The Rise of OLMAC

by Kevin Gordon

Graid could not nest. Arciss has grown to be a better leader than Graid. Sometimes Graid surprises us, like with this alliance with the meta. And his proposal to ally with the Novans against the TELREC. Why he still flirts with the sins of Novan I’ll never know. I don’t know if he could ever be a leader of people, but some of his ideas, such as unification, could rally our whole world behind him. And his understanding of Novan ways could rally them, too. But his power could make him a liability, and force us to destroy him, lest he destroy us. Unless he can be made whole, made to understand the potential within himself and within those who serve him.

  Uonil quelled her thoughts, and entered into the Castiliad with the others. A Boolin was formed in their minds, its roots growing thick and detailed as each person reflected on the impact Martel had on their lives. Many of those present were intertwined with each other because of Martel. Even the council acknowledged the wealth of knowledge he shared with those present, the number of people he mentored, the great good he performed in the service of Rell. As the Boolin faded, many wiped their eyes, giving prayer to Kal that his soul be safeguarded.

  Polintin began speaking directly to the congregation. An old man, his wrinkles furrowed deep into his face, his eyes sunken spheres in a leathery sea. The robe he wore made him seem timeless, beige and gold, with crimson trim, it glittered like a haze around him, smoothing over those wrinkles like a youthful mask, making his features less discernable, and more universal.

  ^This morning we gather in respect of a fallen friend, out of joy for his passage to a new world, and sadness he has left our own. I have word that the Kal-Durrell themselves send word of their sorrow over his passing.^

  Murmured thought passed as all reflected on the significance of their words, rare they were at someone’s remembrance.

  ^They have issued a statement: ‘Few times in our history have we felt the death of another as keenly as Martel’s death. His life force was one which exulted and bound those around him. We forgive him for his sins, and bless his journey into Kal.’^

  Polintin paused so all could absorb the words from the Kal-Durrell. Uonil gazed at Rista, and saw the despair and sorrow on her face. She appeared as if all the life has been wrung out of her—she was merely a shell of what she was. Graid noticed her glance.

  ^I must offer my support to Rista after the ceremony, she looks as if she needs it. I can sense she is in deep confusion,^ cast Graid, as he knotted his hands together. ^She is a pretty thing, even under that cloud of sadness. Maybe I—^

  Polintin cast again just as Uonil flashed a hateful look at Graid. He smiled his satisfied smile.

  ^When one reflects back on the life of Martel, and reviews the minds he has molded, we see . . .^

  Graid sat back, already bored and restless. Ahh . . . the history lesson. I loved Martel, but he is gone. I may as well go over the mission forecasts. Graid brought the distillation of each attempt back in time forward, and the various commentaries on each one. The stumbling block is getting Kolob angry enough against the TELREC that he would take a life. Some argued that Kolob knew instinctually he was killing himself—the surroundings, items in the room, combined they triggered a latent memory. We must try this last time at night, when all will be asleep, so he won’t see anything, and possibly further abstract the event.

  Graid gazed around the derasar, unable to concentrate. The confrontation with Uonil commanded his focus once again.

  Don’t they realize what they are doing? Uonil and Arciss will push too far, and I will kill them both. Arciss has become so smug, so damned arrogant, with his accursed Trint-Averil. It was all your fault, Martel. Yours and Valcha’s. It was in the middle of those thoughts that a great rumbling voice shook him to his foundations.

  ^Why do you hate me so?^

  A look of surprise flashed on Graid’s face. That was the Alçon! He was not looking at Graid, yet still he could feel strong power in his thoughts. The voice was warm, and alive, so much unlike the Alçon. Graid opened his awareness, to see if it was someone else.

  ^Polintin, what are you doing? Concentrate on your work, and restrain your thoughts.^

  Graid closed off his mind—a tactic few on Rell or Novan could accomplish. Uonil with all her strength would be unable to penetrate this shielding. Graid then resumed his thoughts.

  ^Nest my thoughts!^

  Graid’s mind reeled as sharp pains pierced his skull, the same warm voice pounding on his consciousness, negating any focus Graid had. It took all his strength to remain composed, and even then Uonil gazed sideways at him, opening her awareness of his being, but the contact was occurring on too high a level for even her to notice.

  ^You are the Kal-Alçon, yet you hate the very faith you serve!^ slammed Polintin. ^Explain.^

  Graid resurrected his self, and guardingly responded.

  ^You know nothing of me, lackey, how dare you invade my thoughts! If I were not in here, I would—^

  ^You would do no such thing! I could crush your mind with little effort. Feel my power.^

  With that Graid felt his entire being, mental and physical, feel stifled at first, then literally suffocated. His mind couldn’t move as quickly, he began to lose sensation throughout his body. Try as he might, he could offer no resistance. Then, in an instant, the pressure was gone. Relief was instant. Graid for the first time felt the need to practice prudence, felt that there was someone superior to him. It was a new sensation, and it intrigued Graid.

  ^Who are you?^ asked Graid.

  ^Look in my eyes and see who I am.^

  The Alçon alighted on Graid as though it was part of his proceedings. Graid looked deep, through the haze, into the eyes sunken deep in a swirling sea of wrinkles, and for the first time in his life was truly frightened. He saw something he could not easily explain, something akin to eternity.

  ^Why do you hate me?^ Polintin asked again. Graid thought for a mroa, lowering his guard.

  ^I don’t know you.^

  ^I am the one honoring your friend—a man who loved and respected you. Your own mind tells me you miss him dearly.^

  ^He was, a curiosity,^ cast Graid softly. ^And a good man, though naive.^

  ^Because he believed?^

  ^Yes.^

  ^And you?^

  Graid thought for a moment. ^I don’t know.^

  ^Yes you do—you believe in the technology which created you. The technology which surrounds you every second of every roa.^

  This touched a soreness in him.

  ^Of course!^ cried Graid. ^Me, the Kal-Alçon for all my people, created in a genetic soup and born in a chamber! Do you even know what that word means? Kal-Alçon, most think it means honored warrior, but it is too similar to an ancient Novan word, pre-prophet, ‘kalacon.’ It means deadly weapon! I am not a being, a sentient, I am a thing! Why should I believe? I am the strongest, most perfect being our world has ever seen. And I am not born of it. And the people here don’t even think of my individuality, my identity. Obviously, your way must be flawed.^

  ^Weren’t those minds created and born? Wasn’t their knowledge to create you part of the plan?^

  ^An old argument. Martel thought that way.^

  ^And?^ demanded Polintin pointedly.

  ^And we have no more need of the old way. I am the beginning of the new. We should repeal the Kal-Durrell’s prohibition on general cloning and genetic manipulation, and forge a new race to conquer this universe. Look at what the TELREC have done! They breed a whole new race of soldiers. If I weren’t here, they wouldn’t need a Cuhli-pra to defeat us. I will usher in a new life without devotion, where we will enjoy ourselves without guilt, where we will sweep aside the TELREC as the scum that they are. And we will teach the Novans a thing about pleasure.^

  ^Like you do now?^

  ^Yes,^ replied Graid firmly. ^Why not enjoy my body, and those others?^

  ^Because I do not wish it. Not to excess.^

  ^I cast again, I don’t know you.^

  For a short time, all that could be heard was the
preaching of the Alçon on Martel.

  ^But you have felt love,^ cast Polintin.

  Graid lowered his head, and thought How did he know?

  Polintin steadily continued. ^You buried that sweet feeling so deep inside, I imagine you forgot it was there. But it is. And it is a beautiful thing—a piece of joy and light. No science or technology can give you that. After ten thousand cas that is still the one constant. And with the love of one woman, one person, comes the love of others. And then, eventually, a love of all that is. And when you cannot contain your love—in those brief moments of clarity and understanding—you develop faith.^

  ^Faith that those you love will live long.^

  ^Faith that their selves will exist after death.^

  ^Faith in someone to watch over them when you can’t.^

  ^Faith in me. There is so much potential in you, dear child, but you will never realize it with this self-hatred. You will never discover the power in love, in compassion. You can feel what it means to unite these people, but do you believe it? With all your heart? Decide, my son, which side you are on, what kind of man you will be. I will tell you a secret, young Graid. You are the best that has ever been, but yet, it may not be enough. I have waited a long time for someone like you, but I may need to wait even longer for another. And it will only be your obstinance, your self-hatred that will cause this to happen. Look on this man that lies dead before you, and see what made him more than you are now, possibly more than you will ever be. Look on Uonil, a