by Grant Fausey
"A sign," bellowed Maccon. "Did you hear me, Rallumn? At last, there is a sign. The prophecy takes its birth. The course of history changes forever...." Rallumn eyes deepened in a somber retreat. There was no answer, only the roar of the endless wind and the flight of his body. "If only I could live so long," whispered the other. "If only I could see the Industries fall."
Rallumn's face drew long, his lips parted in speech. "You will, Maccon," he whined in a crackling voice. "The day will pass and this time will become obscure in the shadows of the past. The annals of prophesy and its legends are manufactured, Maccon. Only wisdom of the ancients will bring us freedom."
The ghostly image of Maccon turned back, gazing upon the horizon. “The Master-builders?”
Rallumn brushed the morning cold from his arms, rubbing them with his aged fingers. It was the coldest we had felt, snow piled against the edges of the alcove; swept in by the wind in the briskness of the chilled air, cutting through the heavy clothing that covered our unearthly body. Maccon shivered, taking one last look at the sky, as did I. We walked back into the castle's long, darkened corridor. The doors closed behind us and the wind howled through cracks in the narrowing gateway. A gush of wind formed around the edge of the huge wooden doors, blowing snow into the brisk air, forcing its way in; the whirlwind freezing the enormous cold corridors.
I felt Maccon pull his cloak tight around him. Rallumn watched from the corner of his eye, following him like an elderly man as he crossed the arched bridge to the throne room. We listened to the sounds of unseen machinery; the churning echoed from the flow of mist beneath the chamber in an oddness that escaped recognition. The sound wrenched at his mind; at my mind, and we could feel his memories slipping again. It would only be a matter of time before the feelings of desperation consumed us. The fortress was our prison, the walls the confines of our boundaries. We were growing old here and the only friend in the universe we had was the Trigennian computer Maccon had sworn to protect. This was the place of both dreams and nightmares. I was alive, because he was the son of a Verconian, the one being in the universe the Trigennians feared most.
My father was his father––a being of eternal light––a creature of pure, intelligent mind: The personification of impossible dreams and one of the true inhabitants of Rampia. I knew as Rallumn did: answers could only come from within. He had no choice but to find another of his kind. The ghostly hand of Maccon touched the medallion he wore about his neck, the symbol of royalty glistened from the pressure of our fingertips. Its surface glistened from his thoughts, and for a moment, our feelings touched the memories of his childhood. It was a time of innocents and freedom from the persecution of the regeneration. I remembered. The tales of the first war of the regeneration: a millennium of centuries since man's devastation. The injustices machine did to man, and the injustices man did to machine. Withstand the death of sons and daughters, families on as many worlds. Like the abyss before me, this too was empty, hateful and unforgiving. Man wore many faces with many feelings, superficial like the cold tombs of the fortress. This was a great plan for revenge with a mission to restore freedom to the galaxy and a need to find salvation for itself: Perhaps in the arms of another time, another life. Yet, life kept in check, isolated by the only friend we had in the universe: Our captor and mentor, Rallumn.
I stepped across the bridge and entered the throne room, gazing upon the emptiness that surrounded the living machine. The chamber was barren of furnishings, but retained certain elegance. No tapestries where hung, no chandeliers. Only the beauty of the living wood could prevail here. This was his favored meeting place; a room arched and scrolled, tapered and carved with a beauty only beheld unto it self.
Rallumn descended to the biomechanical throne, sliding gently into the arm of the chair, which awaited him like a stump without a tree. The temple was an elegant forest, a great oriental tree. My ghostly image stepped forward and shivered again from the coldness of the freezing temperatures. The breath of the dead encircled his head as he whispered, saying nothing. "It will take them some time to unravel the mysteries that surround them, Maccon," echoed the voice of the Wizard. "The solar systems I've chosen exist in different times; different dimensions of different universes. The great ark will be safe enough on its journey from the Earth."
"And what of the Proteus Mona?" asked my ghostly other half, brushing his hands together as if warming them. Rallumn looked down into the mist. "It is a rendezvous with an uncertain danger."
I looked up, seeing him through ghostly eyes. "The hazards of finding out ones own destiny?" Maccon narrowed his grip on the railing, tightening his fingers around the railing, which supported us at the edge of the bridge. "... And what of its outcome, my Trigennian friend?" I gasped.
"Not even I can compute its demise, Maccon. Mathematical curves are too imperfect to calculate the final moments of any one existence. Only the Industry bounty hunters are so precise.
"The Emperor has held the galaxy in an iron–fisted grip since his creation..." My ghostly other half took a step closer to the throne, "... and not since your birth, eons ago, has the power of creation been under the control of so few." The biomechanical creature's eyes widen. "You’ve survived the living death of the Nexus, do nothing to change it now!"
Maccon turned away, gripping the railing with both hands. A tear dripped from his cheek. It swirled, changing shape in much the same way as our words. "For countless years I've watched the worlds enslaved by the Industries and their task masters, Rallumn. Worlds have changed before my eyes. I've fought for scraps of food; while the machines devoured my home with their mining rigs, so don't threaten me now. Your kind has taken life for far too long, Rallumn. It's time we fought back."
The great tree moved; its branches curving upward and outward, encircling our embodiment of Maccon like a shadow. "All that is left of my beautiful Athin is this devil's tower of floating landmasses and flesh-eating beasts. My world has become nothing more than a Rampia of devastation––a world left to die with the undead, like the galaxy that it was once a part of."
I could feel Maccon's throat thickening, his voice choking. Revealing his essence to a living, thinking machine was more than dangerous. I wanted nothing less than to see the machine feel, but that was impossible. The branches embraced our ghostly image, holding us by the shoulder. The pressure against his skin was ever present, and he was tormented by the both the touch on the outside and the nervous reaction from me on the inside. Rallumn's affection was superficial, and the attention nurtured an old man's folly. He knew his arms could offer no real resistance, and that the truth would eventually be known.
"Take meaning from your words, Maccon," offered Rallumn, tapping him with a limb on the shoulder. "In the centuries beyond which you can see, you will again stand before me, not as man, but as another in search of the truth and wisdom that you forget you possess."
I laughed. "Riddles, Rallumn," I asked. "Your words are mere riddles. What is to come of Athin?"
"You can't return the dead to the same form, Maccon. As it is with man, so it is with planetary life. Your beautiful world of Athin is dead. Rampia will blossom again giving Athin a new life. A new place in the infinite universe."
Maccon listened and let out a "huh" as he weighed the words. In some deep dark twisted way, they made sense even if he didn't want to believe that Athin was gone forever. He knew the galactic empire would die if the future could be redirected and the courses of evolution reversed. However, the possibilities of failure were stacked against the odds of success. Maccon took in a lingering breath; his lungs hurt from the cold. The mist churned around his feet and he laughed again as a facade of acceptance covered his face.
"To live again, in another life,” I said. “A charming thought, but as for the galaxy, something more subtle than your conquest from Trithen must guide its future." My ghostly image repeated the words to the Wizard. The living machine opened an eye and stared singularly at me.
"Trithen, Maccon?"
TRITHEN
The fifth dimension ... the fifth universe
The main tower complex was visible through three large, oval windows at one end of the genetic laboratory. Senator Creed, a rather small man with bushy brown hair, blue eyes and a greying, reddish-brown beard, stood at the edge of the center window. His lengthy cape swayed gently in the morning breeze, covering his carefully tailored garments with an elegance that set him apart from most dignitaries on the living machine home world, let alone the genetics lab technicians. All round him was an air of mystery, cloaked in secrecy. The technicians made adjustments to a variety of strange equipment, touching each one with only the slightest fingertip pressure. A floating disk slid across the center of the room, making its way back and forth, while hovering an inch or two above the floor. The device emerged from one entrance and disappeared into another; the archway to a purely white laboratory, flanked by a pair of closing metal alloy doors.
A mechanical voice blared above the noise, sounding the alarms, "Caution–– lab now in operation: Genetic experiment in progress. All unauthorized personnel must evacuate the structure at this time. Final warning: Lab sealing in sixty seconds: Fifty-nine ... Fifty-eight … Fifty-seven..."
An odd-looking mechanical with long spindly arms and short, stubby receptors scurried across the floor on rolling wheels in a vein attempt to reach the door first. The Senator followed close behind a woman technician who was listening, rather inattentively, to the mechanical voice as it repeated its warning.
"This way, Senator," said the young genetics engineer, accompanied by a kind hand gesture to the nearest exit. Our external lab will be sealed off completely. We're beginning the operational phase of our experiment."
"You've done a good job, Titay," mocked the Senator. "You should be very pleased."
"Why thank you! I am pleased. But you mustn't be so candid, Senator Creed."
"Please call me Seth."
Titay smiled and continued, "Without your invaluable help––Seth." She smiled again, "The Acreen project would still be in the development stages. Your interest has helped make the project a grand success."
"It's hard to imagine all the advancements you people have created, Doctor. But to think of creating a new life form by regenerating nothing more than existing light." The Senator shook his head in amazement, admiring the woman's accomplishments as well as her refined living machine body. She was beautifully tanned from head to toe with long, black hair to accent it. "It's just hard to believe, that's all," continued the Senator.
"Well–– that's exactly what we're creating: A being of living light. We feel it may well be the purest life form––a being without shape or form––hopefully with the innocence of a child. The highest point on the evolutionary scale." Titay stopped at the access port, holding the door open with her hand.
"A being far superior to man, Doctor?"
"Only in the sense of evolutionary standards, Senator. This creation would have to degenerate from its highest evolutionary stage to even resemble man."
The Senator stared at her more than just obviously. He was admiring her sapphire blue eyes and wasn't really interested in her project in the least. It was just a means of being closer to her and her rounded curves. She was quite a well–built woman. Flattering his own ego, he was having a difficult time trying not to look at her too lustful. Titay looked down at her chest, glancing from her large, firm rounded breast to the other then looked up at the Senator, and smiled.
Busted, thought the Senator; however, it didn't seem to matter. "As I was saying, Senator," she continued, "... our creation would have to evolve backwards over millions of years to even resemble a man of today. As with all our creations, we've taken the precautionary measure of controlling the intelligence."
"I see, Doctor … Controlled growth and intelligence. Well–– good luck with your program."
"Thank you, Senator. I'm sure we'll have a few surprises in store for the high council, this time around." The Senator took a moment to look her over one more time with hungry eyes then as he stepped through the oval entrance, he stopped at an attendant outside the door and whispered to him at the side of his head.
"Nothing gets in or out, understand?" The attendant nodded. "Vaporize the chamber at the first sign of danger. I'm going home...."
"Yes, Sir," answered the attendant with a blank stare. "If you insist."
The Senator smiled, but Titay didn't. She watched him for a very long time until he disappeared out of view. "Pompous asshole," she said, coyly. She released the button and the door to her glass office slid down from two directions, shutting automatically.
She turned around, stepped in further; stopped, stepped back and drew the curtains closed. "Greetings Brother, everything is complete on Trithen––" She pulled out a small, black egg-shaped transmitter from her desk and opened the device. The box beeped and she began to record a message. "It's possible they've discovered who we are. I don't know how much time we have left, but rest assured your mission to Rampia remains unknown. The Acreen project has been activated; made irreversible as ordered. No one suspects. I will attempt another transmission later with the location of the real Trithen Kellnar. If you don't hear from me, proceed as planned."
She took in a deep breath, and letting it out slowly touched her finger to the device and pressed hard on the transmission switch. The device beeped again sending the message. "May your wisdom bring us all freedom, my brothers."
The communications device went dead and everything in her universe went dark.
• • •
Aboard the starship Omar, Titay's message shook with a transmitted vibration sending waves of interrupted transmission up and down the holographic projection. The distortion sputtered, breaking up the image sent from her genetic laboratory office on Trithen. The sound was intermittent at best. "Damn static," resounded Titann from across his chambers. His hand slapped the communications pad on his chair. "Replay the message and improve the gain."
The transmission vanished, recycled and started again. Titann wasn't a patient man, not in this category anyway. Impatience was getting the best of him. The communication seemed to take centuries during a galactic shift, and this was just such a journey. Voyages took hours, sometimes days. It all depended on distance and destination, like being in limbo for a week trapped by the strain of the trip.
Titann took a seat in the ship's observation bubble, watching the transmission for a second and third time from the audience chamber. Behind him, the outer hull resembled a spray of grey light. In fact, the grey light surrounded him in all directions; only the transfixed positions of the curvature of the observation bubble remained intact. Titann was mid-stream, the perfect spot for viewing both the disassembling process and the spectacular molecular reconstruction of the ship at its destination at the end of the line.
The spectacle was the only part of the journey Titann enjoyed. His seclusion for the duration of the trip was disheartening, and he really didn't want to be alone, but the audience chamber was where he needed to be. The conference room was dimly lit; only the color of the portal added any luminance to presence of Titay's projection.
"Greetings brother––" the transmission began again, followed by the incessant chatter of the intercommunications static. "Complete on Trithen ... possible ... discovered ... time ... left ... Acreen as ordered. No one ... will ... transmission ... location ... proceed as planned. May ... freedom ... brother." The transmission ended and an entrance bell sang out in a dong, hailing permission to enter.
"Come," announced Titann in a harsh voice, assuming it would be one of his officers, or Captain Relnar, if not one of his cronies wanting access to the audience chamber.
The door slid open with a swishing noise as it disappeared into the wall. The lanky shape of a female officer stood in the doorway, darkened by the spill of light from the exterior passageway. The Admiral glanced at the figure, stood up in awe. "Ree–ta?" He said questio
ning. But it wasn't. Ree–ta was dead. Killed in a distortion wave that took her life in another dimension ... in another universe. The observer stood quietly, awaiting permission to enter the inner sanctum. "The air feels chilly this morning," said the admiral, calculating the officer's identity from her petite size and cat-like shape. "Even in a time of rebellion man seems to create his own fears. I've created one of my own."
The admiral thought silently. The pain in his face was already telling a very detailed story. He looked worried, because he was; perhaps more than she had ever known him too be. For Titann was a vested man, tight feelings and strong pressures taking a toll on his conviction, like a warrior trapped outside of the fight. The entrance hatch slid shut behind the woman as she took a few steps into the lounge, standing between two rows of chairs in front of the aisle.
The admiral was a different man. She could feel his tension. The vibration in the air thicken like a swampy mist, sliced with the blade of his words. The mood constantly changed, rippling away the observation bubble's calm silence with irregular strengths to reveal needs and feelings of impending doom.
She loved him; that was obvious. Staying in check with what the admiral wanted affections always controlled, her instincts where that of a cat, elite and temperamental, but in matters of love, she gave up her instincts to that portion of humanity coursing her veins; she withered in his arms. Titann watched her from the edge of the bubble, captivated by her beauty and otherworldly presence. He could feel her thoughts; her love reaching out to him. Beloved by the one woman he couldn't let near: They were too much a spectacle; too much a topic of discussion. Nevertheless, he was happy she was there.
She extended her hand in tenderness and asked: "What's troubling you, Titann?"
He looked away, ignoring the affection. The chair rotated slightly, a push with the heel of his boot. For the moment, he felt hopelessly wrapped up in his own doubts; his heart pounding to the vibrations nearly overwhelming but in spite of it, she stepped closer to him and touched his hand feeling the tightness of his skin. Tormented by her fascination for the short curled lengths of hair that covered his arms, his chest, his back–– she purred. She knew him intimately: Her method of claiming him. "Our efforts have been in vain, Rena,” he said. “Trithen's computer council has been made aware of our existence. The forces on Trithen have been eliminated and the Trigennian Masters responsible for this outrage have escaped with their lives."
