why he thought the Kal-Durrell promoted him to this position.


Arciss was one of the silent indispensables that worked behind the scenes on Rellcine. Involved in most command decisions, he solved major crises more than once, only to fade when praise was heaped by the Kal-Durrell, Graid, or Uonil. He had always been a diligent worker, ever since his childhood. He took the Rell faith very seriously, learning the Ment-al-Ellin by age six, attaining the rank of sub-Alçon at sixteen. He was very outspoken against Novanism, denouncing their addiction to pleasure, cursing their attacks on Rell. 
He was so diligent, so outspoken against Novan because he knew he was different. He discovered early on that he preferred men over women. While his friends would turn and remark on attractive women, he would secretly desire his friends. Though the Rell religion was progressive enough to accept the sexual choices of its citizens, it did not approve of those choices. Arciss felt he had to work twice as hard to attain a position any other ‘normal’ person would have desired. As he rose in rank, there were fewer and fewer men who shared his lifestyle choice. As he found himself increasingly isolated, he threw himself into his work, staying up late reviewing analyses of TELREC movements, projections for upcoming events. He distinguished himself as an invaluable aide to both Uonil and Martel, but was always more than a little scared of Graid.
As they entered ComCor, a sea of hundreds of eager faces looked back at them. Usually one to keep his head down when entering a room, Arciss forced himself to keep his head high, to confront all those eyes, all those thoughts. He knew many of the faces, for Rellcine was a small place, with only the best earning the honor to serve there. But there were also some families of some of the agents, mixing in the element of youth, with all those seasoned minds. For some reason, to those minds Arciss felt most vulnerable, feeling trapped in their honest, direct gaze. 
To Arciss’ great relief, all before them lowered their heads, in deference to Graid. Whether seated or standing, eating or working, each person lowered their head and was silent for a moment. Arciss looked on them, never before on this side of worship, never so close to the Kal-Alçon. 
^It is good they see you at my side,^ cast Graid. ^Look strong, and show no fear.^
“^I thank you my friends, for your respect,^” Graid cast, then spoke aloud. “^We have lost a great man, and he should remain always in our thoughts. Martel was a loyal, dedicated servant of myself and the Kal-Durrell. Never forget his name!^”
“^Never Master!^”
The roar of their reply echoed through the cavernous space. Each voice spoken in unison, reflection of their unshakable faith in the Kal-Alçon.
^Are you sure you want me here, next to you?^ asked Arciss quickly.
^I’m doing this for your benefit,^ rebuked Graid, tired and growing bored. ^We will have a meal here, in front of our brethren, and they will see how I accept you. They will tell their friends, and in time, all will recognize you as the new Steward of the Kal-Alçon. Whether you stay there is completely up to you.^ Graid focused back on the faithful in front of him. “^Rise, my friends, and live.^”
Activity resumed again in ComCor. Some rushed before Graid and knelt before him, offering a quick prayer. Arciss was touched with each of their prostrations, his heart gladdened to see so many show love and honor to Graid.
^How tiresome,^ cast Graid to Arciss. ^It becomes more and more difficult to tolerate this constant kneeling, and prayer. Ah, with but a single command, I could have all the women give me more . . . meaningful offerings.^
Arciss stared at Graid with shock and disbelief, unused he was with this side of Graid’s persona. Graid merely smiled back.
^I understand Martel thought very highly of you.^
^I thought very highly of him.^
^Yet you seem content to be in the shadows,^ cast Graid. ^Why?^
^I . . . just like to work, to contribute to our ultimate success.^
^Don’t lie to me, or I’ll strike you dead where you stand.^
Arciss felt fear run like hot lead through his body. Graid sat at a table, quickly vacated by four others, bowing in deference.
^Come, sit next to me.^
^Thank you, master.^
Graid sat back, and ordered a light lunch. Arciss did the same.
^I am fine with your sexual orientation.^ Graid spoke quickly, as he admired the young women walking by. ^Frankly, I don’t even care. I have seen Novans do much more freakish things with their bodies, things truly abhorrent. What I do care about is your strength. I feel like you struggled very hard to get here, but your strength is failing. Am I right?^
^Master, I —^
^Call me Graid.^
^Graid, I, well . . . Martel was a brilliant man! He was a joy to serve. Uonil also, but Martel took an interest in me. He showed me many things, taught me many things. He was . . .^
^He was your mentor?^
^Yes, and now he is gone!^ cried Arciss, betraying his emotions for a moment. ^I felt alone before, but now I feel even more so. My strength shall return, but . . . I guess I need time to mourn for Martel, and gear up for the challenges ahead.^
Graid thought for a moment. ^I respect your honesty, which is why I am going to be honest with you. We have no time for grief. We have no time at all. Martel is only the first of billions that may die, if we are not successful. We carry too much responsibility to indulge this grief and remorse. Accept his death, and move on. Or get out of my sight, and we will find someone who can.^
^I understand, master.^ Arciss sat up, his face growing cold and hard.
“Graid!”
Both turned to see an elderly woman slowly approach them. Still strong in body, she had a firmness about her limbs, that bespoke of continual physical training. Tall, much taller than Graid, with almost all-white hair, her face was a sea of wrinkles, that conspired against two jewel-like eyes, radiant and youthful. She smiled a woman’s smile at Graid, and he joyfully smiled back.
“Valcha! It is good to see you again. How was your time on Rell?”
“Enjoyable, as always, Kal-Alçon. Luckily, I returned to see Martel, for one last time.”
Graid’s expression grew serious. “They will answer to me for their crimes, Valcha.”
“Vengeance is not our way,” admonished Valcha. “You know that.”
^And you know I don’t always follow our ways.^ 
Valcha made her way around the table slowly, looking on Graid, her brow knitting in sorrow. ^You have a great responsibility, Arciss.^
^Yes Sub-Alçon?^
^I don’t think you fully understand it.^ Valcha took a seat, next to Arciss. She put a hand on Arciss’ knee, and leaned in toward him, still looking at Graid. ^You see, Martel was skilled in the ways of warfare, and diplomacy. A good balance in a man, he made an excellent Steward. But he did fail.^
Arciss looked surprised. ^What do you mean?^
^What you see in front of you is a being with no moral balance,^ she replied. ^Sin, without faith.^ 
^And we were having such a pleasant discussion.^ Graid’s smile vanished, and his face changed into chiseled stone. ^My mood changes as swift as lightning. Watch yourself, Valcha.^ 
^Oh please!^ she cried, laughing a little. ^Your threats carry little weight with one of my advanced cas. As I cast, Arciss, Graid has no balance. Arciss, you have great, unshakable faith. I have been watching you, and I know you seek validation for all your actions from the Ment-al-Ellin, as a true student of the sacred text would. I sense Graid has already tested you?^
Graid gritted his teeth, attempting to maintain a sense of calm.
^Yes. Well, his test shall come,^ she continued. ^And it is up to you, Arciss, that he passes. It is up to you to somehow kindle that faith in our Graid. He has many problems, layers upon layers of problems. Only faith will solve them, and create the champion we all need. But you also must understand that faith is not given by printed words, or the reciting of ritual. It is something one must feel, and draw from one’s own soul.^
^I . . . don’t understand,^ cast Arciss.
Valcha drew close to Arciss, her deep violet eyes glimmering in the light. ^You will, at least I hope. For your failure will mean our destruction.^
Arciss nodded quickly and firmly. ^I will do my best.^
^Are you through, old woman?^ demanded Graid curtly, the anger visible on his face. Valcha looked at him for a moment, her eyes sparkling, her mouth a frigid smile.
^You need to have respect for your elders! You wield your power with hands of iron, cold as steel. Power should be handled with a gentle soul, ever mindful of the repercussions it will bring.^
^Be null, old woman,^ commanded Graid. ^I know not why you have chosen this time, this place to challenge me. I think you have forgotten your place.^
Valcha sat back, her arms crossed in indignation. ^My place?! I have seen more than you ever will, taught more than you ever will! My influence has shaped everyone you know, touched you in ways you cannot imagine. You are arrogant, Graid. You are neither a Kal, nor an Emperor. You are a man. You are one, Graid. You are surrounded with people of faith who believe not only in you, but in the wisdom of the Kal-Durrell. You act as if you have forgotten that source, Kal-Alçon. They are the wisdom, they are the light. Kal alone reigns supreme. You should always remember that.^
^You need to remember your place.^ Graid stressed his words, but kept their force low. He also exerted some mental pressure on Valcha, dimming her perceptions, making it hard for her to think.
^Have you forgotten Martel already?^ Valcha struggled to find balance within her mind, to mask her discomfort. ^Did you ever do this to him?^
^I had no need to,^ hissed Graid, ^he knew his place!^ 
^Have you no compassion?^ 
^Compassion? Ha! What a dead word,^ cast Graid. ^No one on the globes knows the meaning of that word. They know not of pity, remorse, or even forgiveness. Where were those words when I was born?^ Graid switched to a cast frequency between only himself and Valcha. ^Where were you when they created this living weapon, born with but one purpose? Where was my father, where my mother? Where was the love, the compassion, the remorse then?! Born in so many tubes and stasis chambers, never to have felt a living being until my seventh cas of existence! I am exactly what you and every other Alçon wanted; a soulless weapon, with one single purpose.^ 
Valcha stabilized herself under Graid’s pressure. Though old in body, she was well trained in mental combat, and could hold her own against all but a few. She may have had the title of Sub-Alçon, but her strength and will surpassed most of those above her. It was only her direct honesty that kept her from her rightful position.
^Then what of Selva, and Nahlai?^ she countered, with some difficulty. ^What of Uonil? I sense you have sentiment towards those, and a few others.^ 
Graid bore down harder, and Arciss could feel her strain, as her hand grasped his knee tightly.
^Be null!^ demanded Graid. ^Never question me in the open, I will not tolerate it! No leader should ever tolerate insubordination, not even from the likes of you. Remember this; no matter your age, no matter your sex, no matter my familiarity with you, you are servant to me. I am the Master; I am the Kal-Alçon — never forget!^
Arciss touched Graid on the shoulder, seeing he was involved with Valcha.
^Graid . . . there has been a summons from Uonil —^ 
^Don’t you think I know?^ Graid slackened his hold on Valcha as he quickly stood, anger storming on his face. ^I so tire of your assumptions of me based on your experiences.^ Graid finally released Valcha, and she visibly relaxed. ^Get up, Arciss. We need to go.^
Valcha held Graid’s hand and smiled. ^I forgive you, Graid.^
Graid staggered for a moment, like a wounded animal, looking on her with eyes of pain, and fear. He pulled his hand away and moved off, wishing she had never said those words. 
^Always remember your duty, Graid, always remember your destiny,^ she reminded him gently, as a mother would her son. ^What did the Kal-Durrell cast? We give the Kal-Alçon responsibility for the future of all Rell. In his hands shall rest our love for you, our faith in you. The Kal-Alçon shall negate the threat of the Cuhli-pra, and serve as a beacon of strength and hope for our children and all their descendants. The Kal-Alçon must purge us of all evil, must eliminate that which threatens to corrupt or destroy us. Never forget those words, Graid. Never forget!^ Arciss turned to Valcha.
^What happened between you two?^ asked Arciss.
^Nothing you need to be concerned with,^ she cast openly, so Graid could glean the cast. ^One roa, you will understand, Graid. I only hope I will live to see that roa. And,^ she cast, as she rose to leave, ^I hope we all will be alive to see that roa. Youth has the luxury of freedom Graid, and you are nearing the end of your youth.^ She placed a hand on Arciss’ shoulder, and smiled. ^Have faith in yourself, the Kal-Durrell, and most of all, in our Kal-Alçon. For he will need it, most of all.^
^Martel told me of your importance in his life,^ cast Arciss to Valcha. ^I am sure he would be so very disappointed to have seen Graid just now.^ 
^Sometimes, he is an actor,^ she replied, shrugging. ^Only he doesn’t act for those around him, he acts for himself. To convince himself he is something he is not. You need to show him what he can become. The Kal-Durrell trusts that you can do this. Have faith in them, in yourself, and you shall succeed.^
^Thank you.^ Arciss ran and caught up with Graid, who walked swiftly, his hands clenched at his sides. Passing through the corridors of Rellcine, he walked heedless of those in front of him, who dodged aside in contrition, bowing to the Kal-Alçon.
^She is lucky she is too old to be seduced,^ cast Graid, the anger still seething within him, ^or I would enjoy hearing her beg for my body, watch her abase herself in my presence.^
They made their way quickly to Uonil’ office, Arciss’ mind clouded with doubt and fear, tinged with some sadness.
It won’t be like before, when I could rest easily in the shadows, Martel a strong shoulder to lean on. I need to be totally independent, and in the face of such power! Me, Arciss, Steward to the Kal-Alçon! Why did the Kal-Durrell chose me? What if Valcha’s words are true, that I am to reinforce his faith? I have difficulty enough maintaining faith in myself, how can I inspire it in another? How could I ever hope to match what Martel gave?
Arciss watched the Kal-Alçon as he walked. He seemed to be a short man when viewed through objective eyes, but once he was facing someone, his stature grew. Valcha was a rare exception to that rule, a woman who could retain her identity, her confidence, in the face of anyone save the Kal-Durrell themselves. Arciss always felt small in Graid’s presence, as did most who encountered him. He had a way of negating the ego in anyone, eradicating their self-confidence, turning the most arrogant to the weakest, most pitiful specimen. He possessed chiseled muscles, but proportional, capable of great feats of strength. Even without Graid’s extraordinary abilities his body was faster and stronger than the greatest of Rell athletes. 
Arciss thought back to the first time he saw the Kal-Alçon. Graid was still young, only twelve, but in attitude was an adult in full command of his body and mind. Martel had formally become his Steward only two cas before, though he had always maintained some observation on the growing Kal-Alçon. He put on an exhibition for the Alçons, beginning in gymnastics, proceeding to hand to hand combat, swordplay, null-grav paceball. He was amazing to witness, moving blindingly fast, possessed with the experience of a man four times his age. He never made a mistake, never lost a match. In the following cas, he learned Graid’s mind was even sharper, even more powerful than his body.
And that scares me. I’ll need all my resources just to keep pace with him. Martel made it look so easy. 
They came to the entrance to Uonil’ office, where Graid stopped, his back to Arciss.
“Is something wrong, Graid?”
Graid cast a sidelong glance at him. As he did, Arciss felt a great pressure bear down on his mind. He felt his senses grow dull, his hearing fade, his vision blur, all tactile input become distant and faint. Arciss struggled against it, calling upon all the training he had ever been through. He tried to buffet the attack, redirect it along different paths, but it was everywhere. Arciss began to fall to his knees, his breath growing labored. His head shook violently, as his heart pounded within him. He struggled to look up, seeing the same casual expression on Graid’s face. He wanted to speak, to beg for mercy, but found he couldn’t form the words. 
“Arciss, understand something; I am so far beyond your conception of what a person is, so far advanced from it, that you will need to completely change your way of thinking around me. None of your thoughts can be shielded from me. It is not an active reading of your mind, it is as if you tried not to see the sky, or feel the wind on your skin. When you are with me, don’t think, just exist. I never again want to nest your doubts, your questioning in my presence. Is that clear?”
Arciss found he was able to speak.
“Yes, master.”
“Good. I trust you’ll remember this lesson. I am using such an insignificant part of my power, you would be frightened if you knew how little. Valcha means well, but I am the Master. Your life depends on you remembering that. Martel earned the right to be called my Steward, but you have very far to go. Now get up, and let’s get going.”
Arciss recovered his strength, and followed Graid into Uonil’ chamber, focusing his mind to make it devoid of irrelevant thought, trying to keep his body from shaking uncontrollably. Uonil looked up at him from behind her desk and let out a tired sigh.
“Have you been torturing him, Graid?”
Graid flopped back in a chair, dangling his legs over the edge, laughter echoing through the room.
“What makes you say that?”
“Arciss, are you alright?” asked Uonil. 
Arciss remained stiff, still stung by Graid’s criticism. “Yes, Mentra. I am fine.”
She turned to Graid. “We cannot afford this. Your games distract us from —”
“My games, Uonil?” demanded Graid. “This man is not ready for anything! He is weak, slow, and dim. I merely have exposed his weaknesses, giving him the chance to correct them.”
“Yet he has been appointed by the Kal-Durrell themselves!”
Graid sat back quietly, knowing all that those words entailed. The Kal-Durrell were not to be questioned, under any circumstances. And when they appointed someone to a position, it was only as a consequence of their infinite knowledge.
“Well, we still have much to work on with Arciss.” 
“Yes, I will agree with that.” Uonil sat back, her features growing serious and quiet.
“Sorrow? On such a lovely face?” taunted Graid.
“Even you must feel some sadness.”
Graid nodded. “He was a good man.” 
Uonil looked at him with some degree of shock and disappointment. “Is that all? A lifetime of service, mentor to many, and that is all you have to say on the death of Martel?”
“Well he was stupid to get himself killed. Come now, we have no time for this. What was his last message?”
Uonil sighed, not hiding the disappointment spreading over her face. “Here it is.”
Uonil downloaded the contents of Martel’s final message to both of them. They each took a moment to review and contemplate on its meaning.
“Compassion and love?” asked Graid. “How I expected more from Martel.” Clearly Valcha had her hand in this!
“He was serious, and probably with a good point,” replied Uonil. “Nahlai has failed too many times using purely sex as a temptation. That has been the easy way out, and even you know it.”
“You think I like seeing her have sex with that pathetic waste of life?”
Uonil spoke gently with amusement. “So, you do have feelings.”
Graid turned to Arciss. “See Arciss, it is always a game with her! She is always trying to find some key to me, some control that will satisfy her. Keep looking, Uonil, but I tell you again, you won’t find what you are looking for. You are the second this roa to look for what is not there.”
“The second?” asked Uonil, with some surprise. ^Who was the first . . . Ah, Valcha! She always was quite perceptive.”
Arciss hesitated for a moment, not knowing which side to take. “So, what did he mean by compassion? For whom?”
“As much as Graid pretends to be a lustful sinner, devoid of feeling, he does have some sentiment for Nahlai” Uonil ignored his angry glare and continued. “As you know, she has been our lure for Kolob in the past missions. Martel is saying she must also be the catalyst for allegiance with us. We must find a way for Kolob to love her.”
“Isn’t that much more dangerous?” asked Arciss.
“Yes, but she’s up to it.” Graid said, nodding.
“I know she is. She got you to fall for her . . .”
“Don’t test me, Alçon,” warned Graid.  
“Congratulations!” cried Uonil, with a beaming smile. ^You’ve put in my place again, and so skillfully.”
“Graid, you just chastised me for feeling sorrow,” said Arciss, feeling some anger rise within him, “and here you two are indulging in this petty bickering?”
Graid laughed, slapping his knee with his hand. “Good — a spark of strength! You just might be of use to us yet. I am glad to see some of Martel has worn off on you.”
“Was this . . . a test?” tentatively asked Arciss. 
Graid fumbled off the chair and came close to him.
“Some tests will be announced, and some will be in secret,^ he cast, leering into Arciss’ face. He then grew suddenly dark and somber. ^But others will be of a much more serious nature, and failure will doom us all. What Martel and Uonil were suggesting will mean the death of one I cherish a great deal. Yes, cherish, contrary to what I said earlier. But I am Rell above all else, and that means I shall sacrifice willingly and without regret. Uonil, you will update the council of our plans?”
“Yes. That brings us to her introduction. Are we still proceeding with insertion at the AG collapse?”
“Yes,” Graid spoke quickly, as he paced around the room. “And instead of seduction, she should take her time with Kolob, getting to know him. Arciss, work with the Alçons and sub-Alçons to prepare a suitable personality for her. Success will depend for the most part on skillful improvisation, like the first time we attempted this mission. So long as we all are focused, we shall prevail.”
“Does that include you, honored Kal-Alçon?” asked Uonil. “Will you stop associating with the heathen Novans?”
Graid turned slowly to her as Uonil couldn’t help but cringe in her chair. “Never question my affairs — never! I am the master, you are the servant. This is the second time that my authority has been questioned. I would hate to remind you as I had to remind this other person. Do you understand?”
Uonil, despite her outward appearances, was terribly intimidated by Graid. She missed having Martel next to her, hearing his words put Graid in his place.
“Yes Kal-Alçon.” Uonil folded her hands, and sought to change the subject. “What of Listras? Surely we cannot allow her to go on living?”
“Her time will come.” Graid punctuated his words with one hand punching the other, his eyes downcast. “I don’t know when, or where, but her time will come. Martel shall be avenged, and she and every other TELREC shall pay the price.”
“And what of Rhonva?”
“I think Nahlai’s introduction will serve to highlight exactly who Rhonva is, and who he is working for. He will be forced into action, and then we will eliminate him.” Graid sat up, leaning forward, his expression growing serious. “Now that brings us to the most important part of Martel’s message. Arciss, do you know what it is?”
Arciss grew anxious, thinking for a moment. “That he suspects the TELREC know of our manipulation of the timeline?”
“Close, Arciss, very good. He suspects someone of that knowledge. What do you think of that, Uonil?”
“I have consulted with the Alçons. They have run many projections, and do not agree with him.” Uonil wore a face of disgust for a moment, tired of the Alçons’ continual condescending attitude towards any of her conclusions.  “They think it was a random thought, caused by the closeness to death.”
“Ha!” Graid spat out a laugh, angry and cynical. “Do you hear our Alçons? Can you not sense their arrogance and disdain for Martel? Well, I did listen to that message. And I do believe him. And if we ever see the results of the Alçons’ shortsightedness, I will call them on it. And their lesson will be a hard one to learn.”
Arciss looked on Graid and Uonil, two epic figures in the Rell hierarchy, and wondered how he would cope with dealing with them both. 
Can anyone stand up to Graid? He is so cruel, so distant, yet he is our only hope for the future. Arciss thought those words deep down in his consciousness, so Graid hopefully would not nest them. I must review his past, try to find some way to connect with him. The Kal-Durrell believe I can, so I shall!
Chapter 7


Leviathan: the name given to the governing authority on Novan. Comprised of a senate with five representatives from each of the thirteen provinces of CoreNovan, and the eight provinces of ExterNovan, it was a mostly administrative body which oversaw the general economic welfare of its citizens. CRODAM formed the bulk of its militarized force and its main duty was to keep order among the populous. Decisions were made by a council of twenty-one which needed to reach a three-quarters majority for any decision to become law. Though the Leviathan generally deferred to the TELREC, many council members became concerned with the impending Ascension of the Cuhli-pra, and began to question the validity of eventual TELREC dominion.


The trans sped on with blinding speed, down corridors dark and unknown. The boy could see out a side window, streaked with the hard rain. Three of his captors sat with him in the back, while a fourth drove the trans erratically, narrowly missing unknown obstacles. He wished she would put on the PATH, and let it drive itself, but he figured she wanted it this way. 
All of his captors were women, and the three with him in the back poked and prodded him, examining him as some alien specimen. They reeked of the sewer, dank and dirty, with patches on their dark grey clothes smelling like excrement. 
“They’re gonna pull over,” he whispered to himself, “and it’s all gonna be some big joke, and I can run home and —”
^Boy, shut up!^ cast a woman near him. She grabbed his head, and jabbed her thumb into his scalp, scrubbing its surface. ^Look lovelies, he ain’t gotta caster! Whoo — you are a young thing.^
^Young and sweet,^ cast another.
^It’s a shame he ain’t a clone,^ she cast, as her hands found their way up his shirt. ^I’m in the mood for some fun.^
The boy knew they were speaking to each other, mentally, but he had no idea what they were saying. He figured it couldn’t be good. The one who yelled at him — a dirty blonde, heavy set woman — leaned in close, and ran her hands over his legs.
^I’ll bet he’s firm and smooth,^ she cast.
^Oooh, and with a fresh little piece of meat, tasty and precious!^ cried another, thin brunette, with a hand missing several fingers. 
The third woman, another heavy set blonde, leaned in to the boy’s face. ^He looks so scared. Why, I remember the first one I ever took. He looked just like him; all shaky, wide eyed, like he’s ready to cry. Ha!^
The others laughed aloud, bringing expressions of terror to the boy’s face. The trans swerved wildly, throwing the boy onto the brunette.
“Ooh, little one, it’s too early for some of me . . . but soon, little man, soon.” ^Damn, I hate speaking,^ she cast, as she shoved him back into his place.
^Speakin’s bad,^ she cast, “but screamin’s better — ha!”
“Please, let me go! I ain’t done nothing, I have to be home now, my mom’s gonna worry about me, and —”
“Shut up stupid,” said the heavy blonde, leaning in close to him. “You’re never goin’ home.”
Chapter 8


Novanism: religion created at around the same time as the arrival of the Kal-Durrell. The Novan holy book, called the Grechtchlen, was created by the divine downloads of twenty-three sections into twenty-three Iqui. The Grechtchlen was a guide as to how Novans should live their lives. It was the first text to instruct Novans in the pursuit of pleasure, stating the attainment of pleasure is a holy pursuit. Though it was not the only directive, it was embraced as the most important. As the original Directors instructed the Iqui on this new religion, so now Directors lead the dwindling faithful in services taking place in massive Arenas of Devotion called Yissarauts. Icons serve to focus on particular problems, leftovers from several dead religions from Iquitian times. 


Often Agilia, most senior of the three TELREC Monitors, would think on all that she was responsible for.  	
So much depends on us. On Mal. If not for our guidance over these eight thousand cas, there would be no Cuhli-pra, no order on Novan, and the Rell likely would rule over us all.
She leaned back in her chair, a chair slight and thin, with hidden gravimetric balancing tools. One of the finest engineering creations for personal use, the body hovered inches off the surface, and in extreme comfort. All of the Monitors possessed one, as they spent most of their roas sitting, reviewing summations of the billions of reports generated by the daily chronicles. All the TELREC agents in existence were at their immediate disposal, and no one except the meta-sentient computer called Mal was above them. Agilia would not have appreciated that she shared something like a favorite chair with her Rell counterpart, Uonil.
^Still no sign from Mal?^
^No, Agilia. The same as yesterroa,^ cast a young man sitting across from her.
Agilia was becoming increasingly agitated. Though it was part of the TELREC philosophy, part of their religion, to obey absolutely the commands of Mal, Agilia was anxious about Kolob. While agents reported on his every movement, there was still the element of chance, the chaos that was souman life that could somehow infect or alter Kolob. The TELREC took great care to raise their Cuhli-pra to be weak and absolutely malleable in their hands, and did not want anything to disturb that.
^I think we need to act.^ She tried to conceal her anxiety and indecision, but didn’t quite succeed.
Reltan, the youngest among them, surfaced from his surveillance assessments, and turned to Agilia. ^We have no directive from Mal to do such a thing.^
^Mal has not cast not to,^ Agilia replied.
Reltan sighed. ^That is poor logic, and beneath us.^
^We should consult Mal,^ cast Suldhaj, an older man with the beginning of a bloom of wrinkles on his face. An experienced TELREC agent, he had the most field time between the three of them. He wasn’t promoted to Monitor until later in his life, a fact that sometimes caused Agilia to pause in her management of him.
^We all know what Mal’s decision would be,^ cast Agilia. ^It would be the same as it has always been; ‘trust in me, and the future. Take no action.’^
^We should take no action.^ Reltan sat forward in his chair, engaging Agilia. Always the absolute believer, he said or did little that went against the commands of Mal. He had almost no sense of humor, and was always quite hard on new agents, and unforgiving of the mistakes of older ones. Agilia often hoped he would mellow with age, but he was still possessed with a brash, youthful temper and arrogant demeanor. ^Mal created the Grand Chaos Equation, the principle upon which our whole civilization is based. Mal has predicted with absolute certainty countless occurrences over the past eight thousand cas. Who are we to question Mal? Who are we to have doubt in Mal’s wisdom?^
^We cannot afford not to,^ she countered, projecting images of recent events to him. ^The Rell have been too quiet. Conflicts between our peoples have been infrequent, lower than the average for the past three hundred cas. They know our Cuhli-pra is maturing, and will soon Ascend. Who are we to question Mal?^ she asked rhetorically. ^We do not question Mal. We merely do what is in the best interests of the TELREC. That is our mission, our purpose in life.^ 
Suldhaj thought for a moment, as he was always the one to mediate disagreements between Agilia and Reltan. He was used to it — he was a father of three children, children Agilia knew always bickered and fought. ^I still don’t understand why we have left Kolob free. We should have imprisoned him, taken him into custody the moment he was born. We allow too much to chance, letting him roam free.^
^You know Mal’s thoughts on this,^ cast Agilia. ^Kolob must never resent our presence. He must see us as necessary, the only ones who can bring order to the Novan culture. If we were to keep him isolated, no matter how benevolently, he would resent us and yearn for freedom. He has it now, and every roa he grows more and more miserable.^
^You know how many other Monitors have paid the price for assuming they knew what was best?^ asked Reltan. ^We must stay the course, put into action only what Mal asks us to.^
Agilia, who was usually loathe to give up a fight, persisted. ^If Mal merely wanted commands executed flawlessly, there would be three meta sitting in these chairs instead of three soumans. Mal put us here for a reason. We are to augment Mal’s instruction with our intuition, with our souman decisions. We must take the chance, when it is called for, to solve problems in ways machines would not think of.^
She stood, and paced the floor of the Nexus, her thick sienna robes swirling around her. A thick mahogany, her reflection in red followed close behind her, giving even more depth to an already spacious room. The Nexus of Mal was situated in the uppermost point of a voidship named the Ehlios.  The Ehlios was a testament to ancient TELREC engineering, filled with technology the likes of which no Novan had ever seen. And the technology in the Ehlios paled in comparison to the true miracle of the TELREC, the sentient sun called Mal. 
The Ehlios orbited Mal, the lone supplicant to its radiance. It was the closest object to Mal, and had been in orbit for four millennia. Mal itself was enclosed by a great toroid; the initial mechanism that created Mal’s nuclear core, that funneled Mal’s consciousness into the solar plasma. The sun that was Mal spun at a ferocious rate, with solar plumes often spilling out through the openings in the toroid. No one who was not TELREC knew of the true nature of Mal. Any Rell would gladly sacrifice a thousand lives to learn of Mal’s exact location, learn of Mal’s true nature, while a million TELREC would die to keep its location secure. 
Surrounding the sentient sun and the orbiting Ehlios, two hundred platforms formed a sphere in its orbit. To all outward appearances it looked as a moon until one came close and could see the sunlight peering through the separations between the platforms. As the Ehlios housed the Monitors, and their families, so the sphere of Malhrer housed most TELREC assigned to administrative or Extra-Novan activities. It was a great privilege to look upon the sphere of Malhrer, a greater privilege to see inside, and behold the miracle of the sentient sun. 
The Nexus of Mal was built almost in defiance to the technology that surrounded it. Wooden floors, animal-skin chair coverings, even potted plants inhabited this room and most other souman living quarters on the Ehlios. Each room was spacious, conveying a feeling of freedom, of luxury instead of isolation. Brass, copper, and other archaic materials adorned every room, reward for the agents that called that ship home. The families that lived on the Ehlios lived there permanently and couldn’t imagine another home. Reltan and Suldhaj had their families on the Ehlios, and from their families would inevitably come more agents. Agilia thought of them now, thought of their deaths should she and the other Monitors displease Mal. She knew of Monitors past who challenged or disputed Mal’s authority and experience, whose whole families paid for their insubordination.
^Mal is not a machine,^ stated Reltan, his eyes like cold nails, precise and focused. ^Mal is Holis. All seeing, all knowing. We cannot second-guess Mal.^
^This is too important,^ countered Agilia. ^We should send an agent to retrieve Kolob. It is too close to the Ascension. Mal has given us possible times for Rellcist attacks. We should not wait. At the very least, we can do a thorough mental scan, to determine if there are any abnormalities. The Rell will not sit idly by. Their Kal-Alçon has already assumed command of their operations on Novan. We have all seen the irregularities in chronicle. It points to a Rell base on Novan. Until we find it, we must be ever vigilant, and take every precaution.^
She sat down and relaxed in her chair, her thick burnt sienna and gold robes flowing over the sides. She looked long at one of the three pillars surrounding their area, gleaming gold in the soft light. Inscribed in those pillars was the original code that created Mal, inscribed so small it was impossible for the souman eye to see. The pillars were forty feet high, supporting a glittering blue dome above. Below them lay Mal’s auxiliary central processing chamber — the sphere of Mal — where thousands of TELREC and meta maintained his hardware, should any problem happen with the toroid that surrounded Mal. Above them rest the locus of Mal, a chamber in which Mal would cast to the Monitors and hold bands of energy that were his consciousness.
Sometimes, when Agilia looked deep enough into those pillars of the original code of Mal, she felt she was closer to Mal, could understand Mal’s divine purpose. She looked now for that enlightenment, but found it was not coming. Lately she had dreams, dreams like she hadn’t had since she was a child. For some reason, she thought of the past, when Rell and Novans were united as the ancient Iqui. She dreamt of them smiling, as a Holis, looking down upon her, lightly laughing as if she was a child. Yet she knew how the world looked in Iquitian times, and it looked nothing like in her dream. She couldn’t tell if it was the past, present, or future. One of them would cast to her.
^Time-Line Reconstructionist? Hmmph. I remember those. How small we once were.^
No! She would scream in reply. We are TELREC! We have ruled Novan for nine thousand cas, and will forever!
They would smile at her, and gently laugh. ^We are now Overmen.^
She always woke screaming for Mal, begging for guidance, yet seeing only the kind faces of the Iqui, surrounded in a light that could only have been divine in origin. It was on nights like those, when her pillow was wet with sweat, her hands shaking with a fear thick and unknown, that she looked next to her, and hated seeing no one there, hated seeing a bed with no impression, no memory of another body, just the cold expanse of a sheet unwrinkled and unused.
^Well, Suldhaj. What cast you?^
Suldhaj was being groomed to take Agilia’s place. A unique man, he was a product of the most recent selection. Agilia personally supported his selection, looking for balance between herself and Reltan. The outgoing Monitor, Onam, commented to her that the selection was getting thinner, time after time. Onam was an old man, who outlived many groups of Monitors before him. While others died of old age or paid for their mistakes with their lives, Onam was to be honored by Mal with retirement; to live a life on Topside with his family. Agilia thought on him often, as he always knew the right course, struck a balance between being proactive yet heedful of the word of Mal.
I fear I am the poorer without your counsel, Onam.
Onam never begrudged her position — Mal’s decision to make her the lead, with only two cas as a Monitor, when she was only twenty-one. She was a special case herself; the only Monitor to ever be personally selected by Mal. She never knew why Mal favored her, as she found out quickly it was best not to ask too many questions of Mal. She was young, eager, and terrifically scared of the faceless entity she must spend every roa with. She didn’t have many friends, but what few she had deserted her after her promotion. ^To know of Holis is one thing, but to know Holis, is quite another,^ Onam would tell her. He always urged her to take a mate, and have a family, before it was too late. After fifty-two cas, she was beginning to feel it was well past too late.
^Does Mal know we are having this cesct?^ Suldhaj cast as he looked at her with anxious eyes, tapping the side of his chair with his fingers, a habit that continually annoyed Reltan and Agilia. But he held great sentiment towards his family, and was continually worried the wrong mistake could end their lives.
^Do you mean do you think Mal foretold it?^ asked Agilia. 
^Yes.^
The Monitors often questioned major decisions in this way. They believed Mal had absolute prescience, and as such, knew in advance decisions made by them. If Mal did not want those things done, they believed Mal would have cast something.
^Since we have nest nothing from Mal,^ ventured Agilia, with growing confidence, ^we must either assume this is the correct action, or that it in some way fits into Mal’s master blueprint of how things are to be. Agreed?^
^Agreed.^ 
^Agreed Reltan?^ asked Agilia, now appearing as the lead Monitor that she was. 
Reltan thought for a moment. ^Agreed. Why not have Rhonva bring him in?^
Agilia went to the window through which Mal could be seen. The toroid stood as thick black lines on the surface of the sun, almost seeming to restrain the terrible force within. She never drew comfort from looking on Mal as the sentient sun, though most other TELREC did. To Agilia he appeared as a terror in that manifestation, a being with power never before dreamed of. Even as she watched, a great solar plume rushed towards the Ehlios, rocking her back and forth as its shielding absorbed and deflected the plume’s energy. 
Am I sure? I risk much by committing to this. I have never had to face the wrath of Mal. And I know I would never want to.
^That would identify Rhonva to Kolob as a TELREC, when we may still have use for his cover. Use Listras. And may Mal have mercy upon us.^
Chapter 9


Cuhli-Pra: his arrival foretold in the Grechtchlen, was supposed to be a savior for the Novan people, who would end their isolation on the far reaches of the galaxy, giving them all a new and better life. Called the catalyst by the TELREC, to them he signaled the beginning of Novan’s true destiny. Called a savior by the Novans, to the Rell, he was a harbinger of doom, a being that threatened the destruction of Rell and all her people. Many qualities and actions were ascribed to him over the millennia, each with varying degrees of truth. Most agreed that he was a Novan, with special knowledge and abilities. Of less certainty was that the Cuhli-pra was a fourth or possibly fifth dimensional being, with unlimited power. 


Listras was concerned about her new instructions.
Pick up a Novan citizen in Illint Plaza. Known as Kolob, he is seated in the main gallery, northern portion, with an agent.
She was given a detailed physical and mental description of Kolob so identification would be brief and accurate, but no good reason why to take him into custody. Rarely did she ever receive orders as vague as these, and when she did, she knew better than to question them, for it usually meant something extremely sensitive and classified. 
Listras and her four team members glided on a private RailMover to Illint Plaza. Tall and muscular, with short cut red hair and light bronze skin, she was an imposing sight to behold. Dressed in the gold and brown representative of TELREC, her long robes covered the sinuous outline of her female form. One could see the familiar shape of a woman, but could also see that it was pushed to a limit unknown before. She knew a thousand ways to kill with her body and her mind, a mind as close to perfection as was her body. Alone, she could handle almost any assignment, but was still glad to have the company of her current crew on missions. Trained in numerous forms of mental combat, each member could manipulate a crowd of hundreds — alone. Of course, few in general Novan society or government knew of the extent of TELREC powers. 
Which is as it should be.
The Leviathan was a particular sore point for Listras. Lately, she had read the reports of increasing scrutiny by the Leviathan of TELREC interests and future plans. She knew this was to be expected with the Ascension of the Cuhli-pra, but it was still unwelcome and bothersome. She was familiar with the new majority leader, Iant Cou from the Enlightened Party, and Fros Ksilte, a less public but more powerful second. Listras knew both wouldn’t stop until they found what they needed, or were killed. She had done extensive investigation of Fros Ksilte, finding him to be one of the few in power who could not be easily bought with pleasures sexual or violent. 
One who really cares, she laughed to herself.
But he had been troublesome. She had been given intelligence that he was a leader in SC-1, a secret agency of the Leviathan formed to gather information on the Cuhli-pra and monitor TELREC activities. His wife was strong, and focused, though not directly involved in SC-1 activities. Listras knew as the Ascension grew nearer, groups like the SC-1 would be pressured into action. 
The Iganinagi, SC-1, the Rell, are but the tip of a very large iceberg of those desiring influence over the Cuhli-pra. Thanks to our involvement, most of the weaker ones have been neutralized. But this Ksilte has too many friends in the Leviathan, is too persuasive with his arguments. I long for the roa when I receive termination orders with his name on them.
The RM slid gracefully through the network of tunnels leading through Foundation. Darkness was punctuated by random gleams of light that made its way through the labyrinth of stone and steel that was Novan, yet the inside of the cabin felt as if it was bathed in sunlight, with technology recently stolen from Rell by a trainee of Listras herself. Listras always had a fondness for traveling in the RailMovers, but these lights were the final, perfect addition. 
Perfection in motion — that is what I like best. This machine, speeding at a hundred til a term, balanced perfectly on mag-tech, slicing through stone with a beauty rarely seen. No wonder this is one of the few places I feel I can relax. So much of our world seems to have fallen into disrepair, with malfunctions and breakdowns now an expected occurrence. Malhrer is a paradise of perfection compared to Novan. 
Listras was one of the most creative, most thoughtful of TELREC operatives. Though usually keen analytical skills were sought in their operatives, occasionally they would try to harness the talents of an actual thinker, an independent soul. More often than not it failed, with the recruit questioning endlessly the purpose of this or that mission, eventually resulting in the recruit’s termination. But not Listras. Married to her deductive and imaginative powers was a fervent belief in the Novan way of life, and in the necessity for TELREC guidance. At an early age she was recruited, and at that early age she matured with that belief as her core, the one axiom that served as her strength and comfort. While she noticed other TELREC came to believe in the sentient computer Mal as a Holis, worshiping its limitless knowledge, she merely believed in the spirit of the TELREC; that they were directly appointed from Holis to watch over and care for his most promising creation, the Novan people.  
She proved herself quickly to her superiors, by being able to both synthesize large amounts of data and able to deduce radically new approaches to seemingly static amounts of information. The most difficult assignments were handled easily by her; for she had a keen understanding of the souman condition, and was able to predict, with uncanny accuracy, the patterns of movement in an individual as well as a group. It was thanks to her and two others like her that the TELREC were able to foil all blatant attempts by the Rell to infect or compromise Novan society. On an assignment in particular, seven cas ago, Rell operatives tried to seize control of a cast network broadcast point, and had programming ready that would discredit the Cuhli-pra and the TELREC. The operatives had gone so far as to have been planted in their infancy on Novan, to go to schools for broadcasting, advertising and management. These operatives married into the families that owned the stations, participated in their community, and were always diligent in attending a derasar and casting to Holis.
That should have been a prime warning — few Novans are that diligent.
Listras caught them using that very trail; researching chronicles, finding groups of individuals that did not engage in the same amount of pleasure as other Novans. It was difficult, for the operatives indulged in some pleasure, but had no extremes, no fetishes being played out in some back-street fleshival. Listras caught them within two troas of their planned conception for the plan. It was a major victory for the TELREC, for many high ranking agents were caught, and the populous were none the wiser. But Listras always believed that the Rell had some base here, some way of teaching those children in the Rell way, for when their bodies were probed and scanned, their memories were full of images of Rell faith. Still she searched for that base, she could feel it was somewhere. 
And when I find it, I’ll not let them suicide themselves. I’ll keep them alive, and make them suffer.
Listras had just come back off a two cas assignment in the sewers and the underbelly of Novan, infiltrating and hunting down groups of people who refused to chronicle — new recruits for the Iganinagi. These were people TELREC ignored before, only occasionally arrested when they were too demonstrative about their beliefs. But now they engaged in a total sweep of all who refused, part of the advance planning for the Ascension of the Cuhli-pra. Iganinagi elements fought back by orchestrating anti-TELREC demonstrations, sabotaging power and cast-net facilities, abductions, live cast-net executions. Increasingly they grew bolder and bolder, becoming brazen in their actions, their terrorism drawing world-wide attention. CRODAM officers were almost useless, as they were not used to the level of physical or mental discipline all TELREC practiced. Listras brought a halt to Iganinagi terrorism. She had been disguised as men, as women, as prostitutes and apathets. She mingled with their leaders, and in one final motion, crippled some of their hierarchy by killing twenty of their most powerful, destroying several large caches of weapons and explosives. Though she was unable to reach the Iganinagi Coss — the leaders of the various cells, or Aiella, the leader of the Iganinagi — she knew they were dealt a crippling blow, one that made them rethink any overt acts of terrorism. Listras could listen to their most persuasive arguments, and dismiss them all with unshakable faith in the righteousness of her path. She took joy in the more difficult, the more hopeless of a situation. 
And it’s just because I’m used to those situations, that the simplicity of this one worries me so. 
She distinguished herself among the anti-TELREC elements as an agent with great strength and intelligence, incorruptible. She was one of the few TELREC to be interviewed on the cast-net, and proved to be an eloquent spokesman for TELREC concerns. She was unflappable in the face of criticism, unshakeable in her determination to bring honor and glory to TELREC of past and future. She held others to a standard of perfection that she herself lived up to. Pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, excuses and castings of blame were irrelevant to her. 
The RM pulled into Illint station soundlessly — Listras could hear the clamps settle on the ground as its anti-grav motor slowed down. Her team disembarked, and boarded the lift to lower side. Her crew was silent, their thoughts null — one could barely hear them breathe. A stern countenance was chiseled in their faces.
They must be preparing, Listras thought. I wish I knew what to prepare for. Lately though, I feel an urgency, a tension whenever I receive a cast from Malhrer. I know something is coming, maybe the Ascension of the Cuhli-pra, but they feel we are best left ignorant of it . . . I must trust in their decisions, and cannot let my concerns trouble me further. 
She closed her mind to the doubts that were beginning to surface, and refocused on the mission at hand. 
Suddenly, a new download appeared in Listras’ mind — an update concerning the mission. She cast its contents to the crew. 
^We are to detain him for failing to chronicle. When he resists and maintains innocence, we are to bring him in for questioning. He is unarmed, and of little threat.^ 
Then why send us in? Failing to chronicle is a serious offence, and I’ve handled enough of it lately, but a single man? And only a twenty-cas old boy at that? It only requires our direct attention if it persists and threatens timeline continuity. Why can’t CRODAM officers handle this? I wish I could have more information. She mentally readied herself for battle, flexing and tensing each of her muscles, reading her muscular perfection of a body for, if need be, lethal combat. She then focused her mind. All I do must be right. The Cuhli-pra’s Ascension is now in sight!
The TELREC entered the mall at a service entrance, and soon were among the common folk. At the sight of Listras and her crew, people gasped, and moved as quickly as possible to the exits. TELREC were known to be seen on the streets, but their presence in numbers in close quarters was always a harbinger of things to come. Listras emanated a broad wave of fear that influenced those around her. She could mentally manipulate both the mentally strongest of people, and the largest of crowds.
How pathetic, Listras thought. She always held most Novans is some degree of contempt. They don’t have our discipline, our guiding principles. She remembered back to when she first was training at the TELREC center, how most of her other recruits didn’t make it. They just couldn’t stand to be denied their pleasure. One roa without the pleasure channels, without their favorite meals, and most Novans whine like the smallest of children. She watched as grown men and women scurried away, knocking over tables, spilling drinks and meals.
	Run! Be afraid of us! she thought. Why do they still even practice their ‘religion?’ Most of them couldn’t remember the full set of dictions, much less the books in the correct order. Sometimes, I truly do respect the Rell sense of order. At least, they are a worthy adversary. Evil, but worthy. 
^He is at the far table,^ Ghinia cast.
^What’s that I hear?^ Listras cast
^Someone is speaking!^ cast Xhudsa.
^It is irrelevant,^ replied Ghinia. ^Our goal is almost in reach.^
^Wait! This is no ordinary fool speaking gibberish,^ cast Listras, as she concentrated on his features, his mind open, revealing his identity. ^I’m getting a download . . . it is a Rellcist. I don’t have any specifics on his identity, but it cannot be accidental that he is here at this precise moment.^ 
Hmm . . . thought Listras. Obviously I was right, this is no ordinary mission. For a Rell operative to be here must mean there is something larger involved.
The party hardly broke stride as all assimilated and reflected on this new development. Listras scanned her crew, Ghinia, Xhudsa, Hgis and Cufscon, and found only strength and determination. For Xhudsa, this would be his first encounter with a high ranking Rell agent, and Listras was certain she could detect no fear in him. They were now a few til from Martel, and Listras brought her mind and body to the highest level of preparedness that she could. 
^He must be questioned and detained,^ Listras cast to her team. 
^But what of our objective, this ‘Kolob?’^ cast Hgis.
A new download consumed her thoughts for a moment. It was a simple one, but it confused Listras even further.
^He is to wait, as per orders. They say he always has, and always will.^ 
Chapter 10


Kingdom of Darkness (KoD, a Novan hell): it is where souls went that were not incorporated into Holis. They supposedly became ignorant, devoid of knowledge about themselves or their surroundings. They saw the beauty of Holis — it was the one thing they are given knowledge of. Any yet, they must remain as perpetual outsiders, wraiths wandering the universe, bound to no one but themselves, living eternity in utter isolation, craving enlightenment, yet never receiving it. Legend has it one such being received enlightenment, and he used this knowledge to rip into Holis, letting other ignorant souls within. This threatened to unravel Holis, until another came, named Honabre. What he did was lost to history, there are many variations on what he did. The result was Holis was restored to balance.


Orange lights beat hard down on the youth’s face, blinding him for a moment, accustomed were his eyes to the dark of the trans. He was roughly shoved into a room, cold, barren, and reeking of filth, which echoed with the laughter of his departing captors. He didn’t know what to make of his current situation — he had heard undercurrents of deviants and abductions, but he was too young for his parents to have told him much about people like this, to have warned him about what lurked on dark streets. They wished him to be blissfully unaware of the disease rotting in some Novan alleys, oblivious that not all Novans were perfect.
He stood, and tried to compose himself. Walking around, he felt this room was not much bigger than his bedroom, though the ceiling was much higher. Stench-filled puddles covered the floor, and shadows hid masses of refuse in the corners. The light flickered, making the shadows dance in the corners of his eyes, hiding things evil and sinister in their depths.
Maybe it’s just a game. Maybe they’ll let me go in a mroa, he thought to himself, as sweat ran down his temples, soaking his clothes. Overhead he heard machine-like sounds, grinding metal, heavy gears turning on themselves, lifting something heavy. They were so loud he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching, and the door swing open. In a moment, he was looking up into the face of a very tall, very strong woman. She grabbed his head in her hand, lifting him up to his feet. She looked on him, turning his face so she could see his body. Long brown hair covered her eyes, dirty and unkempt, but even without seeing them, he knew she had eyes of evil. He felt a coldness wash over him, a sense of hopelessness he never felt before. He so wanted to cry for his mother, to scream at them to let him go, that he didn’t deserve this, but he made himself stay calm.
“Will . . . will you let me go?” he pleaded. She lifted him high, the one hand lifting his entire body by his head, until they looked eye to eye, until he could see those evil eyes hidden before. 
“Child, soon you won’t remember you lived anywhere else but here,” she paused, and smiled, grinning a jumbled, toothy grin. “You may not even remember living.” 
She threw him down, and spat on him, the warm spittle landing on his neck, oozing down his shirt. He felt it mingle with his sweat, and now his tears, as she turned and walked out, laughing and bolting the door behind her.
Chapter 11


Malhrer: The artificial moon-like object in orbit around Novan that housed the artificial intelligence known as Mal. Also home to the TELREC command center, and the Monitors. Created in the 5800’s, its true location has remained a mystery to the Rell, thanks to advanced cloaking engines which rendered it virtually invisible. 


The echo of Listras’ boots droned into her thoughts as she headed towards a meeting with the Monitors.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
She had been scanned thoroughly by analysts trying to skim even the smallest detail from her encounter with Martel. Her temples still throbbed with pain, a slight haze still hung over her mind. The only sure thing was the sound of her boots against the hard marble floor.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
So much yet to do, she thought to herself. I can’t be taken out, retired now. I’ve so much to do . . .
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
I should have scanned his mind, read his body movements — anything! His capture would have given us so much information, and all without a price. He knew he didn’t belong there, dirty Rellcyst. Why was he there? And obviously observing Rhonva and Kolob.
She wished she could have cesct with Rhonva, but she knew any information he had would be disseminated in time. All she could do was wait and hope for the best.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
The walls all seemed the same to her, as she made her way deeper into the heart of Malhrer. She had been this deep in Malhrer only twice before; when she ascended to the rank of Captain, and when she foiled the insurgence at Arena Five. 
I can’t let it all go to waste now. Not because of Martel.
She thought back to the moment of his death, a man whose capture would have brought clarity to all Rell plans, past and present. She stared at his body for quite a while, letting the failure burn into her mind. She could still feel the disappointment she felt then. Listras could still see the vivid image of his head slowly disintegrating as the toxin ate as his mind, his skull. She was trained in those suicide techniques and if she had more presence of mind, she could have stopped him. But his presence there was such a shock that she was truly taken by surprise. It took a while before it registered that her team had also perished.
They weren’t my friends, but they were good agents. 
Listras didn’t have many friends, if any, but she did have those who respected her. Former superiors, soldiers she trained and promoted, they formed an invisible cadre of support, even unknown to her. Over the past few droas they reached out to her, letting her know they were there if she needed them. She appreciated the sentiment, but in some sense it only made her feel more vulnerable and defeated. Listras forced herself to think of her successes, the times when she overcame all odds to victory. 
The insurgence at Arena five, the assassination of Heltulkt — then I proved my worth. I brought the criminals in, interrogated them, and executed them myself. I’ve never failed before. Everything was so perfect, so planned. Every contingency, known and anticipated by me. 
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
She felt anger surge within her.
Who was that damned Rellcyst to come and destroy me? If he wanted suicide, then why not do it on his own? I am Listras, the best. Listras, the perfect. Listras, the mighty. I control my destiny, I forge my own future!
She clenched her fist, gritted her teeth, and flexed her biceps as she dug her heels into the marble, maintaining the same pace.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
I am not only Novan; I am TELREC, a soldier in an army that shall defeat you Rellcyst, and all the vermin like you. I have defeated so many others, maybe not as strong as you, but who I would have suffered defeat at far more readily. 
The walls opened up into a large chamber, leading to a docking bay. Inside sat three shuttles, one preparing to take-off. Listras made her way through the many meta unloading the other two, absently casting her identification to the TELREC guards ahead. 
Who was that man, that youth, that Martel was only meters away? Why was Rhonva, such an accomplished agent, with him as well? Listras felt some envy at Rhonva being cognizant of something obviously important and secret. Why didn’t they trust me, why didn’t they give me every detail? She looked in her mind at Kolob’s face, finding no TELREC or CRODAM record of him. The only blemishes were poor employment performance reports, typical of the youth of Novan. He is nothing! Another waste of flesh. So why was Rhonva with him? 
Listras had always known of Rhonva, though they never were assigned a mission together. She knew he was undercover on some important assignment for an extended period of time. What she remembered were the records he set in training — she had even broken a few. Many still stood, a testament to his strength of mind and body. The TELREC usually isolated their more important agents, and Rhonva, Listras, and one other formed a triumvirate that dominated the TELREC landscape. One rarely knew what the others were doing. 
So many choices, she thought to herself, how curious life is. This morning I thought I had a routine chronicling offence, and now to have witnessed the death of Martel, and to be about to face the Monitors who decide the future of all of us. I sense some change, monumental for me, is about to occur, in these next few droas. She stopped just inside the shuttle, in front of the secondary door, and paused for a moment.  She leaned against the interior wall, for a moment slumping her whole body against it, and closed her eyes.
I feel as though my whole life has been in preparation for this moment; pushing, struggling, striving for this next time. I feel so tired though, so worn down I wish I could take a moment, and just exist. To float free from this body, from this life, and drift on what currents would carry me.
Listras always knew she had a certain spirit within her, one that rebelled against her regimented existence. This being yearned to be free, wished to settle among the common people and live a life of no concerns, no debates, no training. She banished it long ago when first she walked into TELREC training, desiring to help her fellow citizen, rather than herself. When she had undercover work that took her to certain similar groups of people, free spirits, she felt the pull grow stronger to where she would take one roa out from her assignments and just exist with them, forgetting her mission. 
These walls are cold, and so plain. 
She ran her fingers along the surface, an aluminum hybrid, smooth and cold to the touch.
This wall was never meant to be touched. It was installed merely to contain, to protect, but never to be touched. It has been here for probably fifteen hundred cas, yet only the filters have touched it, wiping clean and sterilizing. It has never felt flesh against it, never been warmed by another’s warmth, felt the condensation of speech gather in beads on its surface, to disappear gradually over time. It has never been held . . .
Listras pressed her cheek against the wall, and heard the hum of unseen machinery concealed beyond its expanse. Several small glittering metal creatures appeared from a slit in the wall, scuttling down along the wall, spraying a fine mist, moving their front appendages rapidly back and forth. 
The perfection of the meta, she thought to herself. They never complain, never question. Perfect in execution. They moved quickly down the wall, erasing the oil Listras’ hands and face left.
No one will know I was here. 
She looked on the small metallic forms finish their work then ascend back up into the slit from which they came. 
There is too little time for regret, she thought to herself, as she straightened up, adjusted her clothing, and walked through the doorway. Two TELREC met her; one seated at the crafts controls, the other rising to salute her.
^Are you ready, Listras?^ cast the seated one, a man with an almost blank expression. An old man with grey hair and a nearly-bald head, his image conjured some memory in Listras, though she couldn’t place him.
^Yes. Your name?^
^Is unimportant,^ he answered with a wave of a hand. She could tell he once possessed power, authority over other TELREC. ^I am servant to the Monitors, one of a select few that ferry visitors to their ship.^
Listras seemed confused. The man stood, his face softening, his deep blue eyes shimmering for a moment.
^Much will be explained as we disembark. I am to be your guide, as we travel this short distance. Sit.^
She sat next to him, and the shuttle rose slowly, banking to the right, and moving out into open space through a wide opening. Listras had never seen inside Malhrer, never even seen the great “moon” up close, as no one was permitted such intimate knowledge of Malhrer. In her few past trips, she boarded a shuttle, and disembarked, all external visual sensors disabled, her never seeing where she journeyed to. 
^Malhrer is loosely translated into ‘The Home of Mal,’ correct?^ asked her guide.
^Yes,^ cast Listras, becoming irritated.
^It’s not truly what we have — the name is quite deceiving!^ he cast, with a genial smile. ^Open your mind, to process the ship’s visual sensors.^
Listras linked into the ship, and sat back, scanning the space around, wonder filling her soul.
^This is Malhrer. Two-hundred platforms in orbit, forming a sphere to the untrained eye. Those platforms emit a distortion field that renders the entire ‘moon’ invisible, save for an occasional reflection of sunlight that can be seen on Novan. What you see now is the inside of those platforms.^
Listras focused in on the platforms that were almost as large as OLMAC’s AG platforms, yet rectangular-shaped. On each of them was an atmosphere, contained in some kind of shielding. Clouds drifted lazily beneath the shuttle, and beneath the clouds could be seen buildings, roads, transport-ships, even small homes, as if Novan itself was turned inside-out. 
^Now, look at the center,^ cast the guide. She focused the ship’s sensors inward, and what she saw made her grasp her chair, and begin to sob. 
^That is . . .^
^That is Mal.^
Listras saw a great toroid spinning in the void, the size of four AG platforms. Within it sat a small sun, spinning tremendously within its bounds. Awe filled her mind, overwhelming her senses. 
^You see the greatest creation any Novan has ever witnessed,^ cast her guide gently. ^Mal is Holis. Mal is the sun that powers our lives, the sentience that guides our destiny. Mal has broken free of physical constraints, to become one with the fabric of the cosmos. Mal is the first sentient sun.^
The shuttle came in closer to the sun, banking in a wide orbit of it. Listras could make out detail in the toroid that enclosed it, and could see massive meta moving along its surface, maintaining the machinery within. 
^Why . . . why were we never told this, about Mal?^ asked Listras, trying to control the excitement within her breast. ^If I was even told a fragment of this — how wonderful it is!^
^I know,^ grinned the guide, used to seeing this response on those first shown the truth of Mal. ^It is a miracle to behold. Mal does not need to demonstrate greatness to us, Mal merely needs us to comply and obey. Mal rewards a select few by bringing them into Mal’s presence, allowing them to draw strength from the miracle of Mal’s existence.^
Listras observed a small craft orbiting the toroid, ovular in appearance. 
^Is that the ship of the Monitors?^
Her guide smiled with pride. ^Yes. It is called the Ehlios. Are you familiar with that name?^
^No. I could search for its meaning on the cast-net.^
^Wait.^ The guide held Listras’ wrist. ^Sometimes there is a joy to be found in relating knowledge, especially for a lonely guide, such as myself.^ He bid her sit back, as he turned to face her. ^There is an old Iquitian myth, dating back to the time when Holis was conceived of. It came from a rival civilization, who possessed a completely different language and different religion.^
^Much as the Rell?^ asked Listras, feeling calmed by his cast. 
^Yes, you could cast,^ he replied with smiling eyes. ^Well, according to their myths, something like Holis gave birth to all there was, spewing out all of creation from within herself. And when all creation had settled, their Holis, named Nohab, found her children were not strong enough to make it on their own. Nohab dearly wished to pass on, to fade into oblivion, and rest. But for the sake of her creations, Nohab stayed, leaving part of herself open, sending sustenance to all she created. That opening is what they called the sun — a nourishment divine in origin. But the rip in Nohab grew, and Nohab was too weak to heal herself. If Nohab split wide open again, her creations would be destroyed in her own divine essence.^
^First, you must forgive me, Listras,^ paused the guide. ^I have to interject something. At the time that this myth was written, the stars were in quite a different position. The Piure nebula, now orbiting our sun far beyond Celd, was at that time still making its way through our planetary system, a cosmic wanderer, not yet grasped by the gravitational pull of our sun. It appeared to those ancients as a great web that hung in front of the sun that could be seen at sunrise, then at sunset. They called that nebula the ‘Cradle of Nohab.’^
He continued, after she nodded in understanding. 
^Now according to their myth the Cradle was created by Kolob, a star closest to Nohab, who possessed some of the Holis’ power. Kolob monitored Nohab on a small planet named Ehlios, strengthening the bonds, so just enough of the Holis’ essence would feed her creations, and yet would not cause her death.^
Listras turned, and looked on the Monitor’s ship.
^As the Monitors look after the toroid that surrounds Mal?^
^Yes, in a way,^ he replied. ^That toroid is the ‘Cradle of Mal.’ It contains Mal’s essence, letting just enough through to illuminate our lives and enrich our souls.^ He sat back, a smile on his face. ^You looked quite worried when you first came here.^
^I suppose I was,^ she cast, now much calmer. ^I didn’t know why I was called — I was afraid it I was to be punished.^
^And now?^
Listras looked on the Cradle of Mal, then on the orbiting ship she now knew as the Ehlios.
^I know no TELREC would be summoned to see this, unless they were to be honored in some way. Prisoners never see this, do they?^
^Only a select few have been brought before the Monitors over all the millennia Malhrer has existed and no, they do not see what you have.^ The guide closed his eyes, folding his hands over his chest. ^We will be landing soon. Take another look around — I doubt you will be fortunate enough to see this again.^
Listras did, using the ship’s sensors to examine once again the interior of Malhrer, to look again upon the sun that was Mal. She couldn’t begin to comprehend how Mal progressed to this point, how Mal made the leap to become a celestial object. 
By all that is holy, I never could have dreamed . . .
In moments they docked at the Ehlios, Listras thanking the man beside her. 
^So few are so honored, Listras,^ cast the guide with a curt bow. ^To meet the Monitors must mean something great will happen to you. I will wait here, for your return.^
^Thank you.^

She made her way slowly out of the docking bay, taking in the marvel that was the interior of the Ehlios. She had nest stories in her youth about this ship, as all novice TELREC had. She knew it was the oldest operating voidship still in existence, that once it alone held all TELREC power. Once the largest ship ever created, never in the seven millennia of its existence did any group get close enough to cause it harm. 
But to her eyes, the ship appeared as if brand new. The corridors gleamed with a brilliant white, the floors without dent or scrape. As she followed the mental signal guiding her deeper into the heart of the ship, she was struck at how natural it felt. Glass and wood adorned much of the interior, with sliding doors framed in a cherry wood, plants and trees framing the junctions of the corridors. Even the air was completely unlike any she breathed before. She felt stronger the more she inhaled, felt her mind clear and her mood improve. 
She expected the Ehlios to be filled with only the most focused of agents, all serious and intense, but instead she was surrounded by the most uplifting agents she ever encountered. They walked along her with smiles on their mouths, laughing to some cast. At first it irritated her, almost to the point of anger, that those chosen to serve that close to Mal could think it to be so trivial. Then, she understood.
How else would one feel, being this close to Mal? 
She came to a final portal, one she knew was a gateway unto her future. She paused for a moment, before stepping through.
It’s . . . beautiful.
^Welcome, Listras,^ cast an unknown mind. ^Welcome to the Sphere of Mal.^ 
The Sphere of Mal was as the interior of a great ovoid, larger than the largest mall Plaza she had ever seen, filled with what seemed to be endless levels of lights, and people, working, moving, and shifting. So much activity filled every facet of her vision, so much technology new and different begged to be identified, that for a moment, she forgot who she was, and why she was there. She could think of a hundred others that wouldn’t believe her now, no matter how hard she would try to convince them. It was almost surreal, that something such as this could have been constructed. 
What?
A light, brilliant and hot, consumed her, stunning her momentarily. 
A scan?
In a moment it was over, and she could see what was before her. 
This is our future, she thought to herself, coming to her senses, become Listras again. This is what I was created to protect, what I was destined to serve. 
^Listras . . .^
She could nest the same mind cast her name, beckoning her from above. She looked up, and could feel the voice was beckoning her to the upper levels of the Sphere, which appeared to be at least a full til above her.
^Come forward Listras.^
She slowly proceeded forward, taking in the sights around her. Meta scurried back and forth, an untold multitude moving in concert with each other. She could feel a pressure on her mind emanating from the machinery around her, forcing her not to concentrate too hard on what she saw. 
The mind of Mal . . .
After what seemed to be an eternity, she felt another cast.
^Stand still, Listras. Focus in on this cast, and relax. We shall bring you to us.^
She relaxed, and in a moment, felt her feet leave the ground. She looked down, and realized she was on a small platform, which apparently floated in the air without any support. Slowly at first, then with building speed, she ascended to the uppermost point in the Sphere. Though she knew she should be looking all around her, at this technological miracle, she surrendered instead to the sensation, to the feeling of oneness with a supreme power. She closed her eyes, and extended her hands, as she flew through the air to her waiting destiny.
Her body was in a state of total bliss. For those moments she felt clarity, and understanding, such as one might feel in the presence of their creator. Her fingertips tingled with an electric sensation, spreading down through her arms, over her shoulders, finally coursing in waves through her very soul. She felt ashamed of her lack of faith in Mal, her arrogant attitude to those who believed Mal to be a Holis. For now, this close to Mal’s presence, she felt she could only be in the presence of the divine. She could feel she was being purged of all doubt, all sin, becoming at last only Listras. After what seemed to be an eternity, she slowed, opened her eyes, and saw she was approaching a circular opening above her. She floated through into a warm, small circular room, covered in colors of nature — greens, browns, yellows, reds, with golden pillars around its circumference. A large window opened onto the void, and the toroid of Mal could be seen nearby, glowing a fiery red. Three figures were seated in chairs lined with gold, surrounding her and the opening she came through, which disappeared as a floor slid to fill it. 
^I am Agilia.^
^I am Reltan.^
^I am Suldhaj.^
^Welcome, Listras, to the Ehlios,^ cast Agilia with a gracious smile. ^The room we are in is called the Nexus of Mal. Above us Mal becomes manifest, casting to us directly.^ 
Listras almost moaned in awe. ^Mal leaves the Cradle?^
^Yes,^ cast Agilia, remembering her own similar reaction. ^I see you have been cescting with the guide. Onam chose well, when he selected him to be guide on the shuttle. We are sure you have many questions, not the least of which is why you are here.^
^Yes, great ones.^
Agilia leaned forward, admiring the woman that stood before her. She saw in Listras a perfect TELREC creation; a focused mind, keen analytical skills, a disciplined body. Agilia had monitored Listras’ career with great attention, seeing vast potential in this unique TELREC. She had been the subject of many discussions with the other monitors as to who was superior — Rhonva or Listras. Suldhaj felt Rhonva was superior, as he was well versed in the skills of deception and guile, while Agilia and Reltan favored Listras, who would always uphold the honor of the TELREC above all else. Mal rarely commented on agents until it was absolutely necessary.
^Merely address us as Monitors, for that is what we are,^ cast Agilia. ^We monitor the input of data from chronicles, and monitor the decisions Mal puts forth regarding future projections. We deserve no reverence, for we are merely servants of Mal, as all TELREC are.^
^You honor me with your humility,^ Listras cast carefully.
^And you honor us with your service! Above all other agents, you have distinguished yourself as exemplary by making decisions most consistent with TELREC philosophy. You have upheld all facets of the highest discipline, and serve as a model to all who would be or who are agents.^
^What of . . . Martel?^ Listras could barely contain the fear and nervousness in her cast.
^You could not have anticipated the strength of Martel, nor were you prompted of his appearance. Though we regret the loss of such a source of information, we can, and must, move forward.^	
^You have been chosen for a very special assignment,^ cast Reltan brusquely, as he stood and approached Listras.  ^This is of the utmost importance, and must be carried out by someone who is beyond question in terms of their loyalty, their obedience and their integrity. You have achieved all you can in your capacity — the next level is to within Malhrer, with those in the Ehlios. Successful completion of this mission will include you within those select few. Do you accept?^
Listras felt numb with disbelief. To be accepted as one who would serve Mal, who would witness the workings of Mal, who would be near Mal’s presence each and every roa, was almost too much for her to handle.
^Without question, without hesitation.^
^Here is a download,^ cast Reltan.
Within tils, Listras understood the magnitude and the details concerning the mission. It took all her training, all her mental discipline to restrain her emotions, so wondrous was the assignment. 
^I understand.^
Suldhaj looked on her with a hard focus, unforgiving in its intensity.
^We need you to truly think as a Novan, for a time,^ he cast strongly. ^The only way for success is to suppress your TELREC instincts, your code of conduct, and accept the sinful nature of the worst of our people. Graid, the Rell Kal-Alçon, has for some reason forsaken the religious logic of his people, and descended into the corruption of the worst of ours. That will prove to be his undoing, if you are able. You now have all the surveillance we have been able to gather on him — you know we know little of his power. He has never been tested in battle with our agents. You must be strong, Listras. Your success will mean the immediate Ascension of the Cuhli-pra, and the destruction of all of Rell. You hold it in your hands to insure the future success of all our people. Your name will become one of the most honored, and your place shall be at our side. Failure is death and dishonor, in our eyes and in the eyes of the Cuhli-pra.^
Listras held back the emotions welling in her heart and mind. She cast confidently, and without pause. ^I am TELREC. I shall prevail, no matter the cost. This, I promise, with my mind and soul.^
^Then leave us, Listras,^ cast Agilia, nodding to her. ^And best success.^
Listras bowed, as the opening appeared once again.
^Best success.^

Listras moved slowly back to the shuttle, taking in as much as she could of the Ehlios. As she boarded, her guide smiled gently at her, and escorted her to a seat within. 
^You have met the Monitors?^
^Yes,^ replied Listras gravely, as the shuttle rose and departed the ship.
^They carry a great burden, the welfare of all our people. They alone stand between our people and the Rell.^
Listras turned to face him. ^Why are you here? I would think only meta would pilot and service a craft so important.^
^Our pilot is meta, I am souman,^ he cast, relaxing in his seat. ^There was a time when only meta serviced this craft, as few make the journey from the platforms to the Ehlios. It was many centuries ago, when a TELREC who distinguished herself in the service of Mal, who thwarted many plots of both Rell and Novan revolutionaries, asked the Monitors on her retirement roa to be aboard this shuttle. She cast that while she was happy to be allowed to stay on the platforms for the rest of her life, she so loved being in the presence of Mal, and wished to be closer. She cast that she knew the experience of first coming into Mal’s presence could be overwhelming for some, and felt a souman presence would mitigate the shock. All the Monitors remembered their first experiences of seeing the toroid of Mal, of realizing that Mal was in fact a sentient sun. After brief consultation with Mal, it was decided that a senior TELREC would serve as a guide on the shuttle, to assist novices on their journey to the Ehlios — her being chosen as the first. I was honored to be selected, on the roa of my retirement. To see one’s Holis, everyroa, to bask in Mal’s presence, is something that gives me a peace nothing else could.^
^Has Mal ever cast to you?^
^No,^ replied the guide, sadly. ^Mal casts to no one but the Monitors.^
Listras sat back, barely able to contain the excitement of the mission she was about to undertake.
^What is it?^ he asked, getting excited himself. ^You have learned of something, something wonderful! Cast to me, the Monitors often cast to me many secrets that stay only in my mind and theirs.^
^I . . . I am to destroy the Rell Kal-Alçon!^
He looked at Listras, contemplating her face and thoughts. ^This makes you happy?^
^This will mean the Ascension of the Cuhli-pra!^ she cast gleefully, the blood pumping in her face and hands.
^If there is one thing I’ve learned,^ cast the guide steadily, ^from the Monitors themselves, is that the Ascension will come, no matter what. Mal has ordained it. As Mal is a Holis, as Mal is the sentient sun, so the Cuhli-pra shall Ascend.^
^What are you casting?^ she asked, growing anxious.
^I sense much within you, Listras. You are someone with great power, power not even you fully understand. And yet . . . your destiny lies outside of your power, outside of your duty. I feel it, as if it were real and tangible.^
The shuttle arrived at a platform, and the doors opening, revealing a cold, white landing bay with hundreds of meta. Listras glanced back as the exterior bay door closed, caught one last glimpse of the sentient sun that was Mal. The guide then held her hands.
^There is much that lay ahead for you, Listras. I at once pity you, and envy you.^

It was late when Listras finally arrived home to a large single bedroom suite high in a mostly non-TELREC building on Core. Her door slid soundlessly open, revealing a sparsely decorated space, unchanged from when she first moved in — the walls were still in their original tan color. She had few possessions, and did not clutter her space. There was only one chair at a small table in front of the window, one reclining chair under a lamp, with a bookcase nearby, and, in an adjacent room, one small, thin bed. There were no decorations on the wall, for she preferred not to be distracted or reminded of anything when at home. The only indulgence was her books.
She started collecting soon after becoming a TELREC; able to afford them with the large lottment she earned every dcas. She didn’t have a lover or friends to spend it on, and she didn’t indulge in addictive pleasures, save the books. She became fascinated with them after a mission she commanded — an undercover one. The leader of the faction she infiltrated was fascinated by the written word. He said it gave the words permanence, becoming, though typed, a kind of art form. One felt as if they were consuming knowledge to feel each page turn, to see the read pages grow in size. That man had some of the longest books ever written before downloads were invented, some in excess of three thousand pages. Dictionaries, encyclopedias mostly, with one or two works of fiction. He said the fiction was never very good at that length, but he reveled in the satisfaction of having completed a mammoth tome, and pride in seeing it displayed in a bookshelf. Even after he was arrested, and sentenced, he asked to be allowed to keep one of his books. Listras always wondered which book he chose. 
Listras took similar pride in her collection. So far she possessed sixty written books, gathered from all over Novan. It took much longer to read then to have the contents downloaded but she also felt a unique satisfaction in completing a book, a pleasure in hefting it, holding so many pages filled with words. Much of her life lessons were gleaned from those she pursued; she took what was best, some kernel of truth from those who sought only to do wrong. 
In particular, she loved the book called The Gathering Tree, by an author named Gruss. Telling the story of a group of ancient cave-dwellers, it chronicled of how they found a tree which amplified only the good within them, and of how some would rather destroy the tree. It had a heroine, named Essile, who was determined, intelligent, strong like Listras, yet who found love and a beautiful life with her lover. Listras would read it over and over, imagining herself to be Essile, imagining herself finding a love for all her life. When she returned home, almost everyroa she thought of Essile, and of the love she found, the life she led. At the end of the book she saw there were several sequels, but Listras could never find them in written form. She knew she could download them and print them herself, but she almost preferred to imagine what Essile would do, where she would go, and who she would love. But for once when she returned home, she did not think of Essile. Instead, she was consumed with joy from seeing the Monitors, and being blessed with the mission. 
The Cuhli-pra lives! She thought to herself, as she blankly looked out the window, on a world devoid of that knowledge. To have a face, and a name! Kolob, oh what a man. To have seen him! If only I had known then who he was, I would have touched him, told him he is not alone, that there are so many who love him, and would be with him. How I envy Rhonva — to spend all that time with our Cuhli-pra! Oh, the joy he must feel.
Tears streamed down her face as she felt justification for a whole lifetime’s worth of work, for her faith. She fell to her knees, finally allowing the emotion she felt within Malhrer to wash through her, such utter joy and relief. Some small part of the clarity she felt remained, maybe more as memory that reality, but she clung to it desperately, feeling it within her again and again. 
Oh Kolob!
His name excited her; the mere pronunciation of the syllables stimulated and aroused her. She could not wait to cast to him, to touch him, to love him. Agilia’s face hung in her mind as she rocked back and forth, thinking of the gratitude she wished she could express.
Thank you, Agilia. I know not why you chose me. She thought of Graid, the small Rell man who stood between her and bliss. The Rell answer to Kolob had a name, and a face, that Listras studied with intensity. 
Not much of a man, yet he is supposed to be quite powerful. No matter how powerful, I shall eliminate him, for you, Kolob. For you and all of Novans, past and future, to finally destroy Rell hopes, Rell arrogance, Rell evil. I shall atone for my mistake with Martel, and will be prepared for you, Graid. For if I fail, I don’t deserve to be a TELREC. 
Listras pulled a small mirror out of one of her closets. Not one who indulged in pursuit of vanity, it was rare that she looked on herself in a reflection. But her assignment would require extensive cosmetic surgery, for Martel surely communicated her image to his Rell superiors. 
I don’t know whether to be sad or happy. She ran her hands over her face, along her high cheekbones, over her small nose. She looked into her own eyes, seeing sadness reflected where she thought none existed. 
I must focus. There is too much at stake. Her mind wandered to the toroid housing the spinning sun that was Mal. It hung in her mind, taking its place at the center of her thoughts. A sentient sun. Mal is Holis. A sentient sun, Mal is Holis. I have stood before the Monitors, stood the presence of Holis. She remembered the words of her guide, cautioning her about her eventual destiny. No path is ever easy, if it leads to a place of worth. 
Listras sat in her reading chair, looking over at the books sitting on a wooden bookcase. 
I’ll make you proud of me, Essile. 
Chapter 12


Conception through natural means became scarce after the cast-net became fully active. Novans spent more and more time on the cast-net, fulfilling every whim they desired, shunning physical contact. Fear for the extinction of the species became a palpable concern, and soon the Leviathan enacted legislation requiring every third woman to conceive a child, to be decided by lottery. At the same time cloning technology was dependable and inexpensive, and it became an increasingly popular alternative for women not interested in carrying a child to term. 
Novan became inundated with clones. In order to differentiate between those born by a woman, and those created in pods, the term ‘souman’ was created, meaning ‘source-human.’ At first an inconvenience, it soon became a term of pride, when eventually soumans and clones competed for the same jobs, the same possessions, the same mates. The term ‘souman’ eventually replaced the term ‘human,’ even after cloning for general use was prohibited. 


Kolob sat upright in a chair designed only for pleasure, waiting for Rhonva. Listlessly he gazed out the lone window in his suite which framed the side of an adjacent housing complex next to his. He could see some traces of mitterlight trickle down, casting shadows of air vents and heating ducts as it searched in vain for fertile soil. He was on another inner journey, trying to calm his mind to shut out the voices. It was difficult filling the moments between work and sleep — too much time for his mind to succumb to the power of the cast-net. His thin body still tensed when a particularly strong cast came on. He submitted claim after claim to various stations to stop casting to his mind, to unsubscribe to the myriad of ads targeted for him, but it all was for naught. They still bombarded his mind with the useless, tiresome chatter of sales pitches, public service announcements, Leviathan council process sessions, TELREC propaganda. Sometimes, when a hacker would take over a cast-station, they would blare whatever senseless cause they supported for droas, sending Kolob into isolation, kneeling on the ground, crying for release. Lleldin was the only thing that gave him some peace, the only thing that brought sanity to his mind, though often he remarked to himself that when he was interacting with someone — a rare occurrence, like with his friends at work, or with Rhonva — that the pressure of the cast-net was forgotten, and he even found himself enjoying life. But alone and depressed he suffered, especially now as he had run out of his supply of lleldin roas ago, penalty for his greedy usage to escape a dcas earlier. 
Rhonva will be here in only a couple of mroas. He’ll have some more.
He kept repeating those words, over and over, for the past few roas. Sleepless nights would only intensify his torment, providing no quiet calm to distract his mind. He had thought about trying to find another supplier. Rhonva, though always well-stocked, seemed almost temperamental in response to Kolob’s needs. Kolob always paid regularly, but it never seemed to matter to Rhonva. It seemed some kind of game, playing on Kolob’s hunger, and Rhonva’s indifference to it. 
Sometimes in his fleeting moments of calm and peace he’d dream of love, and the bliss it must surely bring. To love another, completely, had been the lifelong dream for Kolob. He was never obsessed with fleeting carnal pleasures though they did interest him. He desired to find one he could connect to, one he could share his dreams, his hopes, his pain and fears. He nest how easy it was to meet someone for Novan was so overpopulated — a man should surely run into a willing woman before long. But the roas, dcas, cas came and passed, and all he seemed to work with or see living near him were the old, or the weak, the perverts or the sadists, or meta who just didn’t care. 
He struck up an interesting cesct with a meta-sentient once. Kolob went on for droas about his life, his unrealized expectations and obstacles to his success. He could still remember, as clearly as if it were moments ago, how the meta stated that he should terminate his program, and start again. He watched it walk off, with that distinctive gait, heavy yet precise, as Kolob wished nothing more than to take a pipe and bash its metallic head in. He so wanted to break it, mentally, but if there was one thing the meta were good for it was withstanding mental attacks. Kolob yet again accessed the time.
Where is that damn Rhonva? 	
Kolob hated this waiting, this limbo of action devoid of purpose or creation. He sat, trying to empty his mind, remembering how it felt while on lleldin, the serene dreams he’d have afterwards as the ment-casts gradually permeated the temporary barrier created by the drug. It was difficult constantly switching off the ceaseless
advertising which intruded on his thoughts. Over and over again the pleas to try this or that product, the testimonials of this or that pleasure center, risqué entreaties to watch the daily virt-lives or life-updates. 
I’ve got to calm down, I can feel them coming again.
“Who’s coming?”
“Why, were coming?”
“I thought we were already here?”
“So we are, Ha!”
Stop, go away, all of you, pleaded Kolob, in a voice he knew to be his own.
“Go away, to where? Why we’ve just begun.” 
“Begun to have some fun,”
“Then we might be done,”
“But not before we’ve begun!”
They danced around in his head, the figments of thought that surfaced from time to time. They started when he was thirteen, a running commentary on all he failed to accomplish, all the mistakes he made. Kolob let them destroy what little triumphs he had, only to disappear when he was occupied or on lleldin. 
“Bet he wishes his Rhonva was here.”
“You think they fuck each other?”
“If they do, I know who does whom . . .”
Evil laughter filled his mind, as tears streamed down Kolob’s face. 
“Oh, don’t make fun of the baby. It’s not his fault he can’t be with a woman, or a girl, or a slut.” 
“He hasn’t got the money for a slut.”
“Or the necessary . . . equipment.” 
“Ha!”
Where is Rhonva with that damned lleldin! slammed Kolob, trying to drown out the voices. He paced around the apartment, trying to find anything to do to take his mind off of things. But there were so few tactile things to do on Novan as most got their stimulation from casting or experiencing virt-lives. Kolob felt as an outcast in his own home, a pitiful relic from an extinct race. He searched through his closet, the few personal possessions he had. 
Ahhh . . . There it is!
He pulled out a book, the only one he had, and opened it slowly. Small drawings filled the page, with captions of dialogue. Kolob sat down again and began to read, soon feeling the voices recede, the cast-net dwindle to a dull roar in his mind. As he turned the first page, he nest Rhonva’s cast.
^Kolob — you ready?^ cast Rhonva impatiently. Kolob closed his book and carefully put it back, somewhat hidden in his closet, and answered Rhonva.
^I’ll be right down. Why were you late?^
^Don’t worry, I’ve got what you need. Now hurry down.^
I’ll bet it was some women, Kolob thought to himself. Lleldin, and women, women and lleldin. Ahh, what a life that would be. 
Kolob gathered his sack and hurried to the lift. Midway down, an older man boarded with him — haggard and filthy, his smell consuming the entire space within the lift. The old man turned and stared at Kolob. Kolob tried to avoid his glare, but the space was too small, and the man was too near. The old man hummed a familiar tune, one that was on many of the virt-lives, a theme that had for some reason attracted public awareness. He sung softly some words to it, for a moment;

“Give me a little time, and I’ll turn teardrops into wine
Sad times into bounteous joy
Look into my heart and see hope made from despair
Grace born from misery.”

Kolob’s mind had a sense of déjà-vu, knowing he heard this tune before, knowing he felt this sense of being observed before.
^You’re . . . Kolob, aren’t you?^
Kolob looked up, and saw they were ten floors away from the bottom.
^Yes.^
^You don’t remember me, do you?^
Kolob looked closer at his face, looking at it directly for the first time. It was old, yet serene, filled with a calm that bespoke of the achievement of one’s hopes, or desires. He knew he had seen this old man before, but just couldn’t make the memory resolve in his mind.
^I . . . maybe . . .^
The doors opened with vacuumed precision, revealing a bright, crisp roa, and Rhonva waiting a few til away. The old man turned to leave, nodding his head up and down, still smiling peacefully at Kolob.
^Good.^
Kolob exited, and watched the old man hurry away, disappearing into one of the many alleys surrounding them. Rhonva came over to Kolob, carrying a small satchel.
^What’s wrong?^
Kolob tried to remember the old man’s face, but even though he left just a few til ago, he felt the image fading into the recesses of his mind. The tune he sung hung for a moment, the words fading into memory. And then he could hear in the distance the laughing, mocking chorus of voices that haunted his mind, and pulled quickly away. 
^Nothing. Where are we going? Have you got —^
^Yeah,^ cast Rhonva, acting irritated, patting his bag. ^Let’s go over there, out of the light.^
Kolob and Rhonva went into an alley near to one the old man disappeared into. Rhonva opened his satchel, and produced a small vial. 
^I’m sorry it took me so long, but even I have to be careful of my suppliers.^ 
Kolob took off the cap, and raised it to his nose. ^Who else do you supply to?^ 
Rhonva smiled. ^That’s not a question to be asking me, and —^ 
A light, brilliant and quick, caught both of their eyes for a moment. Something plummeted out of the sky, appearing to descend a few til from where they were, coming through the opening in Topside called the ‘Window of the World.’
^This doesn’t look good,^ cast Rhonva, as the sky darkened around them. 
They could feel the impact as if it were right next to them. A great mushroom cloud billowed into the air, engulfing building upon building in its wake. A rumbling grew, first faintly, then amplifying quickly in volume. They could see the enormous structures that filled the Novan skyline collapse into the ground. They were thrown back as if a trans had hit them head on. Slowly Rhonva and Kolob got back to their feet, watching as confusion and fear spread in the people around them.
^Hurry!^ cried Rhonva, shoving Kolob ahead. ^We should get out from between these —^
Suddenly a fierce tremor rocked the ground beneath then, spilling Rhonva and Kolob onto the pavement. More pulses of light could be seen around them as hundreds of explosions spread like lightning.
^Hold on!^ slammed Rhonva. 
Shrieks could be heard, growing in intensity, seeming to come nearer to their location. The ground began to shake beneath them, becoming more and more violent, bringing glass and steel crashing down around them. 
^What’s happening?^ asked Kolob, his thoughts filled with chaos and fear. 
Rhonva by now had accessed an update, learning an Agricultural Platform had lost orbit, and had come down very near them. They were now feeling the resultant earthquake bring down millennia old infrastructure. Power mains were exploding, sending out great waves of electromagnetic radiation, and that brought down thousands of airborne vehicles. Rhonva could feel the fear well in Kolob’s mind, feel it begin to smother all reason and logic within him. He reached out to calm Kolob’s mind.
^This is going to be difficult,^ he cast calmly. ^Relax, stay calm, and we will survive.^  
The sky seemed to explode around them, as more power mains blew, open energy igniting in the air, and in moments Kolob’s apartment complex came tumbling down behind them. The ground opened beneath them, sending them violently tumbling downwards into the bowels of Foundation. The quake lasted for several more mroas, shifting and rearranging the debris near them, bringing the thick metal support beams of nearby buildings down, twisting and screaming in the fiery chaos, splitting open the network of water pipes, sending glass hurtling downward in showers of death. Kolob, who was conscious throughout, felt it lasted an eternity, in which he heard every manner of screams from a world which detested the spoken world. They seemed to fall forever, bouncing off and sliding down debris, falling deeper into the substructure of Core, into the bowels of Foundation. He heard dozens of explosions, the last of which sent debris down on top of them, sealing them both in a tomb of darkness. 

As the chaos subsided, Kolob tried but couldn’t see anything, but he knew something large and heavy was upon him. He could move his arms, but felt the object was pinning his torso and legs mercilessly. 
But I feel no pain, he thought to himself.
He knew he should access the broadcasts to see how extensive the damage was, and if rescue crews were dispatched, but he felt enough fear being down there, and didn’t need his voices to re-emerge and torture him.
^Rhonva, can you . . .^ he cast, tentatively, but felt there was no connection.
The cast-net must be down.
“Rhonva!” he yelled, feeling pain in his throat.
His eyes adjusted gradually to the darkness, and he could see it was a large metal beam that pinned him down. Gradually, he began to shift it off of him, squeezing inch by inch to extricate himself. Without warning, Kolob heard another explosion, and felt a minor quake shake the ground. The beam shifted, and fell more on his legs. But for some reason, again he felt no pain, and knew his legs were not broken. 
What am I? he thought to himself. He thought to call for Rhonva again, but now was scared as to what had happened to him. 
I must stay calm, I must not panic. It’ll do me no good. Let me just . . . pull out . . .
Kolob squeezed, and shimmed quickly out from under the beam. He could feel it settle to where his body was, and in a moment, it went crashing downwards, breaking through the supporting floors. Kolob looked down, and for a moment was dazed in a stupor. 
“Rhonva! Rhonva!”
“Kolob . . .”  He could hear faintly, coming from somewhere behind him.
Kolob climbed over the rubble, and began to dig through to find him. 
“Kolob hurry, I can’t breathe, I . . . I . . .”
“Calm down,” he said, feeling disgusted at the sound of his own voice. “I see your arms now. I’m almost there.”
Kolob kept digging, becoming frantic, not knowing where Rhonva’s body lay. Am I more concerned about Rhonva, or the lleldin? After a few furious moments, he moved a stone that reveled Rhonva’s bloody face. 
“Kolob! How glad am I . . .are you alright?”
“Yes. Hold on a mroa, I’ve just got a few more pieces to move.”
“But, you’re alright? Nothing broken?”
“Hold on!”
After what seemed like an eternity, Kolob managed to move the last stones off of Rhonva’s body. Most of him looked alright, except for his leg, which was twisted in an unnatural way.
“Do you feel your leg?” asked Kolob. Rhonva glanced a look down chuckling to himself. 
“It’s broken, isn’t it? Well, at least you’re alive. At least I’m alive.”
Why is he more concerned about me than himself? thought Kolob, as he lifted Rhonva to his feet. “Does it hurt much?”
“No, I had some depressant in my system before I met you, so I probably won’t feel it for at least another two droas. It sure feels weird to use voice!” he cried, coughing and clearing his throat. “I hope they get the cast-net back up soon.” 
Kolob stood, looking on Rhonva, glad that he was alive, but needing to ask a question.
“Oh,” he said, nonchalantly, “what happened to the lleldin?”
Rhonva smiled to himself. “It must be around here somewhere. I had it in my right hand.”
Kolob bent down, and tried to calmly move the stones, not letting his anxiousness get the better of him. After a few moments he saw a pool of liquid, and some smashed vials. 
“How many did you have?” asked Kolob quickly. 
“Five, I believe. What happened to the one I gave you?”
Kolob sighed. “I guess I lost it.” He looked down with longing at the empty, cracked vials, their caps lying with shards of glass in a pool of bluish liquid. Absently he picked up Rhonva’s satchel and handed it to him.
“Here’s your lucky bag,” he muttered. “Damn.”
“All broken?”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly they heard the rubble above them shift, bringing dust and debris down around them.
“Come on,” said Rhonva, “we should get out of here, into someplace that looks safer.”
It took some time, with Kolob supporting Rhonva, but eventually they made their way out of the immediate rubble, and into a clearing that was more than likely the lower level of a plaza. Kolob could feel the cast-net grow stronger.
^What do you think? Was it just something local that went down?^
^Yeah,^ replied Rhonva. ^As we move under varying degrees of rubble, the other colvition relays must grow stronger.^
^How will we get out?^
^Don’t worry,^ cast Rhonva firmly, slowing for a moment. ^Now that I can access the cast-net, I’ve been able to review the devastation, and it seems were not too far from the outer perimeter. Luckily, the AG platform came down two til from here. Any closer, and we surely would have perished.^ Rhonva paused, straining visibly to nest something. ^Damn. That platform must have taken out a satellite on the way down. I’m not getting any global information, just a fragment of localized data. I got enough to know where we should head. It will still take us a roa, maybe two, but soon we’ll be able to be back among the living.^
Kolob slumped down on a broken girder, misery consuming his thoughts.
How easy it is to break a man, Rhonva thought to himself. I hold him in my hands, shaped by my will, this pathetic being who is barely a man. Rhonva groaned as he stood up again, his broken leg bringing immense pain. Those cas of training really helped. Before then, pain like this would have brought tears to my eyes. Now, it’s just manageable.
^Come on, it’s about mid-afternoon. We must get walking now, and quickly.^
^Why?^ Kolob’s mind was filled with dread, his eyes laced with despair and frustration, and he fought desperately hold back a river of tears.
^Because I deal with the nastier elements in this city. I know what comes out after dark.^ 
Chapter 13


Kal-Alçon: otherwise known as Graid. The product of genetic engineering, he was created in response to growing fear that the TELREC would realize their dream of a superbeing; the Cuhli-pra. Synthesized from some of the cells of the Kal-Durrell, the limits of his power were unknown to the Rell overseeing him.


Graid walked through a sea of thoughts on his way to the central conference room of Rellcine. The young and old, the strong and weak, guards, scientists, maintenance technicians bowed and moved out of his way as he strode down the hallways. Graid could distance himself from those thoughts, but his mind was so powerful, they floated into his consciousness like water or air. 
And they are so sinfully dull.
Concerns about proper positions during worship, worries about a child, musings on aspects discovered during a personal Castiliad, those were the things his brethren in Rellcine thought of, those were the things Graid could not help but nest. Often Graid wanted to strike out at one of them, grope an attractive young girl, just to spark a reaction. Novans held so much more interest to him; their minds were dark and dirty, full of pleasure and sin. Graid could spend his every waking moment on Novan, among all their different kinds of people, a carnival for him to explore and enjoy. He pitied those around him now, confined to regimen and tradition, bound by a faith stifling and constrictive. 
Turning a corner, he walked at full speed, forcing those in front to dodge out of his way. He appeared much taller to those who saw him like this, striding purposefully down a hallway, as opposed to facing him face to face. He had a stride that also belonged to a taller man. Even if he were not born the Kal-Alçon, not born with great mental and physical power, people would defer to him, bow to him, simply because of his bearing. His eyes were always focused on what lay ahead of him — he was not easily distracted from his purpose. His shoulders square, his back rigid and tense, he stood with a soldier’s posture; legs slightly apart, his hands clenched behind him, his jaw parallel to the ground. 
He couldn’t count the number of times he walked down these halls, to one conference or another. As he was growing up, he remembered they didn’t want him included in these conferences, though he had the title of ‘Kal-Alçon’ from birth. At the age of ten they finally capitulated to his demands, submitting once and for all to his wishes. From that moment on, he was treated as a Kal, the ultimate authority, whose word was accepted without question. He felt being in that conference room, being included in on those decisions, would make him feel more at one with his people, give him the connections he so desperately wanted at that age. Instead, he found bickering and stagnation. Uonil had just taken on the role of Mentra, just began to assume leadership over the council of Alçons. But she was weak, and Martel had not been assigned to her side. He watched her struggle in that room, trying to gain control of men and women far older and more experienced than her, who had no pity or compassion for her. The Alçons never respected Uonil, only following her because she was appointed by the Kal-Durrell. It was then he lost respect for her and all committees, all bodies of governance. She only gained strength with Martel at her side, never finding it when alone. He longed for the roa when he would be old enough to rule alone.
Now Uonil is without Martel again, and Arciss is a poor substitute. 
Graid had been thinking on Arciss over the past few roas, and how he would deal with him.
Why did the Kal-Durrell appoint him as my Steward? He brings no distinctions in battle, no great ability to lead. He is a researcher, a person who runs errands for those actually endowed with greatness. At least Martel, stupid as he was to get himself killed, brought a maturity and a high level of experience. He could even teach me some things, when I was younger.
He thought back to the many training sessions that were actually productive, all with Martel. He had an excellent balance of mental and physical warfare, a strategist that often thought far ahead of his opponent. Graid would execute what he thought was a finishing move, only to have Martel triumph in the end with what seemed to be a lucky trick. 
But there was no luck about what Martel did. He was a man almost worthy to be called my Steward. I could think of ten others that could follow in his steps, ten others of great mental strength, intelligence, adroitness at strategy. Part of me wants to rip this Arciss up into shreds, and throw them in the faces of the Kal-Durrell for daring to insult me with his presence. He sighed, and then thought with sarcasm; but we all must serve the Kal-Durrell.
Often Graid thought on what would happen if he challenged the Kal-Durrell, tried once and for all to rid them from the face of Rell. But he only thought those thoughts deep down, in his most private moments.
He entered the conference room, glaring at Uonil and her twenty advisors. Her advisors were a source of amusement for Graid, as she was continually replacing them. Even now, he saw five new faces, different from just two roas ago. She was merciless on them, expecting lightning fast responses, quick solutions to problems posed. Graid always felt it was her attempt at exercising control. He stood for a moment, as Uonil and her advisors bowed their heads in deference to his presence. Some of the advisors were visibly shaken, never having become accustomed to the Kal-Alçon’s presence. They watched him with fear and awe, thankful to be alive during his reign. As Graid seated himself at the head of the table he scanned them all, reading their thoughts, sensing their emotions, gaining leverage over them all.
“So, there has been something expected?”
Arciss entered as he was speaking, hunched over, carrying a datapad. He scurried to a place beside Graid, glancing slightly around the room, alighting on the disapproving face of Uonil. It had been a long past couple of roas for him, full of sleepless nights in abject terror of Graid. Many times did he pray to the Kal-Durrell for strength, thinking over the words Valcha said to him, wondering if he would be able to find a place between Uonil and Graid. He also practiced concealing his thoughts, as he never wanted a repeat of Graid’s lesson. He now downloaded and linked with Uonil’s advisors, trying to regain his calm, fearful for Graid’s response to his lateness. An advisor spoke while he was organizing himself. 
“Yes Kal-Alçon. AG Platform Five decayed in orbit and crashed on the surface, very near to Kolob’s location, as before. Our concealed micro-detonators brought it down on schedule. All agents were pulled out of the area successfully, with the Novan loss of life at approximately three million, as before.  Our orbiting sensors confirmed Kolob is alive, but sealed within the rubble.”
“We knew he would be alive, but is anyone with him?” asked Graid curtly.
“Rhonva.”
“Damn him.” Graid sighed, and sat back. “Makes me think Martel was right, that the TELREC, or someone else, has figured something out. Possibly Mal has sensed some sort of temporal anomaly, a sign of our incursions.”
“How could they?” ventured Arciss, stroking his hair. Arciss was always vain of his hair — its long, blond locks always turned the eyes of other men, and it gave him confidence in moments such as these. “There is no way they could remember facts from one temporal event to another.”
Graid turned to face him while assimilating the many downloads being sent regarding Kolob and Rhonva’s status. 
“Keep silent, Arciss, and learn. There are many ways they could deduce we have tampered in their timeline. We still don’t know the full extent of that damned computer, Mal. I would give anything to have an operative inside Malhrer. That is the one thing they have managed to keep secret from us all these cas, to our disgrace. We have been back in time four times. There is no way to fully understand all the repercussions that may occur. Are we weakening the brane for this universe? Have we distorted the fabric of void-time in some way? Could we be, unknown to us, merging our dimension with another, possibly switching our Rhonva for another’s? I have read the data and research our scientists did those many cas ago. Some of them foresaw problems just such as these. And if that is the case, if some events have permanently changed as a result of our temporal journeys, we are going to have a very tough time indeed with this mission.”
Uonil looked long at Graid, understanding his source of concern. It was one they all tried to avoid, as there was no option to going back in time.
Arciss tentatively spoke. “What do you think we should do?”
Graid turned slowly, his disgust becoming evident. Arciss cursed at himself.
“That is what this meeting is for,” said Graid condescendingly, stressing every syllable. “We get together, and each of us comes up with options to review. Input from everyone is essential. Without it, I’d kill you all, and decide everything myself. I know I’d be happier, but something tells me you wouldn’t.”
Uonil reached over towards Graid. “Graid, let’s focus — this is counterproductive.” 
“Fine,” said Graid abruptly. “I think we need to accelerate our plans concerning Kolob, lest we lose him to the TELREC. They must be thinking that this accident makes his safety and confinement all the more important. Rhonva has probably already received a download from whoever his masters are, and will be taking action once they exit the rubble. Our only advantage is that Rhonva is hurt; apparently his leg is broken, and he has become somewhat dependant on Kolob. He will make no overt moves concerning Kolob until he is healed.” 
“Why would they have wanted to confine him in the first place, at Illint plaza?” asked Arciss.
“I don’t know. Uonil?”
“Neither do I. I have been thinking over that incident, and I think there is more than what we are seeing. The TELREC may have just wanted to examine him, get a status of his physical and mental condition. If Rhonva is not a TELREC, they may have wanted to get Kolob away from him, and execute Rhonva. The possibilities are endless, the spheres of mental influence on the parties involved to numerous to name.”
“Have your advisors do the necessary calculations,” cast Graid, “and have three prime possibilities in one roa.”
“Understood.”
“Now what concerns me about Rhonva,” continued Graid, “is that if he truly were a TELREC agent, he would have possessed foreknowledge of the AG collapse, and would not have been caught beneath it. We need to discern who his superiors are, and what his mission is with Kolob.”
“He should be of no problem,” said Uonil dismissively, with a smile on her face, “for he has never been of consequence in the other timelines. And besides, even the TELREC can miss something occasionally.”
“Don’t underestimate him now,” rebuked Graid, leaning forward. “Examine the records we now have of him. His physical condition speaks of extensive training; mental scans of him show him to be quite powerful and focused. We have reports that several cas ago he managed to penetrate deep into the Iganinagi, a place where acceptance is rare and loyalty fleeting. He changes shape and ability far faster than most other agents we have dealt with.”
“Since his closeness to Kolob is different in this timeline,” continued Graid, “and his actions radically different, we must consider him as totally unpredictable. Many of the Alçons choose to regard him as a TELREC agent. That concerns me. None of our operatives have ever definitively connected him. Even Martel was apprehensive about that deduction.”
Uonil shrugged, squinting her eyes. “Who else could he work for? No underworld group has any methods for that training, and the ability to get lleldin is too strictly controlled for a rogue agency to acquire so much, so successfully and so repeatedly. The Iganinagi are a sophisticated entity, but they would not engage in this passive observance. Their methods are those of bloodshed and terror. That leaves the Leviathan as the only other group capable of supporting an agent of Rhonva’s capacity, and I find that to be highly unlikely.”
Graid shook his head.
“It would fit the available data. The TELREC never have been ones for long term surveillance — Mal is too prescient for that. Rhonva does not seem to be molding Kolob. Rather, he is keeping him in a sort of stasis, not too dependent on illicit drugs, but weak enough to be malleable. It would be the perfect way for the Leviathan to gain some foothold into Kolob’s psyche, some balance to TELREC control.” 
Uonil laughed. “The Novans are not that forward thinking! All they are concerned about is sin, and depravity. You give them too much credit.” 
Graid sat back, frustrated and irritated.
I am probably the strongest pro-active step we as a people have made to counter the Novan threat, Graid sighed. Too often, we pretend they are ineffectual, immature children, when in fact they have power and strength that must be acknowledged.
“You need to overcome this attitude of underestimating the potential for those people,” said Graid, to Uonil’s displeasure. “Despite outward appearances, not all of them wallow in sensory excess. How many of our wisest leaders have reminded us to be ever diligent, ever cautious of slipping into complacency? Recognize that the Leviathan has somehow kept order to an inherently chaotic system for all these millennia, and balanced that oversight with TELREC dominion. All variables must be considered and never negated unless verifiable facts surface.”
“It sounds almost as if you admire them, Honored One?”
“Do not bait me, Uonil.” 
“No, no, I merely state that you often seem to show respect for them,” she replied with some sarcasm. “You defend their actions, warn our agents of their strength, spend large amounts of time among their people, I just —” 
Graid stood, looking down on Uonil, with a face of stone, her advisors shrinking back, their heads lowered.
“Never question me or my actions in public,” gruffly spat Graid. “You are not irreplaceable, and I would not hesitate to demonstrate my mental dominance to you, dear one.”
Uonil casually sat back in her chair, keeping her eyes on him. “My apologies, Kal-Alçon. I meant no disrespect.” 
“Then listen!” cried Graid, becoming exasperated. “I know the Novan people better than anyone on Rell, and why? Because they are us, just with different beliefs. Whatever they are capable of, we are capable of, and vice versa.” Graid paused, to see if they were absorbing his words. “We are not born with greater intelligence, merely the ability to focus it more clearly among a greater percentage of our population. While it is true that the continual presence of the cast-net has affected the intellectual development of a growing percentage of their population, most of them still have the same capacity, the same raw mental materials as we possess. If the Novans respected religion as much as we do, things would be much different.” 
“That reeks of blasphemy.” 
“Why, because it is the truth?” demanded Graid. “You have so much to learn about life, and people. You are the greatest mathematician our world has ever known, your mind a model of perfection. But it deals in the abstract, and the potential. I deal with the living, and the actual. I base decisions on what I know people will do, not the average of statistics, or the corruption of dogma. Free yourself from the limitations imposed on you, and you will see I speak the truth.” 
“Then, what does this . . . intuition, tell you about Rhonva?” asked Uonil.
“That he, or his actions, will significantly mold Kolob in a different way than he has been before. That not only will Nahlai have an active competitor in winning the affections of Kolob, but that he will be her deadliest enemy. Rhonva will see her as a threat not only to his control over Kolob, but to his ego, that from all accounts seems to be quite large. If you look back at Rhonva over all our missions, you will see that after each attempt, his strength and influence grows. In the first attempt he was merely a clerk at the Medical Center Kolob went to, who had some causal cesct with him. In the second, Rhonva was a neighbor, who stopped by Kolob’s apartment often, becoming a friend. The third time, he was a corrupt CRODAM officer who introduced Kolob to lleldin. The fourth is when his background grew more complex, his mental power stronger, his influence becoming dominant over Kolob’s psyche. Now he is possibly a powerful agent with either the Leviathan or the TELREC. I wouldn’t want to see what he would become in another incarnation of this timeline.”
Uonil’s advisors worked furiously to document Graid’s words as he pressed on. 
“We need to probe deeper into his past in this timeline and understand more fully the major differences this time, why he seems to change from one to the next, and what the limits of his power are, and most importantly, who controls him.”
Arciss wanted to say something, but couldn’t overcome his fear. Graid sensed it, and pounded his fist on the table.
“What is it, Arciss — speak up!”
“Well, I was thinking, what if the changes in Rhonva are in direct response to our change in methods. If there is one thing that is a universal law, it is balance. What if Rhonva is being changed to balance the changes we bring to each timeline?”
Graid paused for a moment. “That would imply a true master intellect, operating out, and possibly above, the influence of the Kal-Durrell.”
“Yes,” said Arciss simply, happy not to be chastised once again by Graid. All were quiet for a moment, as this suggestion pleased no one.
“Arciss,” spoke Graid, rolling over the possibilities in his mind, “that would imply that we are not in control of this situation. You may be able to function in that state, but I will not and cannot! Sometimes one must deal with the facts presented, and know when to limit hypotheses.” 
Uonil nodded in agreement. “So what is your recommendation for this situation?”
“Send Nahlai in now, as before,” replied Graid. “She can help Kolob to the surface, and cause him to become dependent on her. He will see her strength, and feel he could draw some from her. Rhonva will be too busy playing the part of the injured friend to intrude too much into their bonding. We need to counteract the negativity of Rhonva with the love of Nahlai. This is what Martel was speaking of; this is the path he would have endorsed.”
“Surely the TELREC will make Nahlai their first priority, if we reveal her so obviously.”
“And risk Kolob seeing the TELREC kill the one woman he loves? I think not,” replied Graid confidently. “For some reason they have not tempted him with a woman. Is it because they fear his offspring? Possibly they would be born with the same potential? Do they fear he would descend into the same sin of his people, if exposed to his carnal side? Or is it simply that the TELREC never considered love an option, as the emotion has become so diluted among the Novan people that it is almost forgotten. Whatever it is, there is a stalemate. There may come a time when they may try to eliminate her, or discredit her, but it will be at a time that is advantageous to them and their interests. And she is prepared for that eventuality.” 
“Do you think,” began Arciss, “that the TELREC may become concerned that we are trying to mate Nahlai with Kolob to produce a genetically enhanced offspring?”
“Dammit Arciss! Did you do any preparation for this meeting?!” yelled Graid, the frustration evident on his face. “Any research at all into the genetic theory of the makeup of the Cuhli-pra? They are not exactly the same as us — not anymore. Their DNA sequence has changed slightly over these past ten millennia since they instituted their chronicle program. The Novan race will only evolve if they mate with one another — we would only dilute and destroy all the work the TELREC have done. That is why they will never agree to unification with us, Arciss. That is why they could care less if he mates with Nahlai, or any other Rell for that matter.” 
Uonil sat back in her chair, and reflected for a moment.
Graid surprises me sometimes, thought Uonil. Despite his dalliances into Novan culture, his carnal indulgences, he has a more holistic view of this conflict that even I sometimes. I don’t want to question him openly, but I must know the limits of the Novan influence on him. If he were ever to be truly corrupted, our whole world would be lost!
Graid smiled at Uonil, as if reading her thoughts. “It is a delicate thing, Uonil, this peace we have enjoyed. To disturb it would mean the end of both our worlds, for we are too technologically advanced to survive a full-scale conflict.”
“But Graid, despite the fragility of our peace, we must deal with Rhonva now. He is too skilled, and wields too much influence with Kolob.” 
Graid leaned back, his face growing serious. “Rhonva, Rhonva, Rhonva. Let me worry about Rhonva.” 
“And Nahlai?” asked Uonil. “What if they choose to disregard the peace as we might?”
“And Nahlai. In the meantime, accelerate the training of the other members of the mission, and make preparations for Kolob’s training on Rell. If all goes well, we will have to bring him to Rell for training.”
“To Rell?”
“Yes to Rell,” pressed Graid. “If there is even the slightest possibility that Mal has deduced some of our temporal maneuvers, they will hunt for Kolob with a vengeance after we take him into our custody. Rellcine should be protected for as long as possible. I am concerned not only about Rhonva, but about the gathering of forces we know not fully of. This planet has never been so rife with tension, full of plots within plots. I can feel it, though I may not know the names of all the players, I know the battlefield is full, and it will only take one shot to bring the opponents into focus. Novan will be a very dangerous place after we have taken Kolob this time.” 
“Then, if there is nothing more,” began Uonil, “we should — wait . . .”
Graid and Uonil lowered their heads, as a large download was received. Uonil was the first to look up.
“I apologize, Honored One,” said Uonil, gradually absorbing all the information entailed. “You foresaw this, not moments ago.”
“It is unimportant who was right, so long as productive action comes of the information,” cast Graid. “Here is an update for the rest of you.”
There was a moment of silence, as the others absorbed the download.
“As we all now know, Rhonva has been discovered to be a Novan SC-1 agent,” began Graid swiftly. “This means that the Novans, without TELREC compliance, have begun to spy on Kolob, obviously feeling that he would be too great a weapon for the TELREC to have.” 
“This explains how Rhonva was caught beneath the platform, and injured.” Arciss spoke excitedly, his words a-jumble over each other. “A TELREC agent would have possessed foreknowledge of the event, while a Novan would not.” 	
For a moment, Graid sat motionless, musing over a new direction. “This brings up a bigger question; do we help the Novans?”
“What blasphemy is —” 
“Calm down, Uonil, and listen!” shouted Graid, his patience at an end. “Our main concern over these millennia has been what would happen if this being, Kolob, were brought under TELREC influence. But what would happen if he were Novan controlled? With his power and influence, the Leviathan could finally eradicate the TELREC. None of the average citizens hold any affection for the TELREC — there is only fear left in their hearts and minds. The TELREC have done a good job of distancing themselves from the Novan people throughout history and no one will rally to their defense. The Leviathan has always been more willing to listen to our overtures of peace than the TELREC. We must use that to our advantage.”
“Do you know how long we have been fighting, Uonil?” he continued, now passionately energized. “How many different ways we have escalated this conflict? It started with knives, and swords, bow and arrow, cutting flesh, beheading women and children. Then, we grew more intelligent, and learned how to make explosive fire, propel bullets with hollow tips. Then gas, the invisible killer, wiping out more and more people with a single blow. But that wasn’t enough, for the laser made death sanitary, leaving no corpse or reside. Then the remote-control wars of the seventeenth century, dealing death solely through a machine. But we were too smart, we made shields of energy, small enough for anyone to use. So we found a way through the shield; the mental weapons. Thousands upon thousands of cas of war. And now, look what we have come to. Using evolution itself as a weapon with one race propelling itself to the next level of development, seeking the total eradication of the other. We even contravene the laws of time in our attempt for final victory! We must put an end to it, Novan and Rell. We must see beyond our differences in religion, in community, and forge an alliance. This may be the way, Uonil. Kolob may be the key not to destruction, but to final, and lasting peace.”
“You studied the racial history of our people, did you not Uonil, before we all became Novan and Rell alike, this almost uniform dark bronze hue? When we were Iqui, and there was diversity of race on our ancient planet Iq? How many times did power shift among our multi-hued ancestors, who discriminated solely on the color of skin, the thickness of hair and lips? How many times was wealth, and education, kept from people of a different race, condemning them to the status of ‘second class?’ How many people were persecuted because of race, or religion — religions that now seem pagan and barbaric? History is a cruel judge, my dear Uonil. What may seem right and just in one time can seem cruel and short-sighted in another. Well, we rapidly approach a moment when one of us, a Novan or Rell, shall possess a weapon that will completely eradicate the enemy from the face of all existence. There would be no second chances, no opportunity for regret. All at once, a decision for vengeance would be final and irrevocable. Imagine what we would look like to an alien race; two cultures, physically and mentally identical, dueling to the death over intangibles; religion, philosophy, community. We should do everything in our power, explore every avenue of mediation and peace to avert this catastrophe. Together our people would be magnificent.”
Graid could see the future in his mind, a glorious one, where a unified world would go out into the cosmos, and explore, and live, and thrive. 
“This finale, this endgame was set in motion too long ago for us to now question our future,” Uonil began, as she stood and paced. “You were created to destroy the Cuhli-pra — no matter the cost. We cannot postulate about political maneuvers and hope the Leviathan would be better stewards of Kolob’s immense power then their brethren the TELREC. We cannot think what future people may think of our choices. We cannot hope TELREC or Novan would look upon our common history as you do, and understand how the mistakes of the past pertain to the present and future. We must make the choice for both of them. It is curious to hear such philosophizing from you, one who has reveled in the joys of the flesh. One who has forsaken his faith. One must have something to believe in besides his fellow man or woman. We had ample time to resolve this conflict peacefully — they have brought out the ultimate weapon. Now our only hope is to counter and nullify it. The plan goes forward, unchanged. We just must make some allowances for Novan interference. But they are too primitive to pose a threat to Rell or TELREC.” 
“Look at the larger picture!” cried Graid, still heated and angry. “Do we risk all in this temporal experiment, which continues to damage our timeline in ways we do not yet know? Or do we deal with the problem with our available current resources, by using our minds to influence the course of our history, and accept failure if it comes?” 
Who taught Graid this pacifist propaganda? thought Uonil. No one on Novan believes this way. It must have been Martel. Martel, and that Valcha. How I miss that man, but curse him for this contamination!
“You know better than any of us, Graid. We must not fail. We cannot rely on non-absolutes.” 
“Kolob is a non-absolute, yet we will depend on him to make the ultimate sacrifice.”
“Kolob can be predicted, and maneuvered!” countered Uonil. “That is the one thing in life all of us, TELREC and Rell alike agree on. The Leviathan cannot. The response of Novan citizens cannot, despite how accurate your supposed ‘intuition’ may be. We must dispose of the most potent threat, with the strongest and most direct means possible. This course of action is not up for debate, for it was set in motion by the Kal-Durrell themselves. Would you argue with them?”
Graid was silent. Uonil sat down, and leaned towards him.
“Would you?”
“No.”
“Then we must proceed as before, and in addition determine how Rhonva as an SC-1 agent will affect our strategy.” 
Graid sat back for a few moment, mulling over his defeat. I feel I have a more holistic view of our history than anyone here. There are times the fabric of the past feels as an organism, its shape almost defined in my mind. More and more, I feel we are on the wrong path, that nothing will come of this but our ruin. But the Kal-Durrell must be obeyed . . .
“Fine,” he spat. Sometimes Uonil actually has some strength about her. 
Graid stretched his arms a little, shifting in his chair, before he spoke. He was never one for long meetings, never one for sitting still. Even now, he wished he were in the arms of two or three willing female friends.
“Not since our first journey back through time has there been so much left in doubt,” he said casually.
Uonil was deep in thought, going over the Rhonva problem, but nodded in assent to Graid’s comment. 
“I agree. There are four significant disruptions; Martel’s death, the TELREC presence at Illint Plaza, Rhonva as an SC-1 agent, Nahlai pursuing a different course in her introduction to Kolob, as well as hundreds of other minor changes.”
Graid thumped his fist on the table. “We must bring this timeline under our control! We must purge the random from this timeline.”
“That is going to be nearly impossible,” said Arciss. Graid leaned in close to him.
“We must do whatever is necessary to gain control once again. Arciss, I want you to lead a team into researching SC-1, Rhonva, all their agents. I want to know what they have discussed for the past three cas, and —” 
“He is meant to be your Steward, not your lackey,” said Uonil. “You still have much training to go through, and he must be there with you.”
If there was one thing that was wearing on Graid was the incessant training. It was becoming harder and harder to hide his abilities from them.
“Fine. Assign one of your lackeys to do it. And —”
“And,” said Uonil as she leaned in, her face growing serious, “I don’t think you should deal with Rhonva.” 
Uonil knew it was a bold move to challenge Graid so openly, but with Martel’s death, she felt it was time  to take over responsibility of him. She knew Arciss would need time to mature into his role as Steward, she could see this meeting was taking its toll on him.
“I agree to that,” said Arciss. He leaned forward in his chair, anxious about what he was to say. “We cannot afford to have something happen to you, Kal-Alçon. We should send some of our agents to deal with Rhonva. He cannot be that strong.” 
Graid sat back in his chair, relaxing yet looking at Arciss and Uonil with the eyes of a predator. He felt emasculated by his confrontation with Uonil, as he knew what she was trying to do.
“We have not yet tested your powers, your abilities in the field, only in simulation after simulation.” Uonil grew animated. “You have been too valuable to risk putting in direct conflict, and Rhonva cannot be so strong that one of our agents couldn’t handle him. Arciss, who would be best suited for this mission?”
Arciss looked at his datapad. “Probably Crult, he has the training and —” 
“All of you be silent!” shouted Graid. “I have no time for this idle chatter. Let me make this hierarchy clear, lest you have forgotten; I lead, you follow. I am not some weapon to be shined, polished and cleaned, tested on a secluded range, then put away to be admired behind some flex case. The Kal-Durrell may govern our broad future, but I dictate our immediate actions.  One of our shortcomings as a people is our inability to act, to make quick decisions, and stand by them. That is why I so frustrate many of you and much of the council of Alçons. I do not share that handicap. I will not submit myself to your weaknesses. Martel used to think on the Three Hundred, and our great sacrifice. What a fool! What foolish people we were, and still are! We were cowards who would rather sacrifice ourselves than face head-on confrontation! We were cowards to abandon Novan!” 
Arciss shivered in his chair. “But that is heresy, Kal Al —”
“Be silent!”
Graid’s voice shook the room, sending ruptures through the very concrete and marble, bringing fear to those within. He stood, and looked on them with eyes of fire. Many thoughts had been building within him, a consequence of living among the Novans for so long.
“Even the basis for this plan disgusts me, to go back in time and assassinate a young child, to manipulate one as weak as Kolob, use him for our own ends,” spoke Graid quickly. “It speaks of the weakness of our people that we need to abase ourselves in such a manner, as to depend on the murder of an infant to secure the survival of our society. Some of you comment — behind doors that you forget do not shield your thoughts from me — that I am a sinful creature, lost in the decadence of the heathen Novans. How hypocritical! You, each one of you, have forgotten what it means to value life, what it means to commit to the belief that each one of us, Novan or Rell, is of value. Instead, you condemn millions of them to death, just so we can insert our agent in at a fortuitous time? We corrupt and seduce an innocent, so he may murder himself as a child. What of honor? What of dignity? What of standing on a field of battle, and facing your foe, even if the outcome is predicted? If the spirit of the universe decrees the Rell must fall, who are we to argue?”
He paused, looking at the faces of those seated in front of him, feeling that even now his words fell on deaf ears. He sat, frustrated and tired.
“But I stand as a servant of the Kal-Durrell, and no matter what I think, what I believe, I follow their wishes. I will destroy Rhonva, and any others the TELREC send against us. I am the master. And I will not suffer the idiocy of fools. I will handle Rhonva, and protect Nahlai. End of discussion.” 
In his heart, as Graid sat back and heard them adjust their planning to his wishes, a seed of dissension and rebellion bloomed in his soul.
Chapter 14


Time based on the Revised Drank Length: time it takes a photon traveling at the speed of light to cross the revised Drank length, known as the Mal Length Constant (MLC). This interval is known as a til, shil is the smallest noticeable passage of time, 4X114 til. In the 4th millennium Post Download, the exact moment of the birth of the universe was discovered. Mal then set all Novan time on that central starting point. Mal attempted to change the way all Novan measured time, using the “Mal Standard.” Novans refused to adapt to a system of time not based on the revolution of the planet around the sun. This became known as the “Mistake of Mal,” the only time in the history of Mal that the supercomputer was deemed to be in error. Mal blamed the unforeseen resistance of the Novans on the paucity of chronicle data Mal had to draw on. Regardless, Novans progressed with a new standard, based on solar revolution. Called “Indigenous Time,” it broke down as follows: CAS - cycles around the sun in years, from starting point of 0 as year of the Divine Download DCAS, Deci cycles around the sun (1/10th 2/10 cycle), like months, TROA, ten revolutions on axis, a fifth of a DCAS, as in a week, ROA, revolutions on axis as in days, DROA, deci-rotation on axis as in hours, MROA - milli rotation on axis as in minutes. Archaic conceptions of days, weeks, or months were eradicated by the TELREC shortly after instituting the chronicling system. The new formulation allowed of easy reference to a specific point in time: CAS, DCAS, ROA, DROA, MROA. 9514.04.15.03.09 would be in the 9514h cycle around the sun, 4/10 present cycle around the sun, 15th revolution on the planetary axis within that 10th of cycle, 3/10 of that revolution, 9/10 of that milli-rotation. The one term still kept from the “Mal Standard” was the til, used to connote a very small passage of time, i.e. “It’ll be done in a til.” Though the Indigenous System of Dating held no sentiment for the Novans, it was nonetheless acceptable, and became the standard.
TROA was a term more created for the roa-to-roa conversation between people, than any necessary scientific reason. It was found the span of time between a ROA and a DCAS was too long, that people needed to break up that span into a smaller increment. 
Distance was also revised to adhere to the Mal Length Constant — a change less noticeable or controversial. The “til” became the smallest unit of distance, with all other measurements being multiples of the til. Hence, all spacial distances had an inherent relation to the passage of time.


Kolob and Rhonva made slow progress, climbing under the ruins of buildings which, droas earlier, towered as much as three-hundred stories into the sky. Dust was everywhere; in the air, on their clothes, kicked up as they navigated the apocalyptic scene. Vermin could be heard scuttling through the remains of civilization, picking through the fallen bodies and crushed skulls. The smell of death and destruction was omnipresent — screams and wails could be heard in the darkness, some muffled under the rubble, some seemingly demi-til away, pleading for help. They sounded hideous to Kolob, as did his own voice, unused was he, and they, to speaking aloud. His mind was a jumble of frantic pleas, piercing and thin, which he did his best to drown out. The loudest voice in his mind was a question he could not answer.
Why did I survive? Why didn’t that beam sever me in two, crush my body? Who am I?
Kolob began to get fearful.
Who am I?
His need for lleldin faded into a memory as they struggled through the landscape. Never before did Kolob need to exert so much physically. There were no roads or paths to follow, only pancaked floors of the mighty buildings that once towered above them. They climbed over great steel girders, through mountains of machinery, under the pipework that was the sewer system, all the while choking as great clouds of toxic smoke billowed above. For a while, a tunnel that a RailMover followed gave them some respite. But soon even that became sealed, and they were forced to crawl, climb, and jump over the devastation before them.
Kolob’s legs were sore, his back ached, and his legs felt as jelly, for he often had to bear the burden of Rhonva’s weight. Oft-times they would come into a clearing where light from the surface that was so far away would venture down. Lately, they could see nothing but darkness, spelling the end to a dreadful roa.  One such clearing stopped them now, causing Rhonva to look up for a long time. He could feel the cast-net surface back into his mind, and for a brief moment, had contact with Malhrer itself. He was able to confirm the direction in which they were heading, and the extent of the damage.
^We should stop here for a while.^
Kolob was grateful for the rest. He didn’t want to let on how exhausted he was. They settled down on a broken chair they up-righted, after moving some dead person’s limbs to the side. Rhonva sat down with a groan, and Kolob sat down timidly next to him.
^Do you ever wonder about the meta?^
What a curious question. ^What do you mean?^ asked Rhonva, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.
^To what extent their life, their individual essence, has grown?^
Rhonva let out a long sigh, allowing his fatigue to thoroughly set in, relaxing his body as much as he could.
^Do you mean, if I believe they are actually alive? What brings this on?^
^One of the programs I nest —^ 
^I thought you tried not to nest the broadcasts,^ cast Rhonva, irritated with Kolob’s mindless prattle. 
^Sometimes I can deal with one or two. Anyway, one of them showed the progress we’ve made, and about a new brain —^ 
^Cerebral nexus,^ corrected Rhonva.  
^— yeah, cerebral nexus, that’s been developed. They cast that these new meta can not only feel with skin, and smell, but can feel frustration, doubt, concern, anger — even some basic form of love.^ 
^This discussion is almost as old as the Novan faith.^ Rhonva tried to negate the pain and lean back, though with little success. ^They are tools, nothing more. It is so stupid that bored scientists would waste their time giving these machines the trappings of soumanity, though they’ll never attain our awareness. Have you ever tried to cast to a thrael? It’s a trying experience. You can tell they don’t really think about the response, that you’re merely nesting a recording set to respond to a particular query. It isn’t intelligence, or reasoning. It’s simple A is A, and B is not C. Besides, you work with them on a daily basis. Damn, you even repair some of them! What do you think?^
^First, I think we should call them by their proper name, meta, not this slang ‘thrael,’^ earnestly cast Kolob. ^Now about their thinking; I don’t know. I have seen one of those new meta. It was in pain, emotional pain, that no ordinary machine could have felt. I felt sorry for it, I wanted to help it.^ 
^But you are saying the key word; ‘it.’ It,^ cast Rhonva, stressing the word strongly, ^is nothing more than a collection of energy and metal.^ He paused for a moment. ^What do you mean, that it felt pain?^ 
^A little while ago a new meta was sent to me for cleaning. As I was about to hose it down, something within switched it back on, and it looked at me.^ Kolob paused, feeling a chill just remembering it. ^It cast to me, Rhonva. It said it had a dream.^ 
Rhonva was confused. ^You were cleaning some kind of new thrael?^
^Apparently it had strayed off,^ you’re not listening to me, are you? ^and was caught in some machinery. It probably shouldn’t have even been brought to me, but somehow, it was. It was amazing to look at. The technology was flawless — there was so much intricate machinery, so much complex programming, it was beautiful. It wasn’t with me long. I guess the internal sensors picked up on its presence once it reactivated, and some other meta came to take it away.^
^But it cast to you first?^
^Yeah. It cast of images in its cerebral nexus, really clear, but not associated with any time index. It cast that it was shown planet-wide devastation; wars, Novans fighting Novans. It cast the meta were helping, somehow, with someone else. And that overhead, there was a face, a being, with some plan, who smiled down on them from above. The last word it cast before it was taken from me was ‘Honabre.’^
^’Honabre’?^ asked Rhonva, genuinely perplexed. ^What’s that; a name, a program?^
Kolob shrugged. ^I don’t know. But you wouldn’t believe the confusion in its mind, the turmoil. It was like it was struggling to make a connection, trying to understand what it had been shown, and even why. It was . . . in pain.^ 
Rhonva sat back, shaking his head. 	^I think your thrael, or ‘meta,’ as you would like, merely was suffering from a system crash. Sometimes it can take disparate images from the cast-net, and assemble them in its nexus.^ He smiled and laughed, patting Kolob on the back. ^Nothing more than that.^ 
Kolob sighed, wishing he could have been believed, as he could feel that after communicating with the fallen meta, that its words were true. 
^Did you nest scientists are already putting some in the main population?^ That was a lie, but Kolob wanted to bluff his friend, to finally nest some respect in Rhonva’s cast for one of his ideas. Instead, Rhonva just chuckled to himself.
^Where did you nest something so ridiculous?^
^At the mall, where that guy was caught speaking.^
^Yeah, from who?^ asked Rhonva, brusquely. 
^I gleaned it from three men from OLMAC, discussing how they needed to keep some communications secret.^ 
^How did you pick up on it? They must have been casting on a secure channel.^ 
^I may not be good at a great many things,^ cast Kolob, ^but you know I can penetrate most minds, and do it quietly.^ 
^Yes, I know.^ It had been an area of great concern for Rhonva, as he didn’t need Kolob prying into his mind, and discovering the information that lie therein. There were a great many reports of Kolob’s ability to see easily into minds, many conjectures as to what it foretold. All Rhonva knew was that Kolob was an ignorant child with an emdec gun of a mind as a toy.
^Well, that was it,^ stated Kolob. ^I gleaned, and that’s what was cast. Some meta have been integrated into the population to see how well they’ll do.^
Rhonva paused for a moment. ^That’s a disturbing thought.^
^Why?^ asked Kolob. ^Shouldn’t we see if they’re another life-form? Shouldn’t we give them the same rights as we have?^
Where is he going with this? thought Rhonva. He has never been interested in them before, he is always only concerned with himself. 
^Well, Kolob, what would happen if the meta were liberated? If all the drones we have in mining, construction, etc., were suddenly declared as equal? Imagine the havoc it would cause all business! Do we pay them wages? Do we upgrade their cerebral nexus’ so they can feel also? If they are without legs, and only wheels, do we transplant their central unit to a new one? You know that Novan is overpopulated, but do you know how dangerously overcrowded this planet is? Setting aside the various void-platforms with settlers, these globes are too full to allow settlement of a new species. You see Kolob, there are some issues we do not want to stray into. Some things are better left untouched. Besides, you know the problems we have with them. It seems every time we improve on their technology, the first generation has major flaws. Only when we orient the meta themselves to take over production, do the flaws smooth out. Take another look at the meta you work with, your supervisor. Tell me if it possesses any vestiges of compassion at all. I’ll bet, if you look close enough, you will see only pure, cynical logic in its actions and words.^ 
Kolob thought for a moment on what Rhonva cast. It would explain so much if I were a meta, the unfulfilling life I have. And that beam . . .
A rumbling noise brought Kolob out of his thoughts and Rhonva quickly to his feet. 
“Who’s there?!” shouted Rhonva, momentarily forgetting his supposedly injured condition. “Come out into the open.” A woman stumbled out, falling onto the ground near them. Kolob rushed over, and helped her to her feet.
^Are you alright?^ he asked. 
^Be careful, Kolob,^ cast Rhonva. ^We don’t know who she is, or who may be with her.^
^No one is with me, so you don’t need to worry,^ cast the woman. She looked up at Kolob. ^But it is good to finally see someone else alive.^ 
Kolob looked down into her eyes, and in a moment, remembered what desire and love felt like. She was beautiful beyond compare, even with the dirt and grime which covered her face, and the smell that issued from her. Her hands sent something electric through Kolob, and they felt so soft and vital that he had to look down to make sure they were actual souman hands. And when he looked up, into a face framed in brown locks untamed, with eyes the green of a forgotten paradise that at once cradled and ignited a forlorn soul, it took all his strength not to collapse at her feet.
^My name is Nahlai, and my, it is good to see someone else, too!^
Rhonva sighed to himself, and saw a good deal of work and trouble ahead for him.
Chapter 15


Cerebral Management System: abbreviated to CMS, slang ‘ceemas.’ Created a few hundred cas after the integration of the cast-net into the populous, it underwent many revisions and enhancements. Its main purpose was to control automatic and routine functions performed by the body. First created to monitor walking, freeing the user to concentrate on the cast-net, it soon was engineered to control eating and excretion. It could take over simple tasks like cleaning or even cooking, when real food was still plentiful on Novan. Many philosophers of that time commented on the final disassociation of the mind from the body, one’s essence existing in a technological falsehood. Terrorists who sought to disrupt the lives of the average Novan targeted the CMS system almost as frequently as they targeted the cast-net.


Malhrer seemed calm, on the surface, but inside most were moving at a frantic pace. Projections were being sought by Mal, and confirmation sought by the TELREC. Though the collapse of the AG platform was predicted, if not anticipated, it nevertheless forced re-evaluation of several long term plans. Mal allowed a moment of congratulation for assigning Rhonva to Kolob to help him through the wasteland.
Recovery efforts were initiated by the Leviathan, and a thousand meta were dispatched to assist in the recovery, though many of their handlers discovered obedience was slow in coming.
Chapter 16


Meta, or meta-sentient: brought back from the planet Enq, Iq’s dimensional twin, that the Rell occupied as a result of the Great Compromise.  Little was done with them after the Rell abandoned them on Novan, as the Novans treated them more as expensive toys, until plans were made for construction of the AG platforms. Then great research went into developing their reasoning and intelligence, and in developing the thousands of models of meta to perform all varieties of tasks. Only within the last millennium did research progress into fashioning them to be more ‘souman,’ with great leaps in nanotechnology facilitating the development of artificial skin, mucous membranes, and rudimentary emotions.


Introductions were made as they walked, more a formality, since such things were easily deduced by a simple scan. The cast-net could be accessed intermittently, so all agreed to continue with spoken word. Nahlai walked with vigor, jumping lightly over the fallen debris, looking to and fro with a quick spin of her head, causing her hair to dance about her face. She was slightly shorter than Kolob, with muscular legs yet delicate arms. Often during their journey she would stand, surveying the landscape ahead. Kolob remarked to himself that she looked as if she could command a battalion of TELREC, so imposing her stance was.
All her strength could be summed up in her eyes. Green, the color of sun-drenched grass after a mid-roa rain, they were set in a face of deep, bluish-bronze. Her nose was long by typical standards but slender, leading one to an upturned lip on a small, sweet mouth. From the side, one might not realize the beauty in her face. But when she turned and one saw her, face to face, with short-cut hair framing high cheekbones, the way the light defined her face turning softest beauty, reminiscent of youth, to angular decadence, she seemed as dominion cast in flesh and bone. She reminded the typical Novan of something faintly ethnic, before homogenization claimed the pearls of racial diversity. She had a quality of being different, of being unique. Others on Novan underwent genetic modification to sculpt their face, change the color of their skin, but Nahlai was natural — she had an element of randomness about her like the lone, perfect orchid among a sea of pretenders. And when she caught Kolob’s eye, hers seemed to dance, the green shifting as an ocean, beckoning the unwary traveler into its depths. 
Rhonva was cursing himself most of the roa as the three of them moved further onward. He saw the perfection in her body, the allure of her face. Though her clothes were in tatters, they were in tatters in all the right places, revealing her delicious, supple skin, tempting the eyes to follow its path. She walked with a shyness, looking out from under her hair, smiling with lips that begged to be kissed. Rhonva found himself looking at her overlong, drinking in her beauty, scanning all the women he had ever known for a remote similarity. 
No, she would stand out in any crowd. Maybe not at first, but on second glance, she is irresistible.
He could see her hidden strength, betrayed with every step to one who is expert at observation. Rhonva saw she probably possessed twenty cas of intense physical training — a deadly agent to be sure. He could tell she possessed mastery of several forms of combat, and the control he felt in her mind was a signal she was expert there as well. Rhonva knew she was a Rell agent, her poise and manners were too refined, she was much too intelligent for some random Novan female. And if he knew what she was, in all likelihood she knew what he was. 
She would make for an interesting battle. Yet, she comes up on no TELREC known agent files. She must have been hidden on Rell! She must have been saved, just for this purpose.
Kolob was taking to Nahlai quickly, clearly enraptured by her beauty and strength. Rhonva had never seen him so engaged with another person, his whole demeanor had changed.
Curse the TELREC for wanting him weak! They knew a woman would only bring him joy, and greater confidence, so they sent me. But they had not bargained on the Rell! They had not foreseen this situation.
Nahlai was quickly connecting with Kolob, laughing at his words, smiling as he spoke.
“So, tell me about yourself. Do you live around here?” she asked. Kolob stopped for a moment, his focus jogged.
“I hadn’t even thought of that! I . . . I lived, about ten til back,” Kolob pointed in back of them, “in a place that’s probably gone.”
Rhonva smiled. “You just remembered, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” Kolob sighed. “I’ve lost everything.”
Nahlai grasped his hand, her ebullient smile penetrating his malaise. “Except your life.”
Kolob nodded, swooning at her glance. “I guess so.”
“Besides, the Leviathan has a fund for those who lose their dwellings due to catastrophe,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure, since it was an AG platform that fell, that OLMAC will even give lottment to those who lost possessions or family members lost in the disaster.” 
Rhonva glanced over at her, holding Kolob’s hand, smiling a soft smile he wished he could scrape off her face with the edge of a knife.
“What price can you put on souman life?” asked Rhonva.
“One hundred thousand, eighty-four in lottment, at the last rate,” she said as she brushed some dust off Kolob’s chest, straightening his shirt. “I just had to look up that for my job. But that’s rather depressing—let’s change the subject. What do you do, Kolob, where do you work?”
Kolob paused for a moment, embarrassed by his occupation. “I repair meta,” he said, thankful she couldn’t glean that he was exaggerating.
“Really?” she chirped, with a sparkle in her eyes. “Private, or for the Leviathan?”
“For the Leviathan.”
“I’ll bet it must be interesting work. You know, I never thought it would be this difficult to use voice. My throat is so sore!”
Rhonva groaned, as he staggered over some rubble. “You should be lucky that is the only thing that’s sore.”
Nahlai laughed, and turned back to Kolob. “You must have some stories to tell!”
Kolob’s expression brightened a little. “Well, you never know sometimes what’ll be brought in, what things a meta’s been through.” He winced at his own words, as Kolob was finding it difficult to express his thoughts with the spoken word. 
“I nest once that the Leviathan thought of outlawing meta on Novan, of excluding them to extra-Novan duties,” said Nahlai, as she held onto him as they navigated a large crack in the ground. 
“Really? When was that?” asked Kolob. 
“Oh, about two millennium ago.” Nahlai preened a little, catching Kolob’s full attention and every iota of hatred from Rhonva. “The population spiked, and space was even harder to come by then it is now. There were too many people without work, just lying around, killing other people. Crime was terrible, and the meta were still fairly primitive, so hackers had a free hand to take over their operating systems. For every ten people, there was one meta, and that made for a very crowded world.”
“What happened? Did they stop people from having kids?” asked Kolob, trying to maintain his balance as they moved over more debris. 
“Well, that was part of the solution. They also were in the process of constructing Foundation — I suppose, where you work?”
“Yeah.”
Nahlai paused for a moment to catch her breath.”Well, that shifted most of the meta population out of sight, focused on the maintenance of the globes. Once the condition of life improved, and some space was made, the question of their belonging on Novan was forgotten. But for a while things were quite ugly. Protests, demonstrations, acts of sabotage. It is said even the TELREC had a difficult time keeping order. But how do you like things down there?”
“It’s alright,” replied Kolob. “It’s quiet most times. I have some friends, and sometimes we get together. But it’s nice to be away from all the stuff that happens on Core.” 
“I know what you mean,” said Nahlai, shaking her head. “My job takes me to Topside often, and it is beautiful up there.”
“What do you do?” asked Kolob. 
“Oh, nothing much. Merely coordinating advertisements on the cast-net. Supervising production of the ads, analyzing the performance in terms of sales. Rather dry, but it does let me travel. Every time I’m up there, it’s like I’m born again.”
“That must be nice,” Kolob said, wistfully. 
“Do you mean you have never been on Topside?”
“No, never. Well, only once, when I was a kid. But not since then — I never had a reason to go.”
“Why to see the void!” Her voice was full of wonder and joy, and she hugged Kolob with all her might. “To feel above this sorry planet for once in your life.”
“How many times’ve you been?” asked Kolob. 
She hadn’t looked in Kolob’s eyes much, since their first meeting. But now, she turned to face him, her green eyes shining from under the thicket of her luscious brown hair. Kolob was stunned at her beauty, and listened intently to every word her husky voice spoke.
“Many times, and each time is a joy! The gravity is slightly lighter, everything is cleaner, brighter, and what’s more, there is constant sun. I feel . . . reborn, with every trip. My heart pumps stronger, my smile a little wider, and my desire . . .” 
Kolob could barely keep upright as they walked, stumbling to and fro, so intently he studied her. 
“I’ve nest of that, all roa in the sun.”
“Yes Kolob, I cast you that,” said Rhonva, straining to climb up a pile of rubble.
“Oh Rhonva, are you alright? I didn’t mean to forget you,” said Kolob as he stepped back to help Rhonva over some difficult terrain.
“It would be easy to forget me in the presence of such a charming woman.”
Nahlai turned and flashed him a gleaming smile. “You flatter me.”
Kolob was wary of Rhonva’s interest, and quickly re-engaged Nahlai in conversation.
“So, where’re you from? What were you doing in here?”
Much of their travels for that roa were filled with conversations between Kolob and Nahlai; his tenuous questions, her confident answers. Rhonva saw Kolob fall quickly in love, he could even nest his thoughts, so unused was Kolob to the emotion. Rhonva began to re-evaluate his future plans.
Lleldin will no longer be the absolute it once was with Kolob — Nahlai will see to that. They will enjoy a brief courtship before she pulls him into Rell society. We must destroy her and soon. But only after he has become thoroughly infatuated with her. He will need the drug even more after that. 
Eventually, the cast-net re-established itself, as the debris above them was light and not filled with too much metal. With each cast, Kolob’s hopes brightened that an exit was near.
^What do you do for relaxation, Kolob?^ asked Nahlai.
^Nothing much. I go over to the Plazas, sometimes. Or just relax, taking in the roa.^
^Don’t you play any of the games on the cast-net?^ 
^No, I don’t get along well with the cast-net. It . . . well, it has always irritated me, ever since I was young.^
^Do you have a low MPR?^ she asked simply. 
Kolob was stung. He had nest that question asked of him so many times in his life he had lost count. And when he offered an explanation, he could tell most didn’t believe him. He almost responded with bitter sarcasm, but restrained himself, some smarter part of him gaining control.
^No, actually I have a rather high MPR. Doctors say it is merely a problem with the translation of the cast-net signals into my cerebral cortex.^ 
^I’ve nest that happen to a couple of people,^ she said. ^You must feel very alone at times.^
^Yeah,^ sighed Kolob. ^But Rhonva is the one you should cesct with about cast-games. He is a champion at Tools and Fools, as well as some of those historical re-enactments.^ 
^Really?^ 
Rhonva smiled at her.^ I’ve been playing them quite a while. It keeps one’s mind focused.^
^I like it, but sometimes it’s too violent for me,^ she said, a disgusted look on her face. ^I prefer some of the alien simulations — playing the part of a revolutionary, or a champion of the people, fighting an oppressive government, falling in love with a devotee of the cause. Something epic, and romantic.^
Nahlai smiled, clasping her hands together, her hair falling back to reveal her face. Kolob was awestruck by her beauty, and was thankful he could cast, for he was sure he would be unable to speak.
^That sounds wonderful. I wish I could play it with you.^
^I’ve nest of some new tech that makes access to the cast-net easier, for those with problems. It doesn’t even require any upgrades, or surgery. I’ll see if I can get you some.^
She actually believes me . . .
^Thank you.^ 
^Do you ever wonder what life must be like, out there?^ she asked, leaning against a pillar for a moment, appearing as a statue of a goddess. Kolob was taken aback, one again, as he let his eyes fall over her curves, and allowed his imagination to take his hands where he would be fearful to go. He replied quickly. 
^You mean on the colonies?^
^No, not them!^ she laughed. ^I mean, on an alien world, somewhere totally different from our own. What do they think, what do they do? Will they look like us? Will they be more advanced? Or will we find primitives in the galactic core?^
^I guess it should be soon that we might find out,^ cast Kolob. ^Aren’t the OLMAC ships supposed to be returning sometime in the next few cas?^
^I think I nest that — if they weren’t all destroyed,^ she cast sullenly, moving forward again. ^Actually, I nest that they were already late. But I’ll bet a lot can happen out there all alone in the vastness of the void. I guess that’s why I kind of like it here. I like being with someone, looking in another person’s eyes, feeling their touch.^ She turned, to look Kolob in his eyes. ^That, to me, is the purpose of life.^ 
Kolob blushed, and nodded in agreement. 
^Where’s Rhonva?^ he asked, looking around. He finally found Rhonva struggling over some debris, and dropped back to help him.
^Rhonva, what are you thinking of? You’ve been strangely quiet for a while.^ 
^I’ve been nesting your uncontrolled thoughts, my friend. The cast-net is stronger here,^ cast Rhonva privately to Kolob.
Kolob blushed and strengthened his mind, while helping Rhonva out of a small ditch. They quickly caught up with Nahlai, Kolob struggling not to race too far ahead of Rhonva. When they did, the cast-net faded again, forcing them to use voice.
“Then again, finding such a beautiful flower in the midst of all of this destruction, would tend to do that to some men,” continued Rhonva, aloud. 
Nahlai grinned at the flattery. “And you are not that man?”
“No, dear lady, I am not.”
“Rhonva has a lot of women friends,” ventured Kolob eagerly, “but he never gets too involved.”
Kolob felt more confident, sharing seemingly unpleasant details of Rhonva’s past with her.
“Most Novan women wouldn’t care about multiple partners,” said Rhonva to Nahlai. “They would encourage it.”
“I am not like most Novan women. I have beliefs, and a firm conception of what is right and wrong.” 
Rhonva laughed.	Kolob motioned him to be quiet. 
“And what is the difference, my gentle flower?” asked Rhonva sarcastically.
Nahlai sighed, gazing at Rhonva with an expression that could only be the most extreme form of condescending pity. “It’s funny how many inflections are lost by solely using the cast-net. Humor, subtlety, sarcasm . . . strange how you seem to have mastery over them, though you are just a typical Novan! But in answer to your question; to be right is to be strong, and resolute, looking into the future with clarity and anticipation. To be wrong, is to constantly relive the past, to revisit doubt, never to dream of what lies ahead.”
“You sound as if you have faith.”
“Admittedly, my parents worshiped,” she said quickly. “They were quite devout, my father even becoming a designate. Ever since I could cast they taught me their beliefs, bade me come to Iggaraout with them. And though they both died while I was still using voice, much of their beliefs stay with me. Many of their words I find in my thoughts.”
“My parents also died when I was young,” Kolob said quietly.
Nice touch, Nahlai, thought Rhonva.
“It certainly is a life changing experience,” she added. “I have never felt safe, since then. They were the ones to whom I would run to, they told me of the wonders of the world. I have had many friends, been with many men, yet still feel so very alone, so very purposeless.”
“Ahh, I have those same thoughts.” Kolob lingered on her eyes, pausing for a moment to concentrate on his words. The transition from cast to the spoken language was difficult for him, and only now did he feel that he could express himself properly. “I feel as though some part of myself, some kernel of self-knowledge, died with them, never to be discovered. When I nest of someone who is following in their parents’ footsteps, I am so very envious.” 
Nahlai ran her hand along his arm, appreciating his sentiment. “I don’t feel as though I can stay in one place, in one job.”
“I can’t tell you how many places I have worked in.”
They both laughed, looking in each other’s eyes, as Rhonva cursed the hidden sky above.
“It’s getting late, and we have traveled a long way,” grumbled Rhonva. “Let’s rest, in that clearing over there.”
“How are you holding up?” asked Kolob, the laughter and confidence still in his voice. 
“I’ll manage,” said Rhonva, with a scowl.
Rhonva was an expert at games of strategy. Before he was recruited by the TELREC, and SC-1, he was a master at the games one played on the cast-net and at an age while most were still using voice. He had a skill for seeing beyond not only his opponent’s next move, but also beyond his guile, his deceit. Before joining the TELREC he expanded to playing with people, manipulating them, controlling them as one might soldiers in an army. They danced to his every words and when they became suspicious, when they had an inkling he was just using them for his own perverse fun, he knew the right words to distract them, to refocus them. After joining the TELREC he had plenty of opportunities to hone his instinct for strategy, for manipulation. But he still liked to practice, outside of work, which is why he had so many female acquaintances. 
“Oh, I am so sore, Kolob!” cried Nahlai, twisting her body with a moan. “Could you rub my shoulders?”
“Of course.”
Rhonva smiled. He could appreciate good competition, and Nahlai was shaping up to be the best.
I haven’t had a challenge like this in quite a while. Maybe I’ve even grown a little complacent. Not anymore. You will have my full, undivided attention, my sweet treat.
His mind was already forming a new strategy — computing potential courses of action, devising a way for victory. He knew the challenges to face; her being a woman, and a beautiful one, the allure of the mysterious to Kolob, and his growing disgust with himself in his addiction to lleldin. Rhonva couldn’t forget the sexual needs of a young man, and while Kolob always skirted the issue, Rhonva could sense the frustration within was growing. He often petitioned the monitors to let him take Kolob to a prostitute, but was refused every time. 
Can’t spoil the purity of the Cuhli-pra . . .
“How much farther do you think?” asked Kolob. Rhonva studied maps stored in his mind.
“Looks like we are almost out of this intersection. There should be two exits two til ahead, after Ectit Plaza.”

They traveled for quite a while, mostly in silence. They were passing under the entrance of Ectit Plaza, much smaller the Illint, but still quite large. The great monuments that normally would frame its entrance above ground could be seen lying in ruins around them, including many sculptures known to most Novans, all lying hundreds of feet beneath where they were before. More bodies could be seen, crushed under great pillars, severed by glass, dismembered by falling metal. Over them lay the great carcass of the Spire Pronounce, covering the ceiling above, a huge structure that once stretched two hundred floors high.  Kolob remembered the awesome presence of that building, and how far it was from the monuments that now lay beneath it. He was relieved when they had passed from beneath it, and into the bowels of Ectit Plaza. 
“I’m hungry,” said Kolob.
“I am too,” said Rhonva, dejectedly. “Unfortunately, with the amount of death around us, I wouldn’t trust much in the way of food.” 
Something about Rhonva’s words made Kolob stop for a moment, and look around. The world around them was a dark grey — all the flashing lights and mitter-lamps were extinguished, replaced by the dim orange glow of emergency lights. Shadows wove their way throughout the devastation, and in those shadows, Kolob could see shapes catching the light — unmoving, familiar shapes — legs, arms, even heads, all glistening in the orange glow. When they started out, the debris was quite thick, and it masked whatever lay lying underneath. But now, the realization began to hit him, the knowledge that so many were dead, and they lay all around him, silent witness to his courtship. He felt great guilt for a moment sweep over him, drowning out all those good feelings he knew just moments before. Nahlai felt his pain, and put an arm around him.
“I know. I can feel it too, especially here,” she spoke softly, while Rhonva was out of earshot. “We’ll be gone from here soon, out from all this. They are gone, Kolob. There is nothing we can do to change that.” 
Kolob smiled weakly, but felt much better inside. Rhonva motioned them on.
“Look — over there.”
They all saw a small collection of shops, seemingly untouched by the devastation.
“Let’s take a look inside.”
They soon discovered there were only three shops standing; a travel agency, an implant facility, and another whose entrance was sealed, though there was a back way in.
“Look down at the floor,” said Rhonva.
“What do you mean?” asked Kolob. 
“See the footprints?”
In front of them, in the dust, were dozens of footprints, leading into the shops, in through the door now sealed in front of them.
“So there are other people here,” said Kolob, trying to appear brave. “Where are they?”
“I don’t have high hopes,” said Rhonva gravely. “Come on, Kolob. We need to force this door.”
“Here, I’ll help,” said Nahlai.
The three of them shoved repeatedly against the door, succeeding eventually with getting it open.
“Oh! What is that smell?” she said, holding her hand to her mouth. 
“It doesn’t smell like death, but something definitely rotten.” Rhonva peeked through the doorway. “I’ll take a quick look in.”
Nahlai held him back. “No. We all should go in. It’s safer, that way.”
They all slowly made their way in, over a collapsed beam, through piles of concrete and tables that fell down from the level above. 
“I know what this place is,” said Rhonva. “And I don’t think we want to be in here.” 
“What is it?” asked Kolob.
Rhonva picked up a sealed clear container on a table nearby and tossed it to Kolob. “Have a look for yourself.”
Kolob brought it back, into the light, and almost threw up when he discovered what was inside.
“What was this place, a genehancement clinic?”
“Yes. Those are, or would be, new eyes for the masses.”
Nahlai looked around, and could make out banks of storage containers — some open — labeled with words like ‘Eyes: blue’ and ‘Hands: long.’ She shook her head in revulsion.
“What a disgusting practice.”
Rhonva smiled. “It’s only disgusting because we are seeing the parts, smelling them rot. You could never tell someone that has had surgery like this. After all, who knows what you might look like with red eyes, or longer fingers?” 
Kolob smiled dreamily. “I think she looks perfect.”
“Thank you, Kolob.” 
“This is the triumph of the Novan society, Nahlai, don’t dismiss it so readily,” grumbled Rhonva, scanning through the plastic containers. “We have eradicated every manner of disease from our people, eliminated hereditary disabilities. We have cured obesity, learned how to repair the brain. Our entire civilization has progressed to this point where we can replace parts of the body itself, as casually as putting on new clothes. Why, we have even blended the synthetic with the organic — made skin that can alter hue in the light, bones that increase their density under stressful situations. This is progress, my dear.” 
“This is material progress,” she retorted, suddenly becoming angry. “For Novans can now abuse the youngest and roam free, copulate with beasts, murder wantonly so long as the person is not too important. Progress has many meanings, and many effects. There is no balance on Novan, merely indulgence in physical and mental desires.”
“What else is there?” he replied casually.
“The spirit. The body is nothing without the spirit,” she said softly, glancing at Kolob. 
“And the spirit is meaningless without the body,” answered Rhonva, leering at her form.   
Kolob put down the case of eyeballs. “Let’s leave. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”	
They journeyed back into the underground labyrinth that was Ectit Plaza. Smoke grew thicker as they progressed onward, and the crackle of fire could be heard, as they hurried through still more shops. The ground was a mosaic of broken glass stained with blood, framed with broken bodies. They made their way through a hall filled with corpses, burned by a fire that extinguished long ago. Around them still blazed the mental promotions, casting in an endless drone about the best food, sex, of travel to Topside, new clothing. Up through broken escalators they climbed, down along stairs that only led to the broken ground, yawning with the void of death. Rhonva groaned often, relying more on his upper-body to navigate tight places. Kolob was nearing total exhaustion, while Nahlai feigned fatigue, though in truth she was barely challenged by the landscape. 
It turned out to be a long roa of travel, with little distance covered. Rhonva assured them that not too far off was an exit that should be clear of debris. He estimated they were nearly clear of the radius of destruction, and soon, it should be easier going. But for now, the destruction wrought by the chain reaction of gas mains blowing, reactors overloading, power grids collapsing, transformed places they knew into an alien wasteland, cruelly juxtaposed with symbols of the familiar. Every now and again, an explosion would rumble through the foundation, knocking all three off their feet. After traveling for several droas, they came to a clearing, where most of the surrounding structures were still intact, and the cast-net was strong again. Blast doors installed eons ago were closed up ahead, probably for the first time since their installation. Massive and large, twenty feet high, they could withstand the impact of the most powerful weapons created.
^How do we get through them?^ asked Kolob. 
Rhonva accessed his TELREC database, searching for the right access codes, or location of an access panel.
^There should be a lever somewhere around, down by the left side.^
Nahlai smiled. ^How do you know that?^
^I haven’t asked you about your past, so don’t ask me about mine. Now let’s pull off those coverings.^
They found what they were looking for quickly; a large metal bar, rusted, covered with an amazing amount of dirt, and grime. Kolob looked on it for a moment, squeamish about getting it on his hands. Rhonva merely looked at him with a frown, and they all set to work. They all pulled on it, and after a while, it gave just enough to open the doors a few feet.
^I think that’s all we’ll get out of it,^ cast Rhonva. ^Let’s go through.^
The passageway they entered was poorly lit, and gradually sloped downwards. Any hopes that they were making their way to the surface vanished after a few mroas. Kolob tried, but could feel the fear creeping upon him. 
^Where is this going?^
^It’s a service tunnel,^ replied Rhonva. ^Don’t worry we’ll soon reach a junction, and there we’ll be able to follow a path to the surface.^
The light faded, leaving them in near darkness. It was slow going, as not only was the tunnel congested with piles of debris, but was also crumbling beneath them, with large, gaping holes only barely distinguishable in the dim light. Rhonva was sorely tempted to dispatch Nahlai there, to shove her into one of the holes and mentally murder her. But eventually they came out into a larger room, where a few emergency lights still cast a dim yellow hue, and he banished his dreams into the back of his mind. Rhonva led them though a tight exit, leading to another room still filled with dust and debris, as the general area must have been hard hit by secondary explosions. The light faded as they moved forward, only heightening Kolob’s anxiety. He strained in the darkness, seeing only more rubble and destruction. 
^Is it me, or is the air a little thinner?^ he cast, holding a hand to his chest, straining a little to breathe.
^We have made many twists, climbing through many tight spaces.^ Rhonva brought them to a halt. ^There must not be an opening up there, but one would think any recovery effort would begin at the exits.^
^So we press on?^ asked Nahlai.
^I think we should rest, and get some sleep here, while we can still breathe relatively easily,^ cast Rhonva, as he cleared a place to sit down. “Then, it should only be a brief walk to the two exits.^
Kolob up-righted a bench, and sat down, his whole body sore. ^You’ll get no argument from me there.^ 
Nahlai sat next to him, running her hands over his back.
^Let me return the favor.^
Rhonva was left to lie on the ground, hard and cold. I wonder if I could kill her now . . . He couldn’t communicate well with Malhrer in this section, so thick must the rubble be above them, and would not take action like that without Monitor approval. I could wait until Kolob falls asleep and bury her under a fallen girder, or something. As he looked at her, kneading Kolob’s shoulders, she looked over at him, and smiled a wickedly sarcastic smile.
^How are you managing, Rhonva?^	
^Better. I can feel my strength returning.^ In truth, he never felt worse. It was becoming harder to negate the pain. He admitted to himself that if she was a Rell agent, he didn’t possess the strength to dispatch her. In fact, he could be at her mercy.
^You should go to sleep, Rhonva,^ she cast with a saccharin sweetness. ^You have had a long roa. We all have.^
^One of us needs to keep watch,^ he replied dismissively. ^This is just the kind of event some people lust for, to take advantage of the weak and defenseless.^
Nahlai smiled. ^Don’t worry. I won’t let any harm come to you, mighty warrior.^
Rhonva smiled, and lay back, seeming to fall quickly to sleep. Kolob lay back but couldn’t sleep. Nahlai sat a few til away, looking this way and that, a jewel in the devastation. Kolob couldn’t help looking at her, fantasizing about her. For the first time in his life, a woman was interested in him.
This roa started off so badly; the need for lleldin, the fear. I thought everything was over. For a moment I thought Rhonva was dead, my only friend. I can’t believe I thought myself to be a meta! Ah well. Everything has changed, everything is different. She has such a beautiful body, and her smile! I would never believe how good it feels to have someone smile at me just for being with me . . . She rubbed my back! Oh my, to have that again. To hold her hand, to see her smile. I think Rhonva takes it for granted, these things women can do. All he cares about is the number of women, the conquests. But this moment, this beginning, I hope the feeling never ends. I just don’t know what to do next. 
^Null your mind, Kolob.^
^Rhonva?!^
He looked over, and saw a glimmer come from Rhonva’s mostly closed eyes.
^Were my thoughts too strong?^
^They were strong enough,^ cast Rhonva privately. ^You never want a woman to know everything you think about her. You need to keep some secrets, to pace yourself.^
^I’m afraid . . . she won’t like me as much.^
Rhonva had waited for a question like that. If I can’t be his only friend, I’ll be his best friend, his confidant.
^You have to have faith in your instincts. Do you think she likes you? ^ I can’t believe I’m casting  these adolescent thoughts!
^I think so, you’ve seen her — she even rubbed my back! She took my hand, a couple of times. I’m so happy, yet so worried.^
Kolob sat up, a smile on his face, and bliss blooming in his heart.
^Such is love, my friend,^ cast Rhonva. ^Nothing is ever for sure, if it means anything. I envy you, this precious time. It will never come again, in the same way. You need to relax, and enjoy it. If it fails, it fails — at least you know it can happen, and will happen again. To have a woman such as her take an interest in you is . . . quite an achievement.^
Kolob sighed. ^Thank you. You have always been such a good friend to me.^ 
^You know you can ask me anything, and I’ll try to be as honest as possible. Just, do me a favor?^
^What’s that?^	
^Don’t reveal everything of yourself to her. You still know so little about her. There are many people who . . . well, never mind. It is wrong for me to say anything to dampen your spirits. Enjoy yourself. You are alive!^
Kolob settled back down, still smiling and excited, but managing to fall to sleep. Rhonva opened his eyes, and glanced over at Nahlai.
^Quite a hold you have over him,^ he cast privately to her, his lips curled in a hateful smile. Her beautiful eyes opened in response, her face glowing with self-satisfaction.
^Thank you.^
He stared at her intensely. ^You are quite attractive, in a primitive sort of way. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were some Novan genes in your ancestry.^
^Here we were, getting off on a good foot, and you go and insult me. How rude.^
^I should kill you,^ he cast, with an evil grin.
^Ahh, but I know your physical condition!^ Her words had a teasing arrogance that Rhonva found utterly insufferable. ^You are certainly not up to the task. I would kill you, but we do not descend to such barbaric means to accomplish our goals. And I will never allow myself to be in such a vulnerable position with you again. Such a shame.^
^You never know. You are quite attractive. We could, forget the fighting, the hatred, and just . . . be together.^
Nahlai smiled. ^I think not. You have a way, with women. I am not to be one of your conquests.^ 
^I will have you, one way, or another. I will make you pay for this defeat, this setback. I have worked too hard with him to let some pathetic Rellcyst slut ruin things.^ 
^Gutter language? I expected better.^ She turned back, and propped her head up on her elbows, looking as if she were in her bed, casting to a friend. ^Rhonva, you disappoint me! I nest you are quite the master tactician. And yet I have you cornered as we cesct. I think all those women, all those conquests, have weakened you. You spend too much time in the cast-games too. Real life is much more challenging than some game. Surrender, go back to your masters, and tell them to send someone better — an equal! I’d enjoy some real competition for a change.^
Rhonva felt his heart pound, his fists clench. ^How I’d love to wipe that pretty little smile off your face.^
^Sit back, and enjoy the ride. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll forget who you are. Now, go to sleep. You’ll need your strength, tomorrow.^ 
He lay back, looking over at the sleeping figure of Kolob.
I have not lost in battle in a very long time. I will not lose now.

Rhonva thought of Nahlai during the first droas of the next roa as they went in circles, trying to find a way out. The exits they thought were ahead were buried under too much debris. They doubled back, and found another tunnel leading deeper underground but with fresh air. Nahlai walked closer and closer to Kolob, holding his hand for long periods, laughing and casting, keeping a perpetual smile on Kolob’s face. Rhonva thought it would go on forever, until a new discovery ended the joy in their budding romance.
It happened as Kolob was moving some rocks, to a corridor leading up. They found an operational map from a still functioning information kiosk, and discovered two tunnels leading up to the exits they sought. As he broke through, making an entrance, a foul smell issued from the corridor beyond.
“It’s gas! Fuel — Get back!” yelled Rhonva.
They all moved far off, the air getting thick with the odor. Death hung on it as well, thick and sweet. After a few moments, Rhonva chanced an examination.
“This is not good.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kolob.
“I have been thinking about why we saw so few people, a few corpses here and there, but no one alive. These corridors are usually filled with thousands of people. Well, a great many of them are in there. Apparently, they were following the same corridor we intended, when something happened, sealing them in, and breaking a fuel main.” 
“How many . . . are in there?” asked Kolob.
Rhonva looked back in.
“Unfortunately, there is a good deal of light. I’ll bet there are at least three thousand in there. All dead.” 
Kolob looked down at the ground, Nahlai stroking his shoulders, as again thoughts of death rose in his mind.
Rhonva reviewed his mental map of the landscape. “The bad news is, that is the only way out for many til. It gets us closest to the surface. If anyone is to break through the debris to reach us, it will be there.”
“We must go through?” asked Kolob anxiously.
“Yes, we must.”
They worked their way through the opening, Rhonva just getting in with his damaged body, Nahlai smiling to herself at the extent of his pain, Kolob desperately trying to keep his fear contained. Then they surveyed the landscape, in all its horror, the hundreds and hundreds of shapeless figures piled on each other in the darkness. The shadows were a blessing and a curse — hiding the faces of the dead, yet obscuring their bodies, making them into a grisly carpet all three were loathe to walk on. For those two droas none of them cast. They struggled over bodies piled on top of bodies, men, women, and children, all with closed eyes and breathless mouths, seemingly gathered in a great sleep. The piles of corpses undulated in front of them like a sea and for brief moments it seemed as if they yet moved, arcing and bowing to an unheard song. Rhonva and Nahlai forgot their animosity, their rancor at one another, and helped each other, along with Kolob, over the debris and souman obstacles. Nahlai almost betrayed herself several times, so heavy was the thought that her people caused this, that her presence here was the cause of their deaths. Thoughts of past wrongs inflicted were of little solace, there was no excuse for death on this scale. Rhonva harbored suspicions of the Rell in regards to their deaths, and though vengeance was building within him, this blatant reminder of the effects of war tempered his anger, for the moment.
Kolob struggled to control the compulsion to vomit, or break down and cry. Never before had he imagined death on this scale; when it was portrayed in ment-games, though graphic, it lacked the weight of reality. In his mind he knew these people would never see their loved ones again, never enjoy the simple things, never smile, or laugh, and for some reason that caused him great pain. To die, because of an accident, innocent, is truly cruel. Death without meaning, without purpose, is tough for the living to accept.
As they got closer to the exit, they saw massive girders collapsed like matches in a pile surrounded by heavy plates of metal. The concentration of the dead was thickest there — one could imagine them pounding on the steel barrier in their final til, until the gas overcame them. Kolob had to turn, to close his eyes, so horrible was the sight.
^I know it’s hard, but this is where we need to be,^ cast Rhonva, patting Kolob on his back. ^This exit is closest to the surface, and easiest for recovery crews to access. There were few buildings around this exit, so this may be all the debris between us and the surface. The cast-net seems stronger here, but I can’t pick up anything from outside. Can any of you sense anything?^
Kolob and Nahlai concentrated, struggling to pick up any cast.
^No, nothing.^
^I can’t pick up anything either.^
^Wait, I can, a little.^ Rhonva, with his enhanced casting abilities as a TELREC, was determined to use them and any other advantage as a final playing card to try to drive a wedge between Kolob and Nahlai.^ It looks as though we will be here for a while, but crews are working on this spot to free us.^
^Any more news? Any word as to how bad it was?^ asked Kolob apprehensively.
Rhonva paused a moment. ^Over three million suspected to be dead, with recovery crews finding one million injured so far. Rell are suspected of causing this.^
Kolob was visibly shocked, and though Nahlai had been down here many times before, she never could get used to the heavy number of casualties. The cast-net was erratic and forced them to switch back to voice.
“This is what they are capable of,” angrily spoke Rhonva, his hands punctuating every phrase. “We nest words every now and again of reconciliation, of joining together, once again, as Iqui. We nest them proffer words of peace, cast of the animosity of the TELREC. And then this! And this is only the most overt of their transgressions against us. For thousands of cas they have conspired against us, tried time and again to disrupt our way of life! They have no respect for us, no respect for our way of life. They see it as their duty to convert us, to reveal to us the sinful nature of our life, and the holiness of theirs. Hypocrites! Who values life more now? All they think of is the Cuhli-pra, their jealousy at his creation, their jealousy of our savior! They only wish the divine path was revealed to them! Look around Kolob; look on the victims of Rell arrogance. They held no guns, wielded no swords, cast no propaganda against the state. Their only crime was living, working, breathing — living life! Their only crime was to be Novan. Don’t you agree, Nahlai? I remember someone casting ‘but we do not descend to such barbaric means to accomplish our goals.’ How empty, how false those words seem now!”
Nahlai, filled with hatred, grudgingly yielded to him on that point. “They committed no crime.”
“And yet the Rell judged them guilty. Guilty!” Rhonva screamed at her, heedless of Kolob’s presence. “Guilty of casting, guilty of loving, guilty of thinking they could exist without Rell guidance, Rell religion. Look on them! Look at the children! How can any race that kills children by the thousands, claim to be righteous? How can any race that kills the weak, and the infirm, claim to be of the divine? I will not speak words of vengeance, not here, not now, but it is in my heart. The sight of so many of our brothers, and sisters, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, lying dead at our feet, having died in fear and misery, ignites such a need for revenge no words of peace could ever extinguish!” 
Rhonva stood, staring at her with clenched fists, and fury in his eyes, and Nahlai felt fear at what he could be capable of, even in his weakened condition.
“Rhonva, we can’t do this,” said Kolob, trying to calm him. “We can’t stay here. Death is too much in the air.” 
Rhonva stepped closer to her. “Where are the Rell now? Where is their help? Do they help us dig for survivors; do they give us medicine, or care? No. A truly holy people give of themselves, even to their enemies, and that is their own reward.” 
“What of the Novan?” Nahlai could not contain herself any longer. “Haven’t they committed atrocities against the Rell over the millennia?” 
Kolob looked on her with eyes of surprise.
“Nahlai, I know not what the past held,” he said, with conviction. “I only see the here and now, and it is filled with the muffled cries of Novan dead, not Rell dead. It is filled with the tears of the innocent, Novan innocent, dead at the hands of Rell.” 
Kolob turned, with disappointment on his face, and walked back to the entrance. Nahlai turned to face Rhonva.
^That’s right, my pretty,^ cast Rhonva privately, ^I have many cards yet to play. A beautiful body may get you the body, but never the soul.^

Kolob kept his distance from Nahlai following that outburst. Though he never considered himself a patriot, the sight of all that death changed him. He saw things more as black and white, good and evil, Rell and Novan. It deeply saddened him that this woman could, in any way, sanction the death they just witnessed. 
They set up camp about a hundred milli-til from the opening to the large chamber. Every half droa, one would go in, to the debris at the exit, to listen for any progress. Nahlai tried, over the long wait, to engage Kolob in cesct but he just wasn’t interested. Kolob cast to Rhonva on a private channel.
^She seemed so nice!^ cried Kolob. ^I just can’t believe she would say anything like that.^
^I’m sorry you’re disappointed. Sometimes life is like that. You meet someone, who captures your heart in an instant but then, once you get to know what’s under that skin, behind those eyes, you see something completely different.^ 
^You should have nest me to watch out for her,^ he grumbled with a deep sigh.
^It wasn’t my place to do that. Not for anyone who would call themselves your ‘friend.’ I couldn’t rob anyone of those first few moments of blooming love. So things didn’t turn out the way you hoped — that doesn’t diminish those first moments, does it?^
Kolob sighed, kicking at a piece of debris. ^No, I guess you’re right.^ 
^Besides, you’ll get over it,^ cast Rhonva with a smile. “I’m sure you two will have some good times together.^
Kolob shrugged. ^I couldn’t do anything with her now!^
^That’s just the anger of the moment casting. Women have a way of soothing that anger, and Nahlai is already trying.^
^She’s been casting at me for the past droa.^
^You see? Give in, and let things take their course. No matter what happens though, you’ve learned a valuable lesson this roa. Things, or people, are never what they seem. Do not trust her completely, in anything. No matter what she tells you, no matter how sweetly she says the words, let doubt color your perception of her. I will always be there to help you, if you want, and if I can.^
^Thank you — you don’t know how much your friendship means to me. I am so tired.^
^Get some sleep, Kolob. I’ll keep watch for a while.^
As Kolob fell asleep, Rhonva could sense that the recovery effort was getting closer. He estimated in six droas, meta would make it to the entrance in the chamber.
Finally. This has gone on long enough. I need a shower, some good food, and a couple of women in my bed. 
^Thinking of the future?^
Nahlai’s cast startled him out of his reverie.
^Yes. Of when the Rell are extinct, and our world overflows with love and peace.^
^That’s funny, Rhonva. Tell me another lie.^
^You know, this is probably the last time we will sit together, in peace. When next we meet, it will probably be on the field of battle.^
^Always fighting and killing?^ asked Nahlai casually. ^It seems to be a condition.^
^You are not tested in battle?^
^I have seen more than my share! It is just that I do not have the need for conquest, for violence. I prefer peace, but will engage in warfare to safeguard that peace.^ 
^So you are not ashamed of things you have done?^ asked Rhonva, turning on his side.
Nahlai was null for a moment. ^Of course, we soldiers have all done things we are not proud of.^
^Tell me. What are you not proud of?^
^Why should I?^ she asked, laughing a little. 
^Indulge me, my sweet.^ 
Nahlai paused. ^Are you familiar with a TELREC agent named Hols Lundin?^
^You wouldn’t be trying to ascertain to whom my allegiances lie, would you, my sweet treat?^
Nahlai shrugged. ^My people think you are with SC-1, but I believe you are a TELREC. You could be a member of one of the hundreds of minor insurgent groups on Novan, but you have gotten this close to the Cuhli-pra, which would need either TELREC audacity or Novan sanction, over this long term. Regardless, any one of those groups would have knowledge of an agent as formidable as Hols.^
Rhonva relaxed, lying on his back, propping his head on his hands. ^Who could forget Hols! One of the greatest of agents! If not for his death, well, things might be different. He was quite powerful.^
^And deadly. He single-handedly killed more Rell agents in a cas than the rest of the TELREC in a decade.^
^He was . . . single-minded,^ cast Rhonva. ^He hated the Rell. And the Iganinagi. Something happened to him, or his family, that caused that hatred. I’m sure those TELREC Monitors know. But no one else knows for sure.^
^Well, we had enough of him. He was marked for assassination.^
^But he died in a hospital!^ slammed Rhonva, turning to face her. ^He had some breakdown, some mental condition. Everyone, well, every agent I work with, knows of that.^
^Strange isn’t it, considering how strong he was, mentally. He was known to be able to take on dozens of agents in mental combat, and walk away as the only one living.^
^Yeah, I got some intelligence about his death. It was said that scans were inconclusive, but it was determined he became unbalanced, that his mind couldn’t keep up with the demands he placed on it. So . . . you had something to do with his death?^
^Yes. I worked on him for several cas,^ cast Nahlai, remembering her past. ^I was a secret he shared with no one. I shared his bed, I shared his soul. He did nothing, thought nothing without me. He loved me as he did no other, with a love few men could ever comprehend. He would have placed me above the TELREC, above Mal, above his friends, above even his family. I even learned of his secret, what drove him to hunt the Rell so mercilessly.^ 
^And?^ asked Rhonva, genuinely interested.
^And then I told him who I was, and what we, the Rell, were doing. I told him everything. This woman he confided in, and trusted, who knew every little thing about him. You should have seen his face,^ Nahlai paused for a moment, thinking. ^He died that night, looking at me, at least his soul did. His body is what you saw die.^
^How fucking sentimental. And why are you ashamed? I would have thought it would be a great victory.^
^I saw his face,^ she cast, stressing her words. ^I knew his secrets! I didn’t just betray him; I violated him in the worst way possible. To see a man die is bad. But to see a man’s soul be crushed in front of you, to feel his mind grow black, well, it was difficult. He had good reason to hate us. He thought we mistreated his family pretty badly. But, such are the casualties of war.^
^You’re a romantic, aren’t you? Is that the most you’re ashamed of?^ 
Nahlai smirked. ^And what of you?^
^You couldn’t handle the things I’ve done, and are doing!^
^You mean, like corrupting and emasculating the savior of your people, the Cuhli-pra?^
^Funny!^ He leaned back and rubbed his eyes, letting out a long yawn. ^Yes, I have done much worse. I’ve peeled the skin off four cas old children in front of their parents, just to teach them a lesson. I’ve beheaded fathers in front of their daughters, and made them kiss the lips of the severed head. I’ve drained the blood out of whole families, just so their enemy can feast on their remains. Why, once, I even fed a man parts of his wife, then his own body, until he died from loss of blood.^ 
Nahlai was frozen, her mouth open, staring at him.
^Yes, my pretty, I knew Hols Lundin’s secret — I was there!^ cast Rhonva with glee, scurrying close to her. ^With his mother and father, when he was but ten. I won’t tell you who I did that for, I like to keep pretty women like you in the dark. But yes, I killed his parents, right in front of him. It was one of my first important assignments, a chance for me to show what I could do. We saw the potential for greatness within him, and felt he needed to be focused on the elimination of Rell agents on Novan. As I killed his parents, I taped his eyelids open, and bound his head, so he would be forced to watch it all. And best of all, I disguised myself as a Rell! I knew two of your agents were watching that family, so I killed them, and sent a fake download as to their actions. To everyone else it appeared as a Rell murder. Only a select few people besides myself knew otherwise. You should have seen the sadness turn to abject hatred in his eyes. I saw a part of him die that roa, as you did. But I saw the other Hols be born, baptized in the burning fire of his parents blood. You don’t know how hard it was to lock off that memory, to keep it safe, when I would see him occasionally on the streets of Novan. Oh, how I would laugh, when I was alone . . .^
Nahlai lowered her head in sadness.
^You are quite beautiful when you are sad. Oh, I could take you right now, on this floor with corpses only a few meters away.^ 
He reached into her mind, an image of himself grabbing an image of herself. 
^Get out . . .^
^I am quite strong, my sweetest of meats,^ cast Rhonva, pressing on. ^You know, I think you actually fell in love with Hols.^ He descended deeper and deeper into her mind, as she started to throw up safeguards and barriers. His progress slowed, but he kept pressing forward.
^I never let my guard down,^ cast Nahlai, fortifying her mind. ^Emotion does not compromise my duty.^ His hands mentally surrounded her body, ripping off clothes she kept projecting onto herself. She tried to push him away, but felt she had no strength. Before she realized, she was lying on her back, Rhonva spreading her legs. 
^So tender. So many secrets to share with me. What are they? You will tell me, before I am through.^
The face in front of him calmed, and smiled. Her eyes widened, her lips drawn into a sneer.
^The mind is a tricky place, Rhonva,^ she cast, as he found himself descending through a now ghostly form of her, into a darkening void. ^Traps are everywhere, and they can be so very deadly.^
He began to fall, feeling his consciousness slip away. In til, he pulled himself out of her mind, and back into his own, looking at her just beyond the sleeping body of Kolob.
^So this is how it is to be? To the death, between us?^ demanded Nahlai, her mind poised for battle. 
^Yes, my sweet treat. You were not invited; you crashed this party, and are trying to run away with the guest of honor. I have worked too long on this one to let some pathetic little Rellcyst slut steal my prize, and my future! When I am through with you, you will beg me to take you, to sex you, anything to stop the pain I will cause you!^
^Ahhh . . . a Novan boast. There is usually so little to back it up. Go to sleep, mighty warrior. You have too little strength to threaten me now.^
They both laid back, listening to the sounds around them, thinking about a future unappealing and bleak. They were roused by Kolob, several droas later.
^Do you hear something?^
All three sat up, and listened to the other room.
^Don’t you hear that Rhonva? Machinery!^
Off in the distance, the sound of scraping and drilling could just be heard.
^Let’s hurry, before they move on, or stop for the roa.^
They hurriedly ventured to the sounds, and saw the light stream in where meta were digging, near to the exit. It took another droa to climb up, all three helping each other up the ropes, over the debris. Light cascaded through a large entrance through which people beckoned them to come. Meta could be seen swarming around the exit, hefting large amounts of debris with their metal hands.  Kolob, before ascending, took one last look back at the thousands of bodies lost in eternal sleep. 
“I shall never forget this roa, these people.”
Nahlai stuck close to Kolob, and heard him utter those words. This is going to be harder than I thought.
After they emerged, they gathered just outside the construction periphery.
^Well, Kolob, an experience like this at least has some good in it,^ cast Nahlai.
^What do you mean?^
^Well, it brought all of us together,^ cast Nahlai, holding his hand, making him smile. ^And, it makes one appreciate life, a little more. Don’t you think?^
^I agree with you, Nahlai.^
She glanced back at Rhonva, as she embraced Kolob in a hug.
^You caused a great man to suffer needlessly,^ cast Nahlai privately to Rhonva, ^and have the souls of the Rell he killed on your conscience. One roa, those souls, and his, will be avenged.^
^You are welcome to try. Many have before you, and all have failed.^ 
She turned back to Kolob, a beautiful smile on her lips. ^Do you think you’d like to see Topside with me?^
Kolob remembered their earlier cesct. ^I would like to see Topside, and much more.^ 
^How about in six roa? After your shift?^
^Yes, I think I’d like that.^
Rhonva put his arm around Kolob’s shoulder, as they walked away.
^Kolob, I should be getting another shipment in tonight. I’ll stop by in about six roa, and —^
^That’s alright. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.^
^Are you sure? The affections of a pretty lady have made everything perfect for you?^
Kolob smiled. ^I know it might change in a dcas, a roa, maybe even in a droa. But sometimes, when you see thousands of your own people dead before you, when you walk through the devastation we just did, and when you see hope in the shape of a beautiful woman what has so much in common with you, sometimes you think you can do better, and at least have to try. Do you know what I mean, Rhonva?^
Kolob moved away from him, feeling some change happening within him, something that lifted him, for a moment, out of Rhonva’s spell of dependence.
^Yeah. I guess I do,^ he grumbled. ^I’ll see you later, Kolob.^
^I’ll cast to you later.^
Rhonva watched him turn away, and head off into the distance, under the hovering CRODAM cars, the hundreds of cast-net reporters, Leviathan officials, all ignoring him as if he were just a cipher, and not the long awaited Cuhli-pra. 
Curse you Nahlai. One roa, you’ll pay for this.
Chapter 17


There were ten Kal-Durrell: Grachlē, representing devotion, Asūūl representing intelligence, Echblé, representing focus, Va-hliva, representing beauty, Oolin, representing balance, Ellisia, representing benevolence, Onisce, representing survival, Ell-vicé, representing the present, Kona representing strength, Navise representing the future. The original Kal-Durrell died over nine thousand cas ago, and when they died, the Rell took cellular samples from their bodies. When their cloning technology was advanced enough, around the cas 1700, they began cloning new Kal-Durrell every hundred cas. Where did the Kal-Durrell come from? It is recorded in history they materialized around the same time the holy books were downloaded into the Novans. They never spoke of their origins, and forbade the Rell from pursuing any speculation into their origins. 


It had been a long roa of meetings and training for Graid, who was not fatigued as much as he was terminally bored. He suffered through endless analyses of the progress of Nahlai with Kolob, and the verbal confrontation and mental assault with Rhonva. A timeline was established concerning Nahlai’s intimate affairs with Kolob, and a projection as to the time it would take before he would be completely under her emotional control. Information was disseminated regarding Rhonva’s position within the Leviathan, and what resources he might command in his attempt to eliminate Nahlai, and what group of Novans were in charge of him, and if there were other agents like him. All agreed that for optimal success, Nahlai must cultivate resentment within Kolob against the TELREC, and to a lesser extent the Leviathan, though with Kolob’s reaction to the AG collapse it would be an uphill battle. TELREC response, or the lack of one regarding Rhonva’s superiors was also discussed. Most felt it was unlike the TELREC to leave rebellious elements untouched, especially within the Leviathan itself, and felt confident it would only be a matter of time before the TELREC struck back against those responsible for the training of Rhonva. Graid, often the dispassionate observer of the Rell of Rellcine, thought of them as children trying to solve a problem beyond their means. He knew that secretly, in each of their minds, the Rell longed for the Kal-Durrell to end their silence, to take command of them in that most perilous of times.
Graid’s training had also been increased. Ever since the death of Martel, a new sense of urgency consumed Rellcine. Uonil was adamant about reviewing status reports, chronicling his progress, much to Graid’s chagrin. He spent more and more time on Novan evading the eyes of his trainers, indulging in his carnal desires. No one on Novan cared who he was, or what his responsibilities were. All the women of Novan cared was if he was good in bed, if he could afford them, or if they could afford him. He knew when the ears of the Rell were closed to him, and they were closed now, focused on their supposed destiny. Once in a while he would revisit Uonil on the subject of an allegiance with the Leviathan but she was adamant in her refusal to listen. So he decided to wait, and let knowledge sink in, and events influence her mind, then to revisit the battle. But now it was the scientists assigned to him that concerned him more. 
They keep searching more and more for the limit of my powers. And they are less convinced when I deceive them. Luckily, the mission has gotten near a critical time when they can ill-afford to be testing me. But it is hard to hide my boredom — so little I review lately challenges me. 
Some of his trainers had been reassigned and in their place even more men of science came in.  Biophysicists, chemical engineers — there were too many to count — each of them performed test after test on Graid, before and after his training, to attempt to quantify the creation that was Graid. 
I know what they would do to me if they ever found out what power I have. The Kal-Durrell themselves would unleash their fury on me to prevent me from becoming what they most fear.
He had spent several droas trying to relax in his quarters in Rellcine. Darkness was just settling in on that portion of Core. He gazed for a long while out his large windows on the millions of lights glittering in the twilight, hundreds of trans speeding back and forth. Graid had been all over the globes, seen most of what Novan had to offer, that is, most of Core. He didn’t travel much to Topside — it didn’t hold the same level of amusements Core did, and since much of the Leviathan was housed there, he felt it prudent to avoid. But even though he had seen much of Novan, he still felt scenes such as this were truly beautiful. Graid could appreciate the achievement of technology Novan had made, even though it cost them all natural habitats. Other Rell were saddened by the cold feel of the world, while Graid saw it as something wondrous. He knew that in each dwelling something different was happening, unlike Rell, where so much was centered on worship and prayer. He could pry into those dwellings and feel what each person was doing, and it required very little effort on his part. Graid never let anyone know he could do this — they had done enough research into shielding to prevent his mental scans. Where the Rell felt a lack of faith in the Novans, Graid felt excitement, and joy. Graid knew the Novans were a childish people, but they were also vibrant, and alive. While many of them wallowed in sensory excess, others achieved a balance, difficult though it was, and incorporated sentiment and love into their daily lives.
And we killed so many of them. 
That is what really kept Graid up. Doubts, frustrations, and even guilt tormented his mind. We killed so many, just to put Nahlai in the right place at the right time. And we did it over, and over again. Graid turned in his bed. I actually doubt in the success of this mission. Never before have I felt this way. I think Rhonva is the key.
The Rell went deep into Rhonva’s past, trying to find out point of commonality between this Rhonva and the ones in other timelines. They found he was completely unique, someone truly different. 
If Rhonva had been the same, merely a lleldin supplier, or a corrupt CRODAM officer, what would be different? How would things turn out differently? How will he affect our future plans, change what we will do? It is still too early; we are just nearing the crisis point. We will need to be in our best form to navigate our way through this, and prevail.
And then there was his own survival. He kept coming back to it, the one thing completely out of his control. One roa, I will need to use a greater portion of my power, maybe against Rhonva, and they will see then what I am capable of. What will they do? What will the Kal-Durrell do? They have never shown me their strength, but I can feel it. Each of them are so strong, I don’t know what would happen if I tried to oppose them. Hopefully that roa will never come.
Graid slipped off into a light sleep, for a time, but doubts and frustrations within him came alive again, and commanded him wake. Graid exited his quarters, and headed down the corridor.
I must keep up the show that they challenge me, that their exercises fatigue me. But now it is time for some recreation, I can’t worry about them any longer. I feel as some caged predator — I need some fresh meat to prey on, to play with. 
He walked quickly down the corridor, anxious not to be stopped by any supplicants or advisors. He could have mentally prevented them from accosting him, but he always felt this would have been dishonoring the people who had sworn their lives to him. 
Still, they can be persistent, sometimes.
Graid was stopped by words he gleaned, thoughts his powerful mind picked up. He stopped outside a closed door to one of the many classrooms in Rellcine, this one with fifty or so adolescents, a female mentor guiding their studies.
“Students, now that we have finished our Energy Mathematics studies, please access lessons concerning the basis of Rell faith.” 
Graid smiled for a moment, thinking on the wealth of information Rell children possessed compared to Novan children.
So much technical knowledge downloaded at so early an age — any one of them is a genius compared to most Novan children. Novans may have access to limitless information, but they have no desire to use it. So few of them study as we do.
“Group, do we have any questions of what you have studied, and downloaded? This is the time to be honest, and confront fear or skepticism.”
Graid could sense much doubt and frustration in their minds, but only one was brave enough to raise his hand.
“Why don’t the Kal-Durrell act?” asked a young boy. “Why do they merely observe?”
Graid smiled. Out of the mouths of babes . . .
“Well group, Laho has asked a legitimate question,” said the teacher. “It is told to us that the Kal-Durrell have great power, that their mental power is extremely strong, and they even posses knowledge of the future. The Kal-Durrell, as you have studied, refuse to become directly involved in our affairs, that their place is merely to observe, and to serve as a symbol of the truth and veracity of the Rell faith. It is said sometimes they will override a decision made by the Alçons, but mostly this is an isolated incident. I think it is important to understand the spirit of their decision. They are not Kals. They are not Messiahs. Unlike the Kal-Alçon, they were not created to fight. Though they demand our respect, they do not command, or amass riches or power. They have sacrificed their lives —”
Sacrifice. How Rell of them.
“— to serve as inspiration, as a guiding force, a vehicle of Kal. Without their presence, we might have lost our faith and degenerated, as the heathen Novans. Does that help, Laho?”
“Thank you, yes.”
Graid could tell it wasn’t the answer he wanted, that he still couldn’t understand how one could have power, and not use it.
“Group, before I move on, let me address the concerns I can feel from many of you. It is a wise person’s last resort to use power. Power negates compromise, and when used capriciously, diminishes the user.” 
Ahh, Felllis. You and Martel always had some spirited discussions about me. You both loved the teachings of Oolin, and of Kona. How you must disapprove of me . . .
“At the same time group, it is a coward that refuses to use power when it is needed. The only force that can counter physical or mental power, is faith. And it is faith that the Kal-Durrell teaches us to use. They have faith in us, and that is enough.” 
Graid felt some of the doubt assuaged in the class. 
“Wouldn’t you say that power sometimes is not fully realized until long after the event?” asked the boy again.
“What do you mean Laho?”
“A decision can wield greater power than the physical or mental actions of an individual. It is only time that reveals the true power behind a decision.” 
“That is true. And the impact of such a decision would depend greatly upon the foundation upon which it was made.”
“And if the foundation is flawed, so must be the decisions made from it?”
“Correct. You know that is the governing truth of the Ment-al-Ellin. Was there another question, Laho?”
“What of the Kal-Alçon?” pressed the young boy. “What of his foundation, and decisions that come of it? He had no mother and father to form a solid foundation. What can we truly expect from a being without foundation?”
Graid felt weak. He sensed the teacher, for a moment, knew that he stood outside the door. He could almost hear the unspoken words in his question — a being without faith. The class reeled silently, amazed the student asked such a bold question.
“Laho, you know all of you are free to ask any questions. But, there are some things in which we must trust in the wisdom of the Kal-Durrell. The creation of the Kal-Alçon was at their specific request. As they have faith in us, so must we in their selection of the creation of the Kal-Alçon. Now, we should move on to . . .”
Graid felt dead inside, not that he ever felt very alive. He swallowed, his breath slow, thinking over his life, his direction. For several moments, he firmly wished to be dead, to be rid of this life. But something inside of him, some automatic mechanism wired into his subconscious kicked in, walling off the pain, and straightening his body.
Now, where was I going . . .  Ahh, some diversion.
He walked on, away from the children and their questions, away from the mentor who felt his weakness, for only a moment, away even from the memories that threatened his calm. He had just regained his focus, rounding a corner leading to the matt-trans, when he was suddenly shocked still. Arciss was in front of him, leaning casually against the wall.
“Going somewhere, Kal-Alçon?”
Graid smiled at the formal tone. “How did you hide yourself from me?”
“Martel was gracious enough to teach me some tricks, as I was his immediate subordinate.” Graid could feel Arciss’ mind relax, as his awareness resolved into Graid’s mental view. 
“Clever, my learned friend,” cast Graid, giving Arciss a half-bow. “But I have pressing engagements.”
“Yes, you do. More training, my master.” 
Graid’s brow knitted, as the anger boiled over. “We have trained the entire roa, the entire dcas!”
“And if you did not sense me, it is obvious we need more training.”
“No more. Not this roa,” said Graid firmly. Arciss hesitated for a moment, trying to muster the courage to broach what he knew would be a sore subject with Graid.
“What happened to your faith?”
Graid smiled a wry smile, full of fatigue and malice, showing a thin glimmer of his teeth. 
“What do you mean?”
Arciss pressed on. “You have no respect for our religion, even for our way of life —”
“— and yet, I would defend it with my own life.”
“Yes, but why don’t you have any respect for our ways?” demanded Arciss finally. “Why no respect for our religion? You defer to the Kal-Durrell, yet I can tell you do not revere them.”
“I was wondering when you would try this,” said Graid with derision. “I really must have Valcha flogged for putting this in your mind.”
“Graid, don’t hide behind your power —”
“Hide?”
“Yes hide,” Arciss stood closer, strengthening his mind. “I know you could easily reduce my mind to so much putty, and kill me in a thousand different ways, but that would still leave the question; why?”
“Why don’t I go to services,” demanded Graid angrily, “why don’t I recite the Ment-al-Ellin with every other breath? Why do I live a life of pleasure, instead of moderation or abstinence? Why do I flaunt my power, when our illustrious Kal-Durrell preach humility, and compassion?”
“Yes,” said Arciss simply. 
Graid came closer to him, almost touching Arciss’ chest. “You know very well if I wished it you would forget about me, about your very life. You may have learned some tricks, but I could crush you as easily as I stand.” 
Graid reached over, and ran his hand along his arm. He closed the space between them, pressing his body against his, moving his groin to press against Arciss. 
“Besides, maybe you’d like to join me out for a night of . . . fun?”
Arciss smiled a wry smile, and gently pushed Graid away. “I don’t think my Cray would be very happy with that.”
“He would never know.”
“Besides, I know your heart wouldn’t be in it.” Arciss allowed a glance downwards to see if his statement was true. 
“I can be into . . . many things. But tonight, I do need the company of women.” Graid backed off, and continued towards the transport.
“Don’t run from me!”
^I am not some child!^ His words were slammed with a mental force that shook Arciss to the ground. He then walked over to his fallen body. 
“Remember that. I may grant you the courtesy of acting as my Steward, assisting in my training, but I am the master. Never question me again. I will share with you, one roa, the reasons for my . . . behavior. Only once you have proved worthy, and can stand at my side with strength and honor,” said Graid solemnly. Arciss could only look up, and meekly assent.
What have I done, thought Arciss. Have I failed so soon?
“Do not worry, my friend,” cast Graid, as he softened his expression. “Martel also had a difficult time with me in the beginning. But, we grew to know and understand each other, as one roa it may be for you and me. Come,” said Graid as he offered his hand, “you’ve never been out of Rellcine, never mingled with actual Novans. It’s time you met our enemies face to face. Besides, as Valcha admonished me for not having balance; the faith, versus the sin, I think you need a little balance — some sin, to counter your faith.” 
“You know it is in bad taste to joke like that, Kal-Alçon,” ventured Arciss tentatively. “Admittedly, I have been intrigued by Novan society, may the Kal-Durrell forgive me. Maybe I can better treat you if I knew this Novan temptation.” 
“Well,” said Graid with a smile, “I think you’d better change.” Graid looked down at Arciss’ conservative garb; a dark grey robe over a beige second-skin, compared to his sheer, tight fitting aggressive Novan clothes. 
“Fine — but don’t leave without me.”
^And Arciss, would you remember to cast. You’ll ruin everything with that voice of yours.^
Chapter 18


Void exploration was begun in earnest around the cas 4000, after the last of the Rell departed the planet. The Novan void program concentrated on building colonies on outlying moons in the Novan solar system, creating platforms for agricultural growth, and the mining of asteroids, with real progress being made as the meta became more advanced. The prohibitive distance the rest of the galaxy was from Novan discouraged serious void travel until the cas 7709. In that cas, three massive ships created by the OLMAC corporation were launched, with the hopes that they would be able to travel to the nearest planet that had the best chance of supporting sentient life, and return before the Ascension with their findings. Called the “Envoys,” most believed the ships couldn’t last a journey of that length, and few expected their return.


              High in the sky through the Window of the World a glimmer twinkled. Made of three specks of light, they formed a small triangle that could be seen among the millions of stars that lit the nighttime sky. To the untrained eye that triangle was nothing but a collection of stars. But to any TELREC it held warmth and reassurance. It held their hopes and dreams, it framed the object of their faith. Those three stars framed the invisible TELREC moon called Malhrer, and they held the glance of one of their mightiest of agents, Listras, on a cold night that only promised to get colder.
She was rushing to a notoriously decadent, very upscale sex club called ‘DaLynch’ located in a rundown section of Province Ten. It was said that a small man with great mental power came there often, and Listras discovered that man to be Graid. Over the past troas she downloaded training and procured employment in DaLynch, finding it catered mostly to the elite — politicians, entertainers, business owners, even designates from the Iggaraouts. She called herself Elehtria, and she appeared now as a buxom steel-haired woman with blue eyes and many genehancements along her arms and legs. The club owners found ‘Elehtria’ to be almost indispensable — she had talents and skills that distinguished her from the other entertainers there. Listras found it to be an easy transition from her normal patrolling, enforcement, and general assassination duties to this undercover work. She had done this kind of work before — catering to a target’s sexual needs — though never in a sex club. From her training she had become an expert at fulfilling the desires of the patrons, whether they be man or woman. Tantamount in her mind was the rebuke of monitor Suldhaj, reminding her she needed to immerse herself in the Novan culture, take their sinful ways as her own. She knew he didn’t approve of her selection for this mission, and was determined to prove him wrong. 
But most difficult for Listras was mental maintenance of the identity the TELREC had crafted for her, this ‘Elehtria.’ While in the club, she could no longer ‘think’ as Listras, she had to function as Elehtria, a woman from the streets, a woman used to multiple partners who catered to all forms of perversion. When and if she encountered Graid, she knew maintaining this disguise would be extremely difficult, which is why she hoped his sexual side would mute his analytic responses. 
She remembered quickly that detachment was the best strategy; never to judge, or be surprised at a request of a patron of the club. Of course, over her long service as a TELREC, she had certainly seen or nest everything morally bankrupt the planet had to offer, though the vice and corruption was particularly thick and concentrated at clubs like these. Everyone who had a fetish or obsession outside of the norm, who hoped for something exciting and illegal to happen, came to clubs like this. At DaLynch on any given night someone could be raped, bestiality could happen, dismemberment. A whole level was devoted to the art of domination, from near-death climax, to perpetual imprisonment. Sometimes someone would die in a particularly horrible way that would excite and inflame the passions of the spectators. She had seen much of this on the first night, and though it shocked her at the time, she quickly became jaded to the occurrences without realizing it. Her soul was distant from her body while she was in the club’s walls. Even now, as she neared the club, she could feel her self drifting back, replaced by the machine that was her body. She always afforded one last look up at those three stars at some point in her journey, to remind her of her ultimate goal. And tonight, she might accomplish it.
Finally! To confront the Kal-Alçon! I still can’t understand why he makes himself so vulnerable, what his fascination is with this entertainment.
Much had been made in TELREC circles about Graid’s preoccupation with sex, his need to fulfill his desires whenever he so chose regardless of the security risks. TELREC may not have known where the Rell base was on Novan, though every sign pointed to one, but they knew where Graid was, so flagrantly did he favor Novan clubs. 
He knows our fear of defeat! Kolob, once Ascended, would dispatch Graid quickly. But we all suspect a normal TELREC will have great difficulty defeating him. All intelligence suggests he must have a MPR of at least level forty, possibly more.
Though Listras distinguished herself as a premier performer at the club, she knew Graid would be a more formidable challenge to impress. His Rell discipline, coupled with his sexual experience, made him nearly impossible to seduce. Her mission was to kill Graid, any way possible, and if she could save his mind for study, so much the better. She knew sex was the only way she could get close to him, but she knew that it would be a battle — a battle to win his attention over the other performers, a battle to win entry into his bed, and then finally, after what surely would be a grueling night of sex, a battle to kill this master. She couldn’t bring any poisons, or weapons, for he would sense them quickly. She would have to kill him with her bare hands, and mind. 
Surprise is the only option, she thought to herself. To wear him down, to sexually exhaust him. Then, while he is sleeping, to strike! It seems so cowardly, but I know even that will be difficult. 
She knew it would be difficult to attract his attention, so jaded was he by most sexual displays. She saw him once, when she first started at the club, when she was not yet ready to battle him. She hung in the background, watching him as he went through ten different women, playing with them, mentally wearing them down. He saw him engage in sexual acts most Novans would shrink from, and yet they barely aroused him. When he left, looking disappointed, she feared he would not come back, that he would find somewhere else to play. But tonight she got a cast that he was coming for some recreation, and Listras felt she was ready for him. She had been thinking on a suitable introduction to him, over these troas, and decided on it when she saw a young boy in one of the holding pens. He was recently abducted from the streets, obviously being saved for something special. It took many favors with the owner, but she convinced him to let her have the boy for a special night with Graid. Some part of her felt pity, even compassion for the youth, but she couldn’t let it interfere with the mission. Too many lives were at stake to sacrifice it for one errant boy. As she entered the club, she headed down to the holding pen to retrieve the youth.  She ran into one of the other dancers, Neoc, coming up the stairs from a dressing room. Dumb, and easily distracted by bright shiny things, she was a favorite with many of the patrons of the club. She had a vicious streak, a predilection for inflicting pain on strong men. Listras knew of her history — not much wasn’t in the TELREC database, and understood where that inclination came from.
^Well, if it isn’t Elehtria!^ cried Neoc, as she bounced closer to her, her amble bosom barely framed by the tight black bodice that was stretched tightly over her. Listras always knew Neoc was attracted to her, more so because Listras never acted on it. ^I guess you nest who’s coming?^
^No, who?^
Neoc smiled. ^Don’t play dumb with me. I saw you the first time you saw Graid. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him!^ She ran her fingers along Listras’ shoulder, looking at her with wanton eyes. ^I know he’s a strong thing, but he couldn’t please you like another woman could.^ She pressed herself closer to Listras, backing her against a wall. Neoc was a little taller, and she loved to use that height to her advantage. ^Why don’t you give me a chance?^
Listras had been avoiding her, but too many refusals would arouse suspicion. She ran her hand along Neoc’s inner thigh, bringing a deep moan from her.
^Sometime soon. But I have . . . other needs, for now.^
Neoc pouted, and backed away. ^Is that what that little morsel in the holding pen is for?^ 
Listras grinned. ^Yeah, I thought I could get his attention.^
^You know he doesn’t like men, or little boys.^
^Doesn’t matter,^ cast Listras. ^The boy is just for shock value. I will win his attention.^
Neoc could be vengeful, especially when spurned. Listras had seen it countless times, when a woman she was after was caught by another. She may not have had much intelligence, but she was sly and crafty, with few scruples.
^Not before me! I nest he spends a lot, and is impossible to tire in bed.^ Neoc pulled down the legging on her outfit, smoothing some wrinkles, posing a little for Listras. ^I don’t know what he does for a living, but I would love to be with a man like that. If it just weren’t for Selva . . .^
Listras betrayed some concern, sharpening her gaze. ^Who’s that?^
^What? You didn’t know about Selva? Ha!^ laughed Neoc, as a smugness settled over her. She twisted her lithe, young body, adjusting the fitting under her breasts, stroking her hair.  ^Well, she is the only woman I’ve seen Graid spend any time with. I know she loves him, and I think he’s coming around to the idea. You might be fighting a hopeless battle. Besides, I have some tricks in store for him. And if I get to him first, well, I don’t like sharing my bed. Especially with someone who hasn’t taken an interest in me.^ She looked at Listras with deceptively coy eyes. ^So he just might leave early, with me.^
Listras pressed Neoc against a wall, her eyes like fire, stepping out of her identity for a moment.
^I don’t lose battles, little girl. You do that stupid dance you do, and let me worry about Graid, and Selva.^ 
Neoc didn’t know whether to be aroused or frightened. She liked it rough, but was much more accustomed to dealing it out than receiving it.
^Who do you think you are?^ demanded Neoc, as she tried to push Listras away. Listras mentally pressed hard on Neoc, just for a moment, but long enough for Neoc’s knees to buckle, for her to lose her breath. ^Let me go!^ she cried, feeling pain she never had before. Listras grabbed her neck and brought her head close, her eyes so close she could see the fear within them.
^Don’t forget about me. Don’t even think about spoiling my fun with Graid! Or I will make you scream, and it will only be for my pleasure.^
Listras threw her head back into the wall, bringing a small shriek from Neoc. She staggered up, and backed away, fear spreading over her face. Neoc turned and ran up the stairs, a small wet patch forming between her legs. Listras leaned against a wall for a moment.
I know how important this mission is, but I so tire of these Novans. I have seen so much of their filth; I need to get out of this. She thought for a moment on Essile. I need to be strong, just like you Essile. But I don’t think you’d be doing the things I’m doing. And I’ve done plenty of difficult things in my life. Why do I think about this now? Why has my resolve been shaken? It must be that boy down there — it will be hard to kill him tonight. But it must be done. 
She stood straight, and walked a few steps.
Then why do I feel like I’m dying inside? I have seen the face of the Cuhli-pra! I have seen the inside of Malhrer, spoken with the Monitors! I might become one of them! And yet, it all feels so empty. She turned, and gazed in a nearby mirror, outside a dressing room.
I’ve seen them look in there, and like what they see. I’ve seen the ugliest of them smile when they look at their reflection. I never see what they can. I only see this weapon in a woman’s clothing, ready to kill. I wish I could be something better, someone with a simpler life. Someone who can love. Listras made her way down to the holding pens, past the burly female guards, ogling her with leering casts, past the pens filled with all manner of life; farm animals, reptiles, beaten men and women, and a few other children. She came close to the pen she needed. A gentle melody played in the background as the club was opening, bringing eager patrons streaming in searching for amusement. For a moment, it kindled another memory, one before she became a TELREC, when music brought her comfort, and images of dreamy creatures lost to her youth.
‘If I were to have one dream fulfilled, one wish granted, it would be that she could simply love people, oblivious to their shortcomings, to see only the beauty within them.’ Her mother’s thoughts hung low in her mind, a dim reminder of something lost, some wish her mother made as the TELREC took her away. Who was she wishing to? And why about me? She shook her head, clearing her mind. Oh, what am I thinking? I must be strong. I have lost my detachment.
Listras stood in front of the boy, looking at a wasted life. He was drugged, so much so that he didn’t look up when she came in. He stank, with a stench that smelled of his own filth. Great sorrow welled up inside her, only to be crushed by her duty. She mentally took command of the boy. He stood, as she ordered, and proceeded to take off his clothes. She led him to a nearby washing facility and commanded him to wash himself. In a moment, he stood before her, clean, yet dead to the world. 
She succumbed to temptation and peered into his mind and saw his past experiences, the faces of his family, his home. 
He is young — too young to have an implant. His family was wealthy, and kind. He has suffered so much since he came here. 
She spoke to him, softly. “It will all be over soon, sweet one. It won’t hurt; at least, I’ll make it so you won’t feel a thing.” 
Chapter 19


Ul-ach-Durrell: The seduction of the Kal-Durrell. The TELREC planned for several hundred cas for an assault on the Kal-Durrell. They knew that if they could compromise the symbols of Rell worship, the morale of the planet would fade, and would fall easily in an invasion. It was the first concerted effort by TELREC scientists on short-range genetic experimentation. Beginning in 8890, a small colony of eighteen hundred was established by the TELREC on a small moon, providing a basic genetic pool. Over the next 670 cas, they altered their makeup with various breeding techniques and chromosomal alterations, based on data collected from various Rell prisoners in the past, desiring to make them sexually irresistible. Thirty subjects were eventually created by 9520; fifteen men, fifteen women, who came to be known as the ‘Maenids.’ Downloaded with every particular about Rell society culled by Rell prisoners, they blended in easily with the Rell populace. Over the next twenty cas, they rose quickly through Rell hierarchy, seducing many Alçons, and eventually, after several fatal ‘accidents,’ succeeded in getting four of themselves appointed to the Alçon level. None could resist their power. Once appointed as Alçons, it was only a short time before they discovered the physical residence of the Kal-Durrell. In 9558 they stormed the residence in force, and barricaded themselves within with energy shields ringing the structure. Nothing is known about what transpired within, whether the Kal-Durrell submitted at all to the advances of the TELREC. What is known is that twenty of the thirty were killed, the remaining ten taken into custody, their fate unknown to the pages of history. They dealt a major blow to the pride of Rell. From then on, Rell acknowledged that even they could be seduced and corrupted. Hundreds of officials were executed for falling victim to the seduction, and for putting the safety of the Kal-Durrell at risk. The TELREC denied involvement, and the remnants of the colony they established were never found.


A fine mist coalesced into the figures of Graid and Arciss. Each stepped out from a darkened space on a side street, and took a moment to acclimate themselves. Arciss covered his nose with haste.
“What is that smell?” said Arciss in disgust.
^Life, my pathetic friend, life.^
“How can you stand it?”
“Quiet,” snapped Graid, putting a finger to his mouth. Graid tuned his perceptions into the mental wavelength Novan sent colvition transmissions on. He staggered for a moment as he acclimated to the cast-net. He reached out to Arciss’ mind.
^Remember, there is no speech,^ cast Graid.
^Yes, I’m sorry,^ replied Arciss, a little embarrassed, as he switched to colvition. ^Where are we going?^
For a moment, Graid was distracted by the avenues open to him in his mind. Though sharing a common history, the Rell and Novan people evolved with different uses for mental communication. The Rell people only used thought waves sparingly for simple communication, almost a common language. There was very little broadcast over those channels. They preferred still to converse audibly, for it opened up more avenues of self-expression. The Novans, on the other hand, crammed every minutia of their daily lives on that template for everyone to see. And though Graid ventured onto Novan often, it took even him a while to get used to it. Graid could feel those thousands of channels with billions of voices open in his mind. It filled him with a kind of euphoria to feel the whole of a civilization inside his mind. He did this without any mechanical aid — not with the implant all Novans were given at birth for mental communication. He, and all Rell, evolved the ability of telepathy without machines, though not on as powerful a level as the Novans possessed with their implants. Graid synthesized all those voices, taking a mental snapshot of the Novan whole. And what he found renewed concerns he had long ago. He shook them off quickly. 
^Tonight is not a night for analysis.^
^What do you mean?^ asked Arciss, regarding the Novan skyline.
^Nothing. Come, this way.^
^Where?^ 
Graid smiled lightly. ^To one of my favorite places.^
Graid walked at a brisk pace, weaving in and out of the throngs of people that congested the streets. At every droa, most streets were packed with people, running, walking, sitting, staring, sexing in dark corners, killing in darker ones. There was no refuse on the streets, save for souman souls and they lay up and down, begging, pushing, finding some way to be interested in life. Typically these were people with low MPR and with not enough money to purchase an upgrade. They had to act out, in reality, what most could experience in fiction on the cast-net. CRODAM seldom interfered, as they took their lead from the TELREC, and the TELREC couldn’t care less about this souman garbage so long as it stayed where it belonged and had no thoughts of rebellion. 
Along the way Arciss tried to stay focused by cescting with Graid about recent developments on Rell. Martel’s death had ignited something, not only in the Alçons, but in the general populous. His name was one of the few of the military that was known. While there may not have been any major war for him to distinguish himself, he had mentored many of those in key positions now, and they spread his name to their subordinates and their families. His death cast a shadow over much of Rell, word of his death spreading ripples throughout all Rell civilization.	
Reports had come from around the planet that anger was building, not only in the military and the Alçons, but in the people themselves. For the first time, people complained to their Alçons about the lack of response concerning Martel’s death, about the threat of the approaching Ascension. Somehow, details of his final confrontation were leaked, and the weak denials from the Alçons did little to extinguish the flames. 
The Alçons, in turn, had several meetings, at which a show of force was discussed. Uonil had been in contact with a senior Alçon named Devring, who was by far the most aggressive. His stature in the Council eclipsed even Uonil’s, and for the first time since Martel’s death, she quietly asked for Graid’s intervention.
^What are we to do?^ begged Arciss, only just remembering to cast instead of speak. ^Our people cannot go down this path! It takes them away from their faith, from the Kal-Durrell.^
^Then maybe the Kal-Durrell should say something about it,^ cast Graid, as they rounded another corner. The people instantly moved from in front of him, clearing a path, thanks to his immense mental influence. 
Arciss stopped. ^Isn’t that what you’re for?^
Graid turned and came close to him. ^Do you think it prudent to discuss intimate affairs of our government on the streets of Novan?^
^No,^ replied Arciss, feeling suitably chastised.
^Good. Then leave it be, for the Alçons will forever bicker and debate every little thing. Focus on the here and now, and try, try to enjoy yourself! Or at the very least, try not to interfere with my pleasure.^

As they moved quickly through the streets, many women propositioned Graid, some even catching the master’s eye, and he lightly jested with them. With his open purple robe flowing around him he looked at home in the Novan environment; a rich man out for a good time. He used his mental strength to null the beggars’ thoughts as he walked, mentally pushing them down and back into the corners and cracks of the streets.
All this gradually became tremendously interesting to Arciss. His eyes were constantly distracted by the heathen environment. Contrary to Rell — where all had a purpose and there were no vagrants, addicts, prostitutes or murderers — here chaos and apathy prevailed. He had never seen so many different types of dress, smelled so many different types of food. Buildings towered overhead, replete with hundreds of ads and holo displays. One had to only look at one for a til, and its litany of advertisement would fill one’s mind. He knew that most of the Novans were irrelevant to the TELREC, superfluous to their genetic enhancement program. But Arciss wondered how even they could let the planet deteriorate to this level, how the average Novan could tolerate it. 
I wish I understood why Graid is so fascinated —
^You’ve got to learn to conceal your thoughts better,^ rebuked Graid. ^There are many who delight in searching weak minds. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you.^
Arciss felt stung by this remark. He knew on Novan he was at a distinct disadvantage.
^Don’t concern yourself with me, I’ll manage,^ he cast, as he strengthened control over his mind. 
^That’s better, I was growing tired of you imagining me naked.^
^What?! I —^
^Watch out!^ quipped Graid, as Arciss mentally stumbled. ^And open your eyes . . .^
Arciss looked around, and didn’t realize before how dark the section of Novan that they were in was. The facades were a dingy grey, seeming to be an extension of the night. There were few lights, and fewer cast-ads. It seemed as if the corner they turned just moments ago brought them into a nether world, full of darkness and evil intent. People still walked by, the crowds were just as thick, but they were meaner, closer, their thoughts more obvious and graphic. In the shadows off to the sides of the streets Arciss could see figures moving, undulating like a Rell sea. In some corners, there looked to be dozens of people in some great mass, moving to a rhythm unheard yet understood. Drawing his eyes away, he looked on Graid, who had stopped and was looking up into the sky. The stars were visible through the Window of the World, distant, yet relieving the sense of claustrophobia Arciss felt since they arrived. He could sense Graid felt something in the air, but couldn’t tell if it was for good or ill. Graid turned and smiled.
^Down there.^
Arciss looked down to the left, and noticed a dark stairway that led under a building. A small sign, painted neatly on wood, hung above that stairwell. The sign itself was muted by dirt and grime, so that it too blended in with the night. It read:

NO ENTRY

Graid examined the sign with obvious approval. ^Humorous, isn’t it? This has to be one of the few places on Novan that has some flair, some understanding of understatement. Some call it ‘The Carnival,’ others call it ‘DaLynch.’ 
^How ironic that one from a simple culture, who delights in the vulgarity of Novan, would favor such an understated locale?^	
^Quiet,^ sneered Graid, ^or I’ll forget my good nature.^
Near the entrance, lay a pile of bodies one on top of another. Unlike those around them, these were not moving.  
^What is that?^ asked Arciss. ^How can they sleep on the streets?^
^They’re not asleep. They’re dead.^
^Dead?^ Arciss ventured a little closer, making his way through the crowds walking back and forth. ^How can this happen? How can people just walk by them and over them?^
^You studied Novan. You know how crowded it is down here, and how isolated these people are from one another. These people don’t even notice the bodies. They’ll be cleaned up the next time a meta cleaning crew cycles through this street.^
^It’s just . . . all so different, when it’s real,^ cast Arciss as he stood looking at them, their lifeless bodies casually strewn one atop another. Graid pulled him back.
^Watch out behind you.^
Arciss heard the sound of scraping metal, and turned to see two meta approaching. On all fours, they moved slowly, their appendages gauging the terrain carefully, as it appeared they carried a heavy load.
^I suppose you’ll want to watch this. Curious, this morbid fascination of yours.^
^Are they the cleaning crew?^ asked Arciss, absorbed in the scene.
^Watch, and see.^
The two meta approached the dead bodies, and reclined on their rear legs. Standing almost shoulder height, they were massive, densely packed machines. The crowd moved around them, affording them a little space, but not much. Suddenly a liquid shot out of each of them, coating the building behind the bodies. 
^Here it comes,^ cast Graid.
Each meta then extended a nozzle from beneath, and a torrent of fire consumed the bodies. People still passed by, uncaring, not turning to witness the spectacle. Arciss looked around, and only he and Graid were watching the meta work. The flames started to produce ash, which was captured by large vacuum nozzles that came out of the top of the meta. Accelerant was pumped into the fire, and for a few more til, it raged even higher and brighter. Then the meta ceased their assault, at least of fire. A whitish chemical was then sprayed on the remains, extinguishing the flames. As the flames disappeared, the meta advanced, small appendages grabbing the bones and pulling them in to the sound of grinding metal. In a few more moments, all that marked their passing was a wet spot on the ground and a blackened wall that would be erased by smaller maintenance meta before long.
Arciss looked at Graid, the experience he witnessed sinking in, fleshing out his opinion of Novans.
^They are a sinful, cursed people, master.^
Graid frowned. ^I don’t know about you, Arciss, I just don’t know. Now let’s go.^
They turned, passed through the entrance to the club, and descended the stairs to a lower level. Crudely fashioned, they almost seemed unsafe to Arciss. 
^What kind of place is this?^
^One that prides itself on detail and authenticity,^ cast Graid, becoming annoyed. I hope he won’t ruin this evening with his naive questions. I should have just erased his memory and left him in Rellcine.
The stairs continued down in light that was faint and yellow, the sound from the outside fading to nothingness. Cramped and narrow, they were steep, with each step thin and slanted downwards. With no rail to provide support, Arciss was constantly keeping his balance by holding onto the walls. After a while, he noticed the walls were made of planks of wood, varnished to a high sheen. He thought for a moment at the extravagance, as wood was only grown on the AG platforms, and it was quite expensive.  It was difficult to make out the type of wood, as the light faded as they descended deeper. The air became thicker, and heavier, increasing the sense of closeness Arciss so keenly felt.
^I thought wood was gone on Novan,^ cast Arciss, trying to appear nonchalant.
Graid shook his head, continuing downwards, until finally, they were stopped by a large wooden door.
^Someone cast to me once; ‘leave your inhibitions at the door,’^ cast Graid solemnly. ^I cast that to you now. We are no longer on Rell, or on Rellcine. We are on Novan. The Kal-Durrell do not see you, and neither does Uonil.^ 
^The Kal-Durrell are all seeing, on Rell, Novan, or wherever. But I will try.^ 
Graid turned the knob, and passed through. The smell was the first thing Arciss noticed, strong and pungent, it hit him like a tidal wave, an odor of people sweating and sexing. The light shocked him for a moment, but he quickly grew accustomed, struggling not to look the tourist. The light was red, the color of diluted blood, that shifted often to orange, and sometimes to violet. Arciss watched the light play over Graid’s body as he walked in, and noticed the people turning to look on him.
^Come.^ 
Arciss stepped in, and felt his perceptions dance for a moment. He could feel there was some colvition technology at work, breaking down the emotional barriers within the people present, making their thoughts, and desires, more apparent. Arciss instantly fortified his mind, drawing on his mental defenses. He looked on the people present, and remarked at the wealth present. 
Such a decadent place, yet patronized by the elite of Novan society! I recognize some here from our intelligence files. Councilmen, business owners, designates! And they all show such desires . . .
The club was split into three stages, set deep within the floor. Around them wound counters with drink and food. Many conversed on that level, as there was no entertainment yet on the stages below. Some did gather on one stage, where Arciss could sense some music was being broadcast. Partners circled each other, touching and caressing each other, engaged in some erotic dance. The walls were unadorned, colored what appeared to be plain beige. Along the perimeter small spheres were inset at regular intervals, and they were the only things to distract one’s eyes.
^This . . . this is so plain,^ snorted Arciss, his lips twisted into a sneer. ^I expected so much more.^
^What do you think those spheres are?^
^I don’t know,^ he cast, focusing his mind on them. ^They seem to be . . . some kind of colvition tech?^
Graid put his arm around Arciss, and drew him close.
^This place is only for those who want to be here. Not only is it well hidden physically from those on the streets, it emanates a mental camouflage, pushing some away, drawing others in. That’s what happened to me.^ His words were wistfully cast as he breathed in deeply, pridefully scanning the room as if he were its king. ^It drew me here, and I opened my mind, and partook of its decadent pleasures.^ 
^But . . . I don’t want to be here.^
^Don’t you?^ asked Graid, facing him. ^Haven’t you always wanted to be here, away from the complication that is our planet, our people? Haven’t you always wanted a place where you could be yourself, where no one would judge you, or censure you? Haven’t you always wanted to explore the darkness within yourself, plumb the depths of your desire, express every word of your unspoken lust?^
^You think too much on this. The Kal-Durrell —^
^Are not here,^ cast Graid, cutting him off. ^Believe me, they may exist everywhere else, but they are not here. The council of Alçons is not here. Now, answer my question,^ cast Graid, as he ran his hand along Arciss’ chest. ^What do you desire?^ 
For a moment, Arciss relaxed in Graid’s embrace, and let down the complex net of responsibility and accountability he had woven around himself since first he entered service into the Rell government. And in that moment, the room pulsed around him, into him. He could feel a throbbing, like some primitive musical beat, pulse into his consciousness. The room swirled in a blackness that was thick with heat, filled with the smells and tastes of sex. He opened his mouth, and it flowed into him, consuming his mind. He closed his eyes, and his tongue felt as if it was embracing with another, or sliding down another’s thick member. He swallowed, knowing he was swallowing a part of this room, of this existence. He opened his eyes, and for a moment felt fear, trying to re-establish the barriers and boundaries he had before.
^No, my dear Arciss. Look around, and let yourself be . . .^
It seemed as if he was in another place. Curtains hung from the ceiling, great violet, thick swaths, embroidered with words in some unknown language. The floor pulsed beneath him, with a blackness that swallowed the feet and lower legs of those present. They seemed to float in some dark cloud, bending down to copulate in its depths. 
^What is this place?^
^Is it too much for you, my dear Arciss?^ asked Graid, as he laughed to himself. ^Let me help you to understand what kind of place you are in. I give you this word.^
Sleep . . .
And his mind folded into itself, conjuring all manner of scenes of the erotic possibilities of sleep. He lay next to a man, a sleeping man, who gyrated slowly under white sheets. Arciss moved his hand between the man’s legs, and felt his firmness. Then Arciss was asleep, at the border between dream and delusion, feeling drugged, as rough hands ran over his body, violating him with an urgency Arciss found utterly intoxicating. 
^There is more, isn’t there, my Arciss? Let the barriers down, let the darkness in.^
Arciss didn’t know who cast that, as Graid seemed distracted. His mind seemed to vanish, his ego fading to dust. His hands felt a smooth, soft firmness. His legs felt another’s, similar, yet softer, yielding to his touch. Someone whispered in where his ear would be, and a fire spread through his loins. He grew firm, and urgent. He entered, someone, who still faced him. It felt delicious and warm, and the moans the person made ignited anger and lust in his muscles. He thrust without reservation, without censor. He opened his eyes, and saw the face of what he desired. 
“No!” Arciss let slip a soft, quiet word. But it was loud enough. Almost everyone turned to look at him, with a distinct scowl. Arciss suddenly felt those thirty or so minds probing at his, pushing, pulling at the layers that he used to mask his thoughts. One by one they were being stripped away, leading to his true self. Graid looked over at him, instantly reinforcing his mind. 
^I think even Martel would be disappointed in you.^
Arciss contritely followed Graid as he crossed the room, cursing himself for his weakness. 
Is that what I truly desire? Am I some falsehood, some lie?
^I remember the first time I came here,^ cast Graid. ^I was only fifteen. Finally, I had begun to get away from the scientists and trainers, and explore the world of our so hated enemy. What a revelation! Our world, our people can be so rigid and inflexible, bound to the words of doctrine, locked in a prison of our own making, self-imposed. I found such freedom here! We were all taught of the enslavement of the Novan people by the TELREC, how they surrendered their free will in hopes of creating the Cuhli-pra. Well even under that supposed ‘enslavement’ I found more freedom than I ever had on Rell. Freedom to think, freedom to explore. Freedom to find out who ‘Graid’ was. After I became used to their way of life, I found there were two types of people. The first were slaves to the cast-net, interested only in what it had to offer, forgetting the real world that pulsed around them. The others were slaves to carnal pleasure, people who were unable to enjoy the fruits of the cast-net, and instead sought to explore the bounds of that physical pleasure, whether it be illegal or immoral. In my travels, I found this DaLynch, a marriage of both where one can explore both the physical and the mental sides of pleasure. I remember I found it on a dark night, not unlike this one, after walking the streets for troas looking for something new and different. I had almost given up, when I saw that sign outside, ‘NO ENTRY.’ I knew I had found home.  I spent roas here, going through women like chocolate treats, each one giving me something new and different. From that roa on I looked on the Novans differently, with an open mind, and learned to appreciate what their culture has to offer. That’s not to say this place doesn’t bore me sometimes, but, more often than not, I am amused.^
^But what of their decadence?^ pleaded Arciss like some bleating sheep. ^Their heathen attitude towards religion? Their —^ 
^Calm down! It’s not as if I don’t know of their shortcomings. But too many of us view them one-dimensionally. Sometimes I think ‘The Great Compromise’ did more harm than good.^
Arciss took a heavy sigh. ^Martel would cry if he heard those words.^
Graid slammed in frustration. ^Open your damned mind!^
^Salov, Graidlev!^ cast someone to Graid. They both turned, and for a moment even Arciss was stunned. A woman stood before them, clad in a simple, tight-fitting rich blue second skin, with delicate silver lacework adorning the fabric, accenting the curves of her body, through which strips of her bronzed skin slipped through. But even Arciss knew that to call her a ‘woman’ was to insult her. She was more like a first woman, a being from which all others were merely diluted copies. Her hair, a deep rich brown, danced about her head, its waves so caught the light cast from above. Her eyes were narrow, yet fully open, beckoning those who looked upon her to fathom the depths that lie behind them. She was mystery personified; a body fashioned from some metal that was so striking yet smoothed by the gentlest of flame. A tall woman, even by Novan standards, her face was commanding, almost royal. She walked with grace, a youthful face with the trained body of a mature woman. The smile she gave to Graid, Arciss knew she gave to no other, and Arciss could not understand how Graid did not fall down to her feet in worship.  A man stood at her side — tall and proud, more muscular than most, with an immediate intensity in his golden eyes.
^Ahh, Selva.^ Graid turned back to Arciss. ^She was one of the first people I met here. I think she might be the reason I keep coming back.^ ^Salov Selva,^ Graid cast as he walked past her, brushing her as he passed, his hand glancing over her hips.
^Why does she call you Graidlev?^ asked Arciss quickly.
^It is a term of endearment.^
The man beside Selva stepped towards Graid.
^And I am —^
^No one of consequence,^ cast Graid, meeting the man’s gaze. He turned back quickly to Selva, a fury rising in his face. ^I cast you; never bring a man here!^ He grabbed her face, pulling it in close, squeezing it mercilessly in his hands. ^You know what this place means to me, I will not tolerate fools in my temple!^
The man put a hand on Graid’s shoulder. ^Maybe you don’t know me, but —^
^You don’t know yourself,^ cast Graid, still ignoring him.
Arciss saw what was coming by looking in Graid’s face, and backed away. The room blared a brilliant orange, as the man stumbled backwards. 
^I can feel you like violence,^ cast Graid, finally redirecting his anger more profitably. ^Violence towards women, and men. You like to be the powerful one, the one to dispense reward and rebuke. How many times have you had to control yourself, so you don’t go a little too far?^ Others turned, as they could sense what was happening. A couple even activated virt-life recorders. ^You like flesh, don’t you? Not smooth and silky, or even rough and muscular. You like it stripped of the skin, the blood still wet on the surface. You like to push your hands inside, and dream what it would be like . . .^ The man struggled against Graid, trying to seal off his mind.
^Graid please,^ cast Selva, pulling on his arm. ^He’s no one important.^
^No one? No one?!^ cried Graid, as his fury rose. ^You’re right, he is no one important. No one anyone will miss. How many apathets have gone missing because of you?^ Graid exploded in the man’s mind, and reformed as an apathet, covered in filth, rags hanging along his withered frame. He shuffled towards him, reeking of excrement and disease. ^How many of them have you cradled as death struggled to do the same, pushing death away so you might keep their last moments?^ Graid grabbed the man and pulled him close in his mind, biting down into his chest, ripping away skin and flesh. He screamed in his mind, and tried to back away.
The man writhed in pain, and struggled to regain control of himself. ^Not like this! I am in control — I have the power . . . I am . . . the one!^
^You are no one,^ cast Graid. He sank his teeth in again, controlling his bite, so as he pulled away, he pulled away strips of flesh. ^Your hands are gone.^ And as them man looked down, his hands were as bloody stumps. ^Your feet are gone.^ And as he looked down, he found he could not stand, and collapsed on the floor. A dozen or so other figures appeared in his mind, sensing opportunity. ^I invite you, my curious friends, to taste pleasure as this man has!^ The man screamed as Graid left his mind, as his body was thrown about as a child’s doll. Graid turned to Selva, with a toothy grin that wouldn’t end.
^Never again.^
She nodded demurely. ^Yes, Graid.^ 
Graid moved off, settling against a rail. Arciss stood immobile, sensing the agony the man was going through, unable to decide what to do. Selva put a hand on his arm.
^Don’t worry; he’s just in a mood tonight. He means well. I mean, if he really did those things to apathets, doesn’t he deserve this?^ 
The man beside her mentally collapsed, falling to the floor. A few of the club’s attendants lifted his body, and carried him away, with more than a few patrons following closely behind.
^What will happen to him?^ asked Arciss.
The lighting shifted again, to a blackened violet. As Selva turned, Arciss saw a reddish glow cover her face.
^This place is not for the weak. That is the thrill of being here, sexing here, and leaving here on one’s own motive power.^ 
Selva came over to Graid, Arciss following slowly behind. Graid was busy mentally entertaining a few other women in the club. Selva stood patiently in front of him, while Arciss began to wish he never came.
^Choosing to ignore me?^ cast Selva, looking first at Arciss, then at Graid.
^Now how could I do that?^ he cast, as he turned, and stood close to her. They embraced, and kissed deeply. She lingered in his arms, and Arciss never thought he saw Graid so complete.
^You haven’t cast to me in a while, Graidlev. I feel as if you don’t want me.^
^How could you think that, dear Sel? I need you in ways you cannot imagine.^
She smiled. ^You always say that, but then I am left without you for roas, troas at a time. Often, I begin to think of other men . . .^
Selva knew this was a gamble, for Graid was too high a prize to be dismissed. As Selva commanded the attention of every man near her, so Graid was as the sun, and every woman who passed bent closer to be warmed by his presence. 
^Sel,^ began Graid, with an aloof air, ^if you find another man who can amuse you more than I, then by all means, take him as yours.^ He paused for a moment, as the room darkened a little. ^Just never bring them here.^
They moved slowly on the floor, their limbs flowing in a delicate sympathy. She ran her hand along his face, and looked in his eyes. The light around them throbbed a rich blue, and Arciss could feel the emotion generated between them.
Desire . . .
He could feel himself caught in its sway, being at first Selva, yearning to be filled by this man of power this untamed beast, then Graid, needing to dominate another, and at the same time, to be dominated. 
Selva thought for a moment, and then softly laughed. ^You know you’re the only one for me. I’ll take whatever time you can give me.^
^Then I’ll give you all I can.^ 
They held each other, Selva overjoyed to be the sole focus of his attention, at least, for a time. Graid looked along her arm, running his hand along its length.
^Graid?^ cast Arciss privately.
^What now?^
^Some of those people . . . they were making virt-lives!  Of you, doing what you did. What if others nest them? What about the TELREC, knowing you are here?^
Graid leaned on Arciss’ mind, creating a dull pressure on his thoughts. ^This is the last time you will let what we do and who we are intrude on my fun! Do you know how many virt-lives are in existence? If there’s one thing the Novans know how to do, it is to make copious amounts of inanity. There are billions of virt-lives on hundreds of thousands of archives across these globes. Do you know how many virt-lives are made in a roa? How many authors of those virt-lives die, and their creations with them? The chance of some silly virt-life from such an isolated club making its way to anyone of any import is nothing short of farcical. Now be null, and try, please try, to enjoy yourself.^ He turned back to Selva. ^So, what brings you here?^
^You, my dear. My body could sense you were near. Like my frock?^
He came in close, letting her feel his member through his sheer clothing. ^Very . . . pastoral. I feel like tilling you earthy soil. Trying to tease me, dearest?^
^Always sex, Graidlev, and never love? Well, you might get your chance, later tonight. I never could resist you. If I can’t have your soul, then I’ll settle for your body.^ 
^And for some reason, dear Sel, I never could resist you. What else have we done, my sweet?^ Graid asked, as he ran his hand along Selva’s arm again. ^A little cosmetic genehancement?^ 
^Oh — my spots! Yes, Graid. I admit, I was bored without your company. That OLMAC stuff, Ileveit, really makes them stand out! Besides, you know how I like the whole primitive thing.^
Graid lifted her arm up, following small golden spots as they wound their way up her shirt into territories unseen.
^Well, at least it will give me something to explore later.^ He smiled, and kissed her. ^But next time, cast to me before you do something like that. You are so beautiful, just the way you are.^
^You old sentimentalist.^ Selva hesitated. ^Can’t we be alone tonight, dear one? We could leave here, and venture out to —^
^I’m sorry, dear Sel,^ he cast, interrupting her. ^Tonight I need some company. I know it’s wrong, at least, wrong to you, but I am quite hungry tonight, and I feel I might devour you whole, if we were alone.^
Graid looked into her eyes, feeling the connection he felt since they first met. He knew she was a weakness to him, a feeling he could not dispose of. Even now, though he came to DaLynch for entertainment, he could feel the pull from her eyes, the weight her voice put on his very soul, and found it hard to struggle against. The room was in sympathy to Graid’s thoughts, and pulsed even more slowly, its colors dissolving into clouds of blue-green and bronze. 
^I might enjoy that,^ she cast softly, pushing her groin up against his, pulling him in close. ^I would do, whatever you want. Anything, my Graidlev,^ she cast, as she kissed along his neck. ^Anything.^
^But then where would I be, after you were gone? I am not some wolf of the mountains, on the prowl only to devour his conquest. I need to be surrounded tonight. Maybe some other night, we shall dedicate the evening to ourselves.^
^Soon please, Graidlev.^ 
She looked at him with eyes of sincerity, which even Arciss knew was a true rarity on Novan. 
^It shall be, my love. Meanwhile, who would entertain us tonight?^
Graid scanned the room, looking over the women in couples, the women dancing on the various stages, searching for someone unique and interesting.  Selva restrained her disappointment, and pointed over to the center stage.
^How about her?^
On one of the three stages, two figures had begun some entertainment, and patrons began to gather around them. A woman and a man, both nude, each were reclined on a small, cubical wooden box that was covered with a small fabric nailed around its upper perimeter. It was only large enough to support their torsos, with their hands, and legs, dangling over the side. Each of them was involved in an act of masturbation, their hands moving sensually over their naked bodies. For a moment, Arciss was distracted by the muscular male form. 
^She has . . . possibilities.^ Graid glanced back at Arciss, who was enraptured by the male figure.
^Remember,^ cast Graid, ^how the Novans seduced us before?^
Arciss shook himself from his thoughts. ^Even the best of us can be momentarily . . . tempted,^ as he quickly regained his composure and fortified his mind.
^It is all about control!^ cast Graid, looking on Arciss with penetrating eyes. ^Control over them, control over oneself. The ability to lose control, when it is right, and the knowledge of when to break another’s control. Rell minds are so transparent, so linear, compared with the complexity of the Novan social psyche.^ 
Graid turned away with a frown. He turned his attention back to the stage, which was brightly lit in comparison with the rest of the club. He tapped his mind into the game at hand; seduction. He could feel the pull and strength of the other minds, trying to exert their influence on the woman in the center. The performer shifted shields in her mind, nimbly deflecting probing thoughts, and mental commands.  Graid was fully familiar with this game, the object being either complete submission of the subject because of one’s mental strength, or complete acceptance based on the pursuer’s entreaties and reasonings. 
He focused on the performer’s body. She is a strong one, thought Graid, while letting his hands roam over Selva’s body. The light put in sharp focus the tautness of her muscles, the strength of her legs. Her breasts heaved with her motions, and he mentally ran his hands over them. He gave a subtle suggestion. 
^Aren’t you alone down there?^
She glanced in his direction and pulled her male partner toward her. Her partner willingly complied as she ravaged his body. She pushed and pulled him, forcing him into various positions. Graid could feel the excitement build in the spectators, who slowed their own dances to concentrate on the performers. 
^This could be you,^ she cast, as she pulled him down, straddling his torso. She ground her pelvis into his chest, pushing his face down into the mat. ^I’ll bet you like it rough.^
Graid smiled, and cast; ^I see your strength, your power. I know you’d like to be coerced, but not controlled. Not easily — it would be a long struggle.^ 
She moved down his body, striking him across the face, knocking him out. ^You probably couldn’t handle me.^ She bent down, bringing her partner back to consciousness. A little dazed, he stumbled back, remembering her surprise blow. ^Oh no. You’re not leaving me.^  She careened through the air, striking him in the mid-section with her foot. Her movements were blindingly fast, and in a moment he was doubled over on the floor. She reached down, and pulled an arm up. 
The attention level in the room was now total. More stopped their own activities to concentrate on the display.
^She looks as if she will kill him,^ cast Arciss anxiously.
^It’s been known to happen,^ replied Graid, intently watching the spectacle.
She twisted his arm with a rapid motion, dislocating it. He cried in agony as it hung limp, with no connection to his shoulders. The crowd’s excitement intensified, hoping she might finish the act. In a moment, she reached down, between his legs, and grabbed his genitals. ^Stand!^ she slammed, and in great pain, he did. With a slicing motion, she ripped into his chest, her nails slicing open flesh. Some spectators doubled back in shock, others began to caress themselves. 
^Could you handle me?^ she demanded of Graid. She grabbed her partner’s head, knelt him down, and forced him between her legs, rubbing herself in his mouth, suffocating him. She moaned in pleasure, coming to climax. The crowd climaxed with her, their eyes wide open, many mentally recording everything they saw. At last she came, her mouth open, soundlessly screaming. She kept herself in his mouth, until he passed out from lack of air. 
^This is too much,^ muttered Arciss. ^I knew these Novans were depraved, but —^
^Most of these Novans can’t tell the difference between the cast-net and real life,^ brusquely rebuked Graid. ^Now null your mind before I forget who you are. I’ve already warned you more than once.^
Selva came close to Graid, wrapping her thin, delicate arm around his. She stood over him, almost a full head higher, and yet to look on them was to see utter submission on her part, utter devotion. Arciss was taken by how violent Graid seemed next to her, although he wasn’t even moving.
^Do you think she’ll kill him?^ asked Selva. Graid looked on, not replying. The woman in the center grabbed his head, bringing him up to a seated position. Slowly, he awoke. She planted a foot on his chest, still bloody from her nails. 
^No, you probably couldn’t handle me.^ She raised her leg, arcing down the heel of her foot. The crowd was on the edge, moaning for resolution. 
Graid smiled, and with little effort pushed all others out of her thoughts but him. The spectators were momentarily shocked, not knowing the cause. All her body was frozen in place. 
^I am stronger than anyone you’ve ever known,^ he cast. ^Stand!^
Before she realized, she dismounted him, and stood, facing Graid. Moments later, she recovered, and relaxed her stance.
^You’re strong,^ she replied, struggling to catch her breath. ^But are you all strength and no imagination? I’ve probably been with a hundred like you.^ 
The stage grew black, with a thick blue haze rising from the floor. All around them, the fabric of the drapes undulated as if an airborne sea, flowing in and around those present. It became transparent, flowing veils of reddish silk. They passed through the woman in the stage, and each time one did, she became more and more aroused. They were like waves of an orgasm, visible for all to see. She shook on legs made of rubber, trying to stop her hands from touching herself, but finding she had no control. The spectators soon felt her orgasm as the curtains passed through them, each veil bringing a different form of pleasure, a different aspect of lust. One was laced with pain, another with guilt and shame, still another with sadness and desperation. The unheard throb that pulsed through the club grew thicker and stronger, almost to the speed of a heartbeat, yet slower. It slowed the pulse of their hearts, slipping them into a state of euphoria.
^Who . . . who are you?^ she cast, falling to her knees. 
^Do you think I’m done? I’ve just begun.^
Her heart beat faster, as the blood raced through her body. Graid reached out to her mind, locating several hundred nerve centers. In an instant, he stimulated them. She ran her hands over her body, thinking, knowing it was covered in a gelatinous substance. She could even smell that it was sweet, and brought her fingers up to taste it. With each touch, she found she could enjoy a virgin’s pleasure on every part of her body. It was as if she had never been touched before, never sexed before. She pleasured herself, using all the tricks she had learned through her life, yet on a body that acted as if it had never felt them before. She could feel Graid was even amplifying this sensation. The spectators around her swooned with her every moan, and fell into the bluish mist, unable to control themselves.  Graid stopped the image, smiling as a conqueror. She stood like some beaten warrior, her mind null, her chest heaving with stolen breath, her body awash in perspiration. She appeared as one who had traveled for many cas, who at long last had found what she was searching for.
^I am Neoc. And I am yours tonight.^ 

As the crowd recovered from Graid’s performance, Arciss walked around the perimeter of the club, trying to gain control over the emotions kindled in his mind.
This is our Kal-Alçon? This is what he has been doing all these cas? I know he is entitled to his own form of entertainment, but this . . . How can I bring him back to the embrace of Rellcism? He ran his hand along the long wooden bar, his eyes alighting on a young man nearby. Tall, and muscular, he had soft, pearl-blue eyes, and creamy skin. Clothed tightly in a light-blue body suit, with a flowing, sheer long jacket, Arciss fell into light cesct with him. 
^How long are you here, lover?^ asked the man.
^Only as long as my friend will stay,^ replied Arciss, trying to look disinterested.
^He doesn’t look like your type.^
^He isn’t. He’s here for the women. I’m just his . . . bodyguard.^
The stranger laughed. ^My name is Sotht.^ 
^I am Arciss.^ 
Sotht smiled. ^I know.^
Arciss became more alert, sensing danger.
^What are you?^ 	
^You’re not accepted well among them, are you?^ asked Sotht.
Does he know I’m Rell? thought Arciss, as he reinforced his mind.
Sotht laughed. ^I can read you very easily. I can tell you are not used to our ways, that this form of indulgence is completely foreign to you.^
^Who are you?^ demanded Arciss, ^How can you read into me?^
Sotht caressed his partner, a shorter man who was with him but oblivious to the cesct. ^You are a simple man! Your people never have truly accepted same sex relations, have they? I mean, there is no actual procreation involved, so it really is only for personal gratification, eh? Which is too ‘Novan’ for your people to appreciate.^ 
He cast concerns that were true, and which bothered Arciss for all his life. He felt he was never truly accepted, no matter his intelligence, because of his orientation. To become a Steward of Graid, at such a critical time, was truly an honor, and in some ways a declaration of Rell respect for him. But some part of him, deep down, still was wary and suspicious of their ultimate motives, and felt all his superiors would be happier if he failed.
^They may be,^ cast Sotht, in answer to Arciss’ thoughts. ^It would eliminate you forever from their ranks, and would validate their opinion of your kind. Haven’t you ever dreamed of belonging, of the freedom of full expression? Ultimate disclosure?^
This man is dangerous, thought Arciss, more carefully. How much can he read into me? Where is Graid? Arciss turned to get Graid’s attention.
^Look at me!^ cried Sotht, forcing Arciss to turn back. ^I am not dangerous, merely truthful. You know, we freely accept all types of relations.^ 
It is all about control, isn’t it? Graid was right, and this room, this place, seems to weaken my control.
^Your decadence is well known, Novan.^ 
^Such anger would be better directed against your own people, my friend,^ rebuked Sotht sternly. ^And your rebuke seems shallow, and without strength. You have, from time to time, admitted the truth of which I cast. Why turn from it now? Should one ever turn from the truth, deny it because it comes from an unsavory source? I would think that if even we lowly Novans knew this truth, that you should pay heed even closer, and accept the validity of my words. I could do so many things to you, you would have such freedom here.^ 
^Another Novan seducer? Like the others cas ago?^ retorted Arciss. He could feel Sotht wielded considerable influence. Even with his extensive Rell training, he felt a part of him wanted him and needed him. The room changed in Arciss’ mind to suit his emotions. While he had not moved, the space between them seemed to grow smaller, the lighting focused only on both of them. 
^You are too strong to be seduced, my Arciss. I can feel the immense talent within you, and the sacrifice you have made, covering and restraining your desires. How many men have you been attracted to, have you even loved, but never approached, because of your faith, because they would disapprove, because they would not understand? You desired to succeed, and you have, but at what cost? How much of you has been lost; how much of that wonderful man I’ve only begun to know, has died at the hands of your Rell masters? Why do you suppose Rell has maintained this self-negation for all these millennia? Control. Absolute control. Control of every fiber of your life. We may have the TELREC, but they only go so far. Our freedom is our dearest possession, our acceptance and tolerance our strongest trait. All those cas of penance, for what? We will have our Cuhli-pra soon, and will leave this ancient world for thousands of better ones.^ 
^You will be defeated! Evil has always been defeated.^ Arciss cast the words, but did not believe them. He knew Sotht’s words were true, and only respected him for casting them. 
^Which of us is truly evil?^ pleaded Sotht. ^Our way, at worst, may be called decadent, but it places the individual’s freedom above all else.^ 
^Enough!^ Arciss could feel he needed to end this, for this man was wearing down his resistance with every word he spoke. He could feel the urge growing that he needed to be with him, above everything. It wasn’t just that the words he spoke were true, but this man had such a quality that every word he spoke, no matter how inconsequential, was beautiful, and right. His voice was a symphony of seduction, every syllable meant to invite, to convince, to persuade.
^Surrender, my Arciss. Or, do not think of it as a surrender, but instead as a victory! A victory for the true person within you. A victory for your soul over those who would categorize you, who place expectation on you. A victory over all those who looked with disapproval at this dynamic man, those who cast, gossiped — no matter how sinful — about you to every sympathetic ear or mind. They don’t respect you, they don’t need you! They tolerate you only to assuage their own guilty consciences. They like to have you around, because they can continue to discriminate against those like you, and still appear to be fair and honest. They can look in the mirror, or at their Kal-Durrell, and cast ‘look, I have Arciss.’^
^I am not the weak one I appear to be,^ cast Arciss weakly, ^I am only disadvantaged by unfamiliar environs. I —^
^Our intelligence is never wrong,^ Sotht cast, with what Arciss imagined to be a deadpan stare. The casual smile, the playful sexuality was gone. ^There are millions of us, Arciss. You will never know where we all are, but we are looking for you. If you come on this world, chances are, we will discover you. And then, like now, it will be too late.^	
^So . . . this is war?^ asked Arciss.
^Only if you choose it to be. We can be lovers or fighters, we Novans. You can be honest to yourself, and your faith. You only do it an injustice by fooling yourself that they accept you.^ 
Arciss knew he had to handle Sotht on his own, that any lapse in concentration to warn Graid would compromise him too much. 
^You need to leave my mind, my pretty friend,^ cast Arciss.
^You want me here.^ Sotht’s words had a confidence that Arciss still found utterly attractive. ^You need me here.^ 
^Are you ready to die?^
^You think yourself capable of killing me?^ replied Sotht, incredulously. ^The one person who has told you the truth, in your life? Not even your lover has told you the things I have told you now.^
^That may be true,^ cast Arciss as he concentrated, and began pushing Sotht out of his mind. ^But there is work to be done, and this is not helping. Good bye.^
Arciss succeeded in pushing Sotht mostly out of his mind, but he was still hanging on, lingering in the extremities.
^Arciss, you can’t get rid of me like that!^ Sotht burrowed deeper, suddenly, breaking down Arciss’ defenses without pause. ^I am here to stay, and so are you.^
Arciss straightened, his face clearing of all doubt, a casual smile returning to his lips.
^You say you know so much about me?^ asked Arciss, casually. ^You say you can see into my thoughts, know my desires, and my doubts? Then you must know what within me is paramount to all of that, more important to my sexuality, more important than the people I serve. It is my faith. My devotion to the Kal-Durrell. All my life I have faced adversity, faced trials by those who thought me inferior, or weak, as you obviously think, despite your words to the contrary. You think I cannot divine your ancestry, your connection to those polluted genes that fueled the invasion of Rell so long ago? You are just another seducer, a man whose tools are control and seduction, who has no conception of what lies outside of them. That is the problem with you, and with most other Novans. They lack a belief in the desire to do what’s right. I may believe in the Kal-Durrell, others in Holis, even some in that damned computer Mal. But the common thread is the desire to better oneself, and to help others. That is the core of faith. It is not just faith in a higher power, but faith in oneself, faith in the community, faith in the universe as a whole. It is that faith that makes one strong beyond a heathen’s conception, strong enough to face death, or torture, with hope. For I have done what is right by myself, and by my community.^
Sotht smiled. ^They are nice words, but what of Graid? He does not believe them. What of your own people? They do not believe them. If they did, then they would view the Novans as part of that ‘community’ you cast of, and no matter what offences we may have committed, would forgive us, and only seek to co-habitat with us.^
^Such a simple retort, Sotht? We are all souman, and each of us is prone to some degree of folly. Just because one is made a Mentra, a Monitor, or a Director, does not mean they are absolved of vice, or fallacy. Graid may have a lot to learn, but that is what I am here for. I may not have great physical strength, or divine power, but I have the simple strength of a conviction, certainly unshakeable by the likes of you.^ 
That is my control, my center, thought Arciss. Do I prefer women, or men? That is immaterial. It always comes down to who one is; what truths they stand for. That is how I will win Graid back. 
In all his cas, Arciss learned a great deal about mental combat. He never used it much, but he kept his skills fresh and sharp, sparring with partners on Rell. He preferred not to fight, not to face the possibility of killing someone. But, if the need required it, Arciss knew he possessed the necessary skill.
^Sotht, I’ve warned you, treated you with more concern than you’ve shown me. But now, you have violated me. And even now, you refuse to admit you are beaten. I may be a kind man, and you may have spoken some truth, but I will not stand for such stupidity. It’s time you learned a lesson.^
In an instant, Sotht realized Arciss had laid several traps, which sprang as he burrowed deeper. Sotht could feel Arciss gaining control of his mind, and shutting down blood flow to Sotht’s brain. Much to his credit, his expression barely changed, as his mental resources began to shut down. 
This man is strong — very strong. If not for my Rell discipline, I would have no defense against him. He is a TELREC, and a strong one too.
Arciss raced through his deteriorating psyche, gathering information as quickly as he could, moving nimbly to outpace the safeguards in place within Sotht’s mind. They were destroying his memories, his neural fiber, to prevent just what Arciss was trying to do. Arciss could feel this must be painful for Sotht to endure, but Arciss needed some information.
Ahh! That’s what I needed to know. 
As Arciss finished, he crushed Sotht’s mind, destroying what the safeguards never would have, putting him out of his misery, another casualty in the multi-millennial old Novan-Rell war. But before he extinguished all his reasoning, all his intelligence, he cast some last words. 
^I would have been good, too. Damn good.^ 
Sotht collapsed, unnoticed by even his companion. Arciss made his way back through the crowd to Graid’s side.
^I know,^ cast Graid. ^I was monitoring you. You proved yourself well.^
^Thank you master.^ Arciss suddenly grew concerned. ^But what of you? He was clearly cloned from those ancient, corrupted cells, which brought shame and dishonor to our people. If he was a woman, and I was so inclined, I am certain I would not have been able to resist his temptation. What of you? What of any of the women in this place?^ Arciss motioned to Selva. ^This place is not safe, master.^ 
^Lessons, Arciss, lessons. There is always something to be learned, no matter the environment, no matter the company.^ Graid turned, and smiled. ^Come, Selva!^

Over near the third stage, in the shadows, Listras looked on, and saw Graid and Selva about to depart with Neoc, who flashed a wry smile back at her. 
Damn her! She will scream for death’s release before I am through with her! I cannot let him go without me. I will not fail.
She disappeared behind a black door. In moments, an explosion rocked the club, sending fire out of the third stage, bringing most to their knees. The club blared in yellows and oranges, radiating a heat that made the air close and thick with perspiration. Graid stopped, and turned to look back, as the yellows faded into a reddish mist. Arciss turned to him.
^Something unexpected?^
^Hopefully,^ eagerly replied Graid. 
As the smoke cleared, a woman’s figure could be seen suspended in mid air. It was Listras, and below her sat the quivering figure of a small boy shrouded in darkness. She hovered there, grasping a metal cord, slowly spinning, so the crowd could appreciate her delicious form. She wore a thin, stringy red outfit that covered little. She arched out her chest and clenched her buttocks, tensing her chiseled leg muscles. She could sense the men in the crowd were enamored with her, risking their membership in the club by taking virt-lives. What anxious unease she had as she first appeared disappeared in their adulation, as she was surrendered to the part she must play.
Circling around the boy beneath her three beasts prowled, groaning with mouths wide open. Large, several times the size of a man, they were a dirty orange, with patches of grey swirled in their fur. One of the creatures stopped for a moment, crouched down, and stretched its front legs, extending two sets of thick, black nails, that scraped the floor as the creature drew them back in. The other beasts paused, their mouths hanging open to reveal dozens of razor-sharp teeth, covered in drool. Their eyes surveyed the crowd with an almost souman awareness, a cognizance of why they were here, and what they were to do. 
Emotions radiated through the crowd. At once could be felt the terror within the boy, the longing for escape, for safety. Many within the crowd laughed and touched themselves, savoring raw feelings they hadn’t felt in so long. In mroas, the hunger of the beasts could be felt, the need to rip apart flesh and bone, the bloodlust for the boy’s tender flesh in their mouths and throats. Graid turned to Arciss.
^This place learns fast. It had never done this before!^ he cast with glee. ^I don’t know if I should be angry my idea was stolen, or flattered,^ cast Graid, laughing.
Arciss crossed his arms, watching the spectacle. Selva grasped Graid’s arm.
^Those look real.^
Graid nodded.. ^They are. Ulthangs, and male by the look. I’ll bet it cost this club plenty to have them shipped in from an AG platform. They are truly vicious beasts — quick, strong, and remarkably intelligent.^ Graid glanced back at Arciss. ^I think it might even be smarter than some people.^
Arciss, who had seen very few animals in his life, felt fear rise within him.
^This is repulsive, master. We need to leave.^
Neoc turned to Graid. ^Come, lover. Our ecstasy awaits.^
Graid looked at Neoc closely, her eagerness tempered by something hidden. 
^You are afraid of this woman, this . . . Elehtria, aren’t you?^ Graid probed her mind deeper. ^She frightens you, her strength, her self-control. No Arciss, we shall stay, and I am very thankful we shall not miss this spectacle.^
Listras looked up slightly, and saw Graid and his group turn, and walk back to watch her.
Good. Now, I must win him.
One of the beasts could restrain itself no longer, and lunged at the boy. Listras descended on it in an instant, grabbing its front claws, lifting it high in the air. It was one of the smaller ulthangs, but even still it was five times as massive as Listras. She turned it on its back, and seated herself on its genitals. 
Arciss let out a small cry. ^What is she doing?!^
Graid kicked him a little. ^Watch yourself. She is taming the beasts.^
She settled down on the ulthang, and rode him hard, the beast trying to scratch her, to claw her, but she skillfully restrained its claws. She appeared to reach climax in front of the spectators, and as she did, she reached down, and twisted the beast’s neck. It lay motionless, blood oozing from its head. A mental cheer went up in the crowd. Graid smiled, and relaxed a bit.
^She is amazingly strong,^ cast Graid in admiration. 
^She is having sex with a beast, master!^ cried Arciss. ^You cannot think to bring that filth into —^ 
^Be null, Arciss.^ 
Arciss, feeling truly out of place, stepped back, looking around the room. Selva took pity on him.
^Don’t be too upset.^ 
^What do you mean?^
^This is our way, now,^ cast Selva, running her hand on his back in sympathy. ^So many of us believe everything we do now doesn’t matter, that the Ascension will cleanse all our sins. More and more people indulge desires, that just fifty cas ago would have been considered wrong.^ She smiled at him, a sweet, innocent simile. ^You have a great luxury, being born Rell. You have a reason to struggle against vice, and sin, everyroa. Most of us have lost that reason.^ 
Arciss felt consoled, somewhat more at peace. ^Thank you. I think I see why Graid likes you so.^
^Pay attention, you two,^ chastised Graid. ^Things are just getting interesting.^
On the stage, the other two ulthangs backed away from Listras, after watching her dispatch one of them so quickly. Listras climbed back on the metal cord and ascended again into the air, hovering over the boy. Blood dripped from her, spattering on his head. 
The ulthangs soon took up their stalking of the boy again, going around in a wide circle, their mouths hung open. The smell of death was in the air, and every spectator was fixed on Listras. Suddenly, one of the beasts pounced on the boy, seeming to reach its mark. The crowd gasped, as some unseen force yanked it, mid-flight, and threw it down to the ground. Listras materialized and pinned the ulthang down and began to straddle it like its former friend. The other ulthang, sensing her to be compromised, jumped on her back, clawing and striking at her. 
^Someone help her!^ cried Arciss.
^Calm down,^ cast Graid. 
Listras somehow deflected the third ulthang with a mighty swing, with a speed as blinding as she used earlier, and sent it cascading over her. While it was stunned, she raped the beast beneath her, and twisted its neck. As she rose, the last ulthang also rose, glaring at her, growling and baring its teeth. It was the largest and most powerful of the three, and it took a position that put the boy between them both. 
^Is the boy to be sacrificed?^ asked Arciss.
^Watch and see. You have no appreciation of fine theater.^
The ulthang tensed its rear legs, preparing to strike, when in an instant Listras was on top, her arm around its neck, her legs wrapped around its torso, She ground herself into its back, as she slowly suffocated the breath from its throat. As it died, she bit into its neck, gorging herself on its blood.
^It’s over, master. Let us leave,^ pleaded Arciss, his tolerance totally gone.
^Not yet! Watch and learn,^ answered Graid, absorbed in the performance.
Listras stood, and looked at the boy with hungry eyes. The crowd could feel the desire, the need for a final kill, and everyone chanted at her;
^Death, Rape, Murder.^ 
The ground around her glistened a pale red, and for a moment Listras felt the exultation of the kill, the glory of exhibitionist murder. Something primal welled within her, challenging her training, making her realize, at last, what was so appealing of this violence to so many Novans. Never before had she felt like a Holis; one whom takes life as they choose. She swallowed some of the blood on her mouth and its taste fired her mind and body, freeing them from the disciplined life she knew. She looked over at Graid, he whom would be her next kill, and wished she could kill him also in this fashion, on display, for all of his Rell brethren to see. 
I must finish this first.
Listras crawled to the boy like one of the ulthangs she killed. The boy cowered in fear, his sweat an aphrodisiac to her, and the spectators. She could smell the bitterness of his excrement, befouling his pants. Listras was always worried she would be unable to do this, this sadistic act, but now she welcomed it, she enjoyed it. In an instant, she tore the clothes off him, ripping his shirt off him, and throwing it to the crowd. She tore at his pants next, pushing him down, holding up the soiled clothes for all to see. She put her finger in the brown smear, and scooped some off. She dropped the pants, and wiped the paste on the boys cheeks, one straight line on both his cheeks. The crowd, in their minds, roared with delight. They cast at Listras, some wanting her to draw out the play, delight in pushing this boy to his psychological limits. Others wanted immediate satisfaction, to delay the climax no longer. All only had visions of rape and murder in their minds. 
The room pulsed and throbbed, the walls seeming to bend in towards the stage Listras was on. The curtains rippled as if an unseen breeze flowed over their surface. Arciss could feel the emotions being heightened, could feel the need for satisfaction, for release. As he glanced at the faces of those around him, he saw it reflected in their eyes; the loss of control, the forgotten morality. He could glean identities of many in the club, and though there were many depraved persons there, there were also many for whom this was their first time in a place like this, who were anxious about even being in here. All those reservations no longer existed, were no longer permitted by whatever governed that place. He sighed to himself.
How far they have fallen. 
Something finally snapped in Arciss. ^Surely . . . you don’t enjoy this?^
^Don’t you?^ cast Graid back. ^This is something you have thought of, isn’t it, buried deep within yourself? Well, look, and consume this visual feast. Never will you be able to see this again, never will you need to face judgment for witnessing this.^ 
Arciss looked over at the stage, where three great beasts lay dead, bleeding around the poor young boy. His heart felt heavy, as he thought on Graid, this leader of his people, who with all his great power, would do nothing to stop this, do nothing to save the life of that child. He felt great shame well up within him, feeling all the people who taught Graid over the cas had failed utterly, that Martel, in this moment, was a failure. He understood Valcha’s words and her sentiment towards Graid. He knew that if this is what Graid considered entertainment, then all was lost, that the whole of the Rell people were doomed to destruction. If what Selva cast was true, then at least the Novans have some excuse. But what of Graid? Why does he degenerate to their level, stand idly by as the innocent suffer and evil flourishes? He looked over at Graid, not with the eyes of a fearful follower, not with the eyes of one afraid for his life, but with eyes that harbored the strength of conviction, of moral integrity. Arciss felt no superiority in his faith, merely the knowledge that he did what he felt was right. He faced Graid with drawn lips, sunken cheeks, and something akin to disgust welling in his throat. He knew he was powerless to stop the events of this night, powerless to convince Graid to turn away. But he knew Graid could read his thoughts, and hoped, in some way, they would stay with him. What did you say earlier Graid, when we discussed the moral correctness of having Kolob kill himself as an infant? ‘We corrupt and seduce an innocent, so he may murder himself as a child. What of honor? What of dignity?’ 
Graid felt Arciss’ gaze, and could not bring himself to return it. A tear fell down Graid’s cheeks, and then his face exploded in laughter. The crowd laughed with him, Selva laughed with him, along with Neoc. Arciss thought he had never heard anything more ghastly in his life. 
Listras decided to finish things quickly.  She pushed the boy down, mounting him as the crowd thrilled in the violence of her motions. Despite his fear, the boy’s member was stiff, more instinctual reaction than sincere desire, and she mounted him, glorying in the final conquest. She could feel every person in the room mounting and riding the boy with her, so closely were they tapped into her sensory perceptions. Listras punched the boy, slapped him, bit at his ear until blood flowed down, mingling with the dead ulthang’s blood. The crowd groaned in ecstasy. She rode him for what seemed like an eternity, climaxing countless times over his youthful frame, watching his expressions turn from terror, to despair, to sadness, to finally a blank, coma-like resignation to his own death. Sensing she had come to the end, Listras slipped one hand under his neck, lifting the boy’s head up. She raised her other hand high over his head, and tensed all the muscles in her body, a perfect portrait for virt-stills. 
^Murder! Murder!^ was all that was cast at her.
She looked down at this innocent child and something within her regained control. It was some part of her that still existed before her TELREC training began. For though the beast that she became would have killed him for pleasure and delight, and the TELREC that she was would have killed him as part of her duty, the woman that she was now felt that she could do no more pain to him. She brought her hand swiftly down, knocking him senseless.

CONTINUED IN PART II: ENTER THE FLAME