REAGENT PRESS
PRESENTS
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, places andevents portrayed in this book are either products of theauthor’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblanceto any actual locale, person or event is entirely coincidental.
Absolutes & Other Stories
Copyright © 2008 by Robert Stanek.
First printed in 2001.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Printed in the United States of America.
Reagent Press
Published by Virtual Press, Inc.
Cover design & illustration by Robert Stanek
ISBN-10: 1-57545-817-9
REAGENT PRESS
www.reagentpress.com
Reagent Press Books by Robert Stanek
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Keeper Martin’s Tale, Book 1
Kingdom Alliance, Book 2
Fields of Honor, Book 3
Mark of the Dragon, Book 4
Ruin Mist Dawn of the Ages
Rulers of Right, Book 1
Knights of the Blood, Book 2
Wardens of the Word, Book 3
Ruin Mist Chronicles (Dark Path)
Elf Queen’s Quest, Book 1
Ruin Mist Heroes, Legends & Beyond
Magic of Ruin Mist
Sovereign Rule
Magic Lands
Journey Beyond the Beyond
Into the Stone Land
Visit Reagent Press online
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
AUGUST RAINS
ABSOLUTES
CHAPTER ONE: CRYOTERRAFORM
CHAPTER TWO: STORMRISE
CHAPTER THREE: STRUGGLE AGAINST TIME
CHAPTER FOUR: FADING MEMORIES
CHAPTER FIVE: FINAL SALUTE
BONUS EXCERPT FROM: IN THE SERVICE OF DRAGONS
SILENCE IS
GOLDEN
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
Ev cooed in Rin’s ear, pressed her body tight against his. She kissed him, full and deep. “I’ve really got to. I can’t be late.”
“Only a few moments more,” said Rin, “You’re going to Ehrmolihrn-7 and the shuttle doesn’t leave for another hour.”
Ev stood and went to the mirror, smiling as she combed her long scarlet locks. She was pleased. She performed brilliantly.“I’ve earned the promotion. Can’t you just be happy for me?”
“What about the day off? What will I tell the kids?”
“Duty calls—the twins will understand. Besides, I’m meeting Director Finn.”
“UFC Director Finn?”
Ev kissed Rin on the cheek. “This will go well,” she said. “I’ll present to the Director and come home. This was the last. Traitors can only hide for so long—it’s all done now.”
A light knock came to the door. The door swept open. “Mommy, mommy,” shouted Marty and Penn. “Come look!”
Ev pulled her robe from the side of the mirror, slipping it on before wrapping her arms around the boys—her boys. “Mommy’s got to get ready. Show daddy.” She smiled, releasing the embrace reluctantly. She watched the boys cross to Rin, jump onto the bed.
A pillow fight ensued—it always did. She moved away from the mirror quickly, catlike as she hurried into the bathroom, hoping Rin and the boys didn’t see her tears.
She closed the bathroom door, turned on the faucet, collapsing to the floor. Anguish and tears took her as never before. She lay there, trembling, crying, trying to pull herself together. She looked up, saw herself in the long mirror suddenly thinking she looked like a scared little girl. She got it together then. If there’s one thing she wasn’t anymore, it was a scared little girl huddling in corners as plasma bombs exploded all around her.
She rinsed her face, turned off the faucet then hurriedly penciled in her mascara, eyeliner and lipstick. Her uniform was there, pressed and waiting. She tucked her long shirt in as she went into the bedroom to find her black leather boots.
Rin and the boys were in the kitchen. She heard them singing the breakfast song—a silly song of soggy cereal that was the only thing that would get Marty and Penn to eat in the morning. She kissed the boys, hugging them as tightly as she had before. She kissed Rin, whispering in his ear, “Take this. Play it after I’ve gone. You’ll know what to do then.”
She ran from the kitchen, into the foyer, out of the house with Rin calling after her. She knew he was confused. He wouldn’t understand at first but he would know what to do. The safety of the boys depended on it.
She was pulling the hydro out of the garage when he ran out of the house. She pretended not to see him, pressing Engage and slipping into the morning sky before he could do or say anything that would change her mind. She knew in that moment, that instant between heartbeats when she saw his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror and the hydro raced away, that she would never see him or the boys again. She accepted that—had no other choice but to accept that as the alternative was something she just couldn’t endure.
Fifteen minutes later, she was strapped in waiting for the shuttle to depart for Ehrmolihrn-7. She wasn’t afraid anymore, she was beyond that. She reminded herself that she would smile for the director as she gave her tactics review. Then she would wait, accept what came next. She wasn’t afraid of the silence anymore—silence was golden.
The shuttle launched. Tsetingaen-17 fell away behind her. She didn’t look back, only ahead, but that didn’t slow her thoughts or stop her mind from replaying the digix. She wondered then as a tear well up in her eye if Marty and Penn would understand it all some day. She hoped they would but knew Rin never would.
My dearest, please forgive me. I know I promised—I did try. But one against the many could never hope to win, to have hoped at all was struggle enough. Here at the last, I remember it all and it seems a sin for which I cannot be redeemed. Indeed, I do not expect to be redeemed nor want to be redeemed.
Now that I’m faced with it, I do not expect you to understand. I’ll take with my own hands the one thing you should have taken. For you, you should not find redemption either. Your sin is greater than mine and you should never again find that which you seek but that doesn’t mean shouldn’t know truth—the real and simple truth that you’ll find once this thing between us is no more.
To find truth, you must look to the past—2197—and the real beginning: the treaty signing on Ehrmolihrn-7. Then there had been fourteen million forms of Majority verbal communications, commonly called glots or languages.
The UFC had had the need to represent them all, and hence the dawning of the age of the Polyglot and the Poly-li-tech. Who could have known that two centuries later the respected and once vaulted title of Poly-li-technician would become the basis for high treason to the Majority?
The First Crusade, as it was called, began in 2394. History records show that ancient wars had been fought for politics, ethnic differences, and religion. The Majority fancied themselves Purists, though they did not strive to eradicate racial or political differences, or even to abolish religious practices which had been outlawed since 2315.
Their goal was to purify the universe and bond it by one Majority language. Their faction was over three trillion strong then, and they arrogantly seized control of the UFC, reprogramming its lawkeeper system to do their bidding.
The First Crusade ended in 2679 when Majority-1 declared the universe pure. But we the last linguists survived, ironically sanctioned away by the same faction that wished our demise—Majority-1 wanted to be ready and vigilant should speech diversity return.
By 2695, we were littl
e more than house slaves, forced to scribe out our Minority languages. According to Majority-1, no language could proliferate with only one native speaker and so exactly thirteen million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine of us labored in Record Hall on Gyandress-4. We were then categorized as Silenced, later officially titled Moribund as one by one after transcription, we as heretics to the UFC and Majority-1 were given our final sentencing.
In 2745, lead by the heretic Duilaird, the Second Minority Front was established and the Second Crusade began. The First Crusade had lasted over three centuries, the Second had just dawned. Majority-1 decided the title Moribund was incitant and had caused the outbreak. All defunct glots were thus officially recategorized as Silenced. But by then, it was too late.
I speak now in this the year 31 M-1, thirty-one years after Majority-1 declared Final Universal Purity. It is a testament to the last linguist, spoken for all those that will someday follow in my footsteps, or so I hope—and at the very least, for you.
Even as I write this, I know they come for me—I know who it is that betrayed me. I do not fear or regret; I’ve given in so deeply to both that I am beyond them. I accept my guilt as well. I am guilty of high treason three times over: guilty on the account that I am Poly-li-tech, guilty that I proliferate diversity, guilty that I am a recorder of culture and history. Once fourteen million languages and millions of proud peoples existed, now there is only Majority-1.
Duilaird liberated us in 2745 and while our numbers were in the mere millions, we spread through the galaxy like a diverse storm. It took only one speaker to rekindle a lust for lost heritage.
Duilaird directed us to return to our home worlds and spread our known tongues to any and all who would listen. Within two decades we became billions and years later trillions. In the end, it took a thousand years to stop what a single, raised voice had started.
I retain hope that there are others out there somewhere in the endless spans of the universe, others who possess the skill to speak with diversity, others who can proliferate speech diversity. Yet, as far as I know, at my passing the last disparate glot will be forever silenced.
My heart is skipping, my voice shaking, hands trembling. It will be only a matter of hours now. I cannot run: there is no where left to run to. I cannot hide: there is nowhere they cannot find me.
I will not let them take anything else, nor let you take your prize. I’ll fall to my own silence and bring about eternity in my own way. And thus, it is my hope that they will not win, that you will not find redemption.
My hope against hope is that some small pocket somewhere remains and will fight back against Majority-1. Maybe they will succeed where we have failed.
I speak aloud to an empty room in a tongue that is proclaimed silenced, I am proud. Oft I’ve wondered what Duilaird would have thought of such an end. Would he have thought it glorious? Or would he be as deeply saddened by it as am I?
Years ago I relished the fading and growing of the echoes, though I do not now. They come ever closer, tracking the deceitful echoes of my words, my words in a traitor’s tongue.
I wonder if the hunters know they will be the hunted once diversity is stamped out. For in the end, no one must know that any voice other than Majority-1 existed. What will you think then dearest? Will it be you who takes even when you know what must come next?
You’ve led well. I commend you. I knew your training would serve you, but do you really know who it is that you serve? Will you find redemption in this life or the next—I think not.
My heart grows heavy; the end is here. The silence comes. I say now a final prayer and express my eternal thanks to Duilaird the Heretic. Had I to do it all again, I’d have begged to go first—begged as I’m sure Marten begged—but I would have taken you with me. I wouldn’t have had regret either.
The silence comes. I welcome it—your silence comes as well.
The shuttle docking roused Ev to conscious thoughts. She stepped with purpose, not surprised to see an escort board the shuttle and approach. Another time, the escort would have been considered an honor contingent. Today though she knew that if she elected otherwise, the escort would follow anyway becoming more guard then escort.
She smiled graciously, nodding to Malleck, the Officer of the Watch. “Another long day?”
“Another long day.” Malleck hid a grin. “Are you to the Director?”
Ev nodded. Nothing on Ehrmolihrn-7 had changed. She walked the long hall from the shuttle, her eyes seeing the long line of gray uniforms on either side of the walkway but her mind only on what was ahead. “I need to make a stop first. It’ll only be a moment.”
Malleck grabbed Ev’s elbow as she turned to a side hall. “Orders: no stops. We’re to go straight to Central.”
“And you’re to hold my hand while I tinkle?”
Malleck released his grip. He called to one of the female escorts.
“So formal today?”
“Orders.”
Ev shrugged, hurried down the side hall. The female escort followed. The woman’s lavatory was at the end of the hall. She paused briefly outside the door, casually looking back, judging the distance between her and Mellack. It was at least 50 meters.
She walked the length of the bathroom, going to the last stand. She squatted to the toilet as the escort looked on. “Any chance for privacy? Some things just weren’t meant to be done with an audience.”
The escort glared.
Ev waited until she heard movement that wasn’t hers or the escorts. She waited for the movement to go away, for the door to open and close. She waited a bit more to be sure no one else was in the room.
The escort cleared her throat. “Time.”
“What are you serious? I can’t control how long it takes—it takes as long as it takes.”
“Orders. Let’s go.”
Ev stood, straightened her uniform, marched from the bathroom. Mellack was waiting, nodding approval at the female escort as she took her place with the others.
Central was thirty minutes away by hydro. The Director’s offices a few minutes after that. Ev was silent the entire way.
Director Fynn greeted her. The double doors closed behind her. The adjacent meeting room was empty as was the secretary’s position at the front desk.
Director Fynn stretched out his arm, pointing the way to the meeting room. “I trust it was a success?”
“Very much so,” said Ev. “We’ve been able to confirm it as well.” Ev went to the review board then, walking Director Finn through each moment of the operation. “Everything according to plan. No surprises.”
“I didn’t expect there to be with your planning. You really are the best.”
Caught up in the moment, Ev’s eyes lit up and she smiled. “Tactics are what I live for.”
“Indeed.” Director Finn went to the review board. “This room. Can you tell me again what happened after you broke through the plasma shielding?”
“UFC 707.B4A.”
“By the book?”
“I made sure. I carried it out myself.”
The director looked up, straight into Ev’s eyes. “You didn’t have any problems?”
“Is this leading somewhere?”
Director Finn thumped the digix in his hand. “Did you view or make copies?”
“Eyes only. Procedure.” Ev said it coolly but inside her stomach twisted in knots.
Director Finn opened his palm, tapped the tiny display screen. The digix holograph filled the space between him and Ev. “Do you recognize this face?”
“UFC 707.B4A: the silencing.”
“He’s the one and you’re sure?” Ev nodded. “And you’re the one he’s speaking to aren’t you?”
The weight of the universe crushed Ev into a seat. She’d been waiting for this moment, preparing for it, but dreading it all the same. “I am.”
“Then you know the truth of it?” Director Finn said it as coolly as Ev had spoken previously.
“I do.”
Ev looked away, down the long mahogany table, thinking it ironic just then that the table was the only non-artificial thing in the room. “And you do as well.”
Director Finn stood at the back of Ev’s chair, putting his hands on her shoulders. His touch gentle at first became firm, then forceful as he spoke, “According to UFC 707.B4A, I pass silencing on you. Don’t struggle, it’ll be over soon.”
Ev didn’t struggle. In her mind’s eye, she saw and heard the twins. They were running, playing. Their voices echoing down the halls. She knew also that in a matter of moments the escorts would come through the doors. Mellack would phaser the director, destroy the digix, then turn the phaser on the other escorts.
The surprise in waiting was a second cleanup crew, the one that would take out Mellack. Ev had seen them—her trip to the lavatory hadn’t been about tinkling.
Behind the cleanup crew would come others and by day’s end, there would be no more Central. But it wouldn’t stop there, the UFC programming would continue. If someone was doing the cleaning, someone was giving the orders: someone always knows so the edict that no one can know must loop and that loop would sooner or later carry the edict back to Majority-1. Ev was only sorry that she would miss that moment, that moment when Majority-1 realized they had become the hunted and that their end was near.
AUGUST RAINS
AUGUST RAINS
The halls lined with well-worn steel lockers stood silent; no more laughter, no more children, ever. Principal John Anderson—Mr. Anderson to his students, John to his colleagues, Johnny to precious Angelica who left seven summers ago—strolled down the long empty hall one last time.
“Forty-two years,” he whispered to the fading echoes of his footsteps, and to Angelica.
He caught a glimpse of Autumn leaves through well-frosted windows. The leaves, brown, gold and red from the two great maples that guarded the entrance, littered the central walkway; the walkway that ran straight and true to the Jane’s School Elementary flagpole. Beyond the flagpole, School Circle met East and 3rd. Beyond that lay things John didn’t want to think about.
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