As Ramptha, at the height of our power on Eden, we slaughtered billions in that mighty name. Civilization after civilization, world after world, falling from the heavens like a shock wave, he, with my sister and me at his side, lay to waste all who opposed his will. Look for him in your books of history, myth, and legend. He will stand above them all. He is the greatest of all generals, the God of Conquest, the God of War himself. All ancient civilizations of Urantia knew him as Tamil, Malay, Thai, Taishakuten, Zeus, Kinich Anau, Hister, Thor, Ra. Roaring like Thunder, blazing like the Sun, he came into the Material worlds as Emperors, Kings, Prophets, mighty Pharaohs, the Fuhrers of Fury.
All your ancient civilizations knew what was required. All those who looked to the mighty Indra did so to praise him and to beseech his protection. For to do otherwise, brought forth his wrath, a wrath that meant more than death. It meant slaughter of all those whom you loved, of all those whom you knew, indeed, the obliteration of the entire planet upon which you stood. There at his side were the Nazz, with me as their General. We, the invincible Nazz. The Children of Wrath. The Nazz, who worshipped conquest, subjugation, domination, and victory more than we worshipped life itself.
Yet, I already know what cowards will say. They will say that they were victims, that they were not to blame for this slaughter because they were blinded by his charisma. What lies. Lies of the weak. For those of us who looked upon ourselves with clarity and honesty, knew that we did all these things because it pleased us, satisfying our own personal lusts to do so.
—Castor Mayhew, Indra’s primary bodyguard
Celestial Realm of Elysium: Mansion World I Space
Situated on a large asteroid in planar orbit around Pollux, Eden’s Solar Orb
Castor Mayhew stood on Elysium’s top secret, unnamed, highly secure landing platform used exclusively for dignitaries. Standing at his side was his twin sister, Kuko Kiena. They awaited the arrival of Lord Smigyl.
The ignorant, upon viewing the arrival of someone as illustrious as Lord Smigyl, would declare millions, indeed billions of cheering devotees should have welcomed him. However, such individuals did not understand the delicate nature of these personal relationships.
Having Castor Mayhew and Kuko Kiena greet you was the highest honor — they were Lord Indra’s primary bodyguards, his protectors, his closest council — assassins when he was displeased, emissaries when he desired discourse, and most of all, they were his friends. To have Castor Mayhew and Kuko Kiena greet you was, in effect, to be greeted by Lord Indra himself.
They wore no special attire to distinguish them from the rest of the Nazz, only the standard issue uniform — black jack boots, black trousers with smart creases running down the sides of the legs, a black, button-down, long-sleeved shirt, and a simple black belt. They carried no weapons, they wore no insignia of rank.
For someone who did not know them, they would have been unable to determine if Castor Mayhew and Kuko Kiena were privates or generals. The only insignia they wore was the red twisted cross of a subjugator on their right lapel and death’s head, the white skull and crossbones, on their left.
Castor Mayhew never displayed his rank while on Elysium. There was no need. Everyone knew he was the most decorated warrior in Indra’s military. Almost always, the formidable Mr. Mayhew would incarnate into Eden’s Material realm as a high-ranked commander in Indra’s armies — brilliant in his strategies — loved by his troops — the terror of Indra’s enemies.
It was, however, quite true that over the centuries, many within the Nazz had actually openly complained about Castor Mayhew, saying it was impossible to read his emotions. His face was always stoic, making the normal flow of communications difficult, if not impossible.
Those who reported to him usually expected some type of reaction when they brought news or asked him questions. They at least wanted to know he had heard them. Regardless, good news, bad news, or irrelevant news — he always appeared the same.
When a complaint was issued, the typical reply from Mr. Mayhew was no reply at all. The problems of others were not his problem. If he did bother to reply, he would simply, curtly state that his internal emotions were his business and not the privy of anyone else.
He never bothered to explain his internal state to those who were too imperceptive to comprehend such things. If someone asked a question and he did not respond, that meant he did not care to respond. If someone brought him news and he did not respond, the best thing to do was walk away until summoned. If he did not understand something, he might ask questions, he might not. And he extended this courtesy to others.
In his mind, whether he understood or not was his personal issue and not the concern of others. However, when he did respond, it was best to know the facts and be prepared to answer clearly, concisely. When he gave orders, it was best to carry them out immediately. If he told you to stop doing something or to start doing something, best to do it straightaway; otherwise, he would shoot you in the head, rest assured, as so many under his command had learned too late.
In contrast, those who knew and loved him had taken the time to learn the subtlest changes in his countenance. It could be a slight raise of an eyebrow, meaning he was pleasantly surprised. A tiny purse of the lips, as if tasting a lemon, meant he found someone to be inappropriately obnoxious, rude, or had made a foolish mistake. And if he gave his eyes a slight twitch, as if reacting to a bit of filth, or worse, a small roll of his eyes and a couple of blinks, you might as well kill the individual in question and collect his Ratna. Nothing that stupid and useless was worth keeping around.
Simply put, if someone was not perceptive enough or did not care to learn his subtle expressions, they would never be among the individuals Castor Mayhew cared to have around, cared to call friend.
In truth, Castor Mayhew was in no way unfeeling. He was in fact quite passionate, a creature of the heart. The one individual who understood this best was his twin sister, Kuko Kiena, also a creature of the heart. When others saw no reaction on his face, Kuko could read him like an open book. When she saw joy, she would partake in his joy. When she saw sadness, and there was always sadness aplenty on any battlefield, she put her arms around him, squeezed him, and kissed him, in private of course. She listened attentively to whatever he had to say. Castor knew she was the one in whom he could always trust to protect his heart.
In contrast to her brother, everyone believed they could read Kuko easily because she showed her emotions freely. Nothing was further from the truth. She might exhibit a particular emotion, but there was no guarantee it had anything to do with her internal state.
Kuko was a flawless actress. She could be raving in anger on the outside while amused on the inside. She might be beaming with joy but suffering the deepest heartbreak. Her enemies could hear the battle cry of a thousand demons roaring from her lips, while she might be feeling nothing in particular as her sword slaughtered and laid waste to them. If she wanted to obscure her true feelings, there was no one who could penetrate her act.
Both Castor Mayhew and Kuko Kiena loved the theatre — both were actors, singers, and musicians. Funny enough, Castor Mayhew could easily display a wide range of body language and facial expressions when acting, so much so that only those who knew he was one of the actors would have recognized him. While everyone immediately recognized Kuko, they would have no idea that the muse at her side was her twin brother.
They also shared a love for battle — perfectly comfortable in battlefield tents — remarkable warriors — filled with courage — devoid of cowardice — fair — honorable — masters of the martial arts — the creators of warriors — the creators of war.
Some called Castor Mayhew the epitome of the cruel master. Not true. Castor Mayhew simply did that which was necessary to create the warrior he knew a student was capable of becoming. He only appeared to be cruel when the student resisted making breakthroughs in their technique; therefore, as a master devoted to the development of warriors, he might relentlessly beat
someone through those breakthroughs, irrespective of how much they might fear or fight the process.
After Castor Mayhew spent years preparing a warrior, he would then send in his sister. Throughout training, students would see Kuko here and there, doing paperwork, sweeping the floor, cooking. Most students believed she was nothing more than an assistant or a maid. Truthfully, she was perfectly happy cooking and cleaning — and as a master herself, she understood that the act of cooking and mending, cleaning and polishing, whether it was the walls, furniture, the sidewalk, or the floors, when done with full attention and care, was a fundamental technique in the development of excellence.
What amused brother and sister the most was when Castor Mayhew told a student they were ready to train with the master of subtlety. He loved seeing students shocked into silence when they found themselves standing in front of Kuko Kiena. At that point, they prayed they had never insulted the ‘petty servant’.
Today, it would take several hours for Smigyl to arrive on Elysium after exiting the local cytometric conduit. Nazz spies with powerful lenses stealthily watched. Reginald, Castor Mayhew’s personal assistant, had delivered some surprising news. The Lanonandek transport craft carrying Smigyl was of a new design, one the Watchers had never seen. Luckily for the Watchers, they noticed and reported the details to Mayhew; otherwise, he would have slaughtered them for incompetence and poor reporting.
A fine mist turned into a steady rain. “Mr. Mayhew. This is quite refreshing, don’t you think?” Kuko asked, soaking wet, water streaming off her nose but still looking sharp.
“Oh, yes, Madame Kuko. Most refreshing.” He took a deep breath. “I am particularly fond of the solubilized unburned hydrocarbons.”
“I quite agree, Mr. Mayhew. A delicate besprinkling of organic solvents is refreshing. Although I must admit, I most enjoy the thrill that mercury, lead, arsenic, indeed all the heavy metals, brings to the skin. I feel most fortunate. Eden’s atmosphere contains a plethora of such substances.”
“Indeed. Is that your preference? My particular vice when enjoying the rains of Eden is the radioactivity. A fresh radioisotope shower, that’s the thing for me. I find there is nothing quite like gamma-irradiation to stimulate the synapses.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Oh yes, Madame Kuko. Ever since the first thermonuclear explosions, I have been deeply appreciative of this manner of stimulation.”
“It seems, my dear brother, that I discover new things about you daily.”
“Quite. And why not? Did you expect to know everything about me and somehow mistaken me for someone more shallow?”
“But isn’t it a shame The Children of Luminosity are so virulent in their opposition to these wonderful devices?” Kuko continued. The Children of Luminosity were the loyal followers of Lord Smigyl.
“Yes, dear sister. I, myself, can discover no deeper truth beyond the goodness of these fantastically powerful bombs. Seeing your enemy evaporate under a mushroom cloud brings such joy. And these so-called peace movements The Children of Luminosity construe to advance their own agendas and lust for power — what rubbish.”
Kuko paused for a moment. In the decision to reveal deep secrets of past actions, one can never be too subtle.
“Did I ever tell you about my role in the very first nuclear exchanges between the Azakamani and the Nazz?” she asked.
Castor did not respond immediately, carefully summoning up his memories of 4,400 years ago and of that first world war, the most famous of Eden’s many Material world wars.
A thrill of delight ran through him as his mind filled with rich visions of that extraordinary conflict — Indra and his Nazz, with Reichsmarschall Castor Mayhew commanding from his tank, at the tip of the spear, scorching country after country under their invincible military machine.
“That was delightful, wasn’t it?” Castor replied. “The Azakamani really lit up the skies with nuclear fire that time, didn’t they? Who says there’s nothing in the physical realm that can fry Yukta Yogis en masse? I’m sure the fireworks were the Azakamani’s way to celebrate Lord Smigyl forcing Rahu to give up his crown as Eden’s Planetary Prince. I have such pleasurable visions of Rahu kicking and screaming the entire way back to Jerusem.”
Castor motioned for Kuko to look as Reginald stepped forward with a compact video screen. Fifteen seconds later, they watched as a swirl, a delicate wisp formed, and then a tiny transport craft appeared in the distance. It created a smooth, perfectly formed rainbow of Celestial color as it fell out of the Rakta. Both noticed the lack of turbulence, an indication of a very low drag coefficient.
Castor Mayhew was keen to see this new craft with his own eyes. He intentionally had not told Kuko until the last seconds because he wanted it to be a surprise.
“How strange, Madame Kuko,” Castor said, resuming their conversation. “I seem to have no memory of you at all from that time? Is it possible that you somehow had been omitted from this epic battle?”
“I must confess to you, dear brother, that I am somewhat embarrassed to tell,” Kuko said. “While I must assure you that I had no desire to be withholding information… It just never seemed a good time.”
“Oh, I would never believe that you were capable of that form of deception with your admiring and faithful brother, unless of course, you were embedded within the opposing army. Then I would fully expect the most elaborate forms of trickery.”
Kuko said nothing. Castor turned his head and looked at her. Kuko also turned her head and looked back. At exactly the same height and slender build, they looked directly into each other’s green eyes as the heavy rains flooded their faces.
“Most remarkable, Madam Kuko. You found yourself somehow aligned with the Azakamani?”
“Oh, no dear brother. Not ‘somehow aligned’, as if by some flaw in the master design of such planet-shaping events. It wouldn’t be possible for me to be so uninteresting. I was one of the Azakamani’s most virulent, fanatical commanding officers. In fact, I had been a primary driving force in the development of those fantastic devices…”
“Go on,” he said, gazing into her sparkling eyes, carefully dissecting every nuance on her face.
“And, I was given the honor of piloting the lead aircraft…the lead aircraft that dropped the very first nuclear bomb…the lead aircraft that dropped the very first nuclear bomb on your troop emplacements.”
“Oh,” Castor Mayhew said, his eyebrows subtly lifting. “This is the sweetest candy. How is it possible that you were able to hold such a wonderful secret for so long?”
“Dear brother, you amaze me with your continued grotesque lack of feminine understanding. I promise you, I have held many secrets for much longer than that.”
Chapter 16
Putting off the Inevitable
I would have gladly faced a thousand gladiators bent on killing me rather than facing a single Angel whose heart I had just hurt.
—Collin Striker
Oceania: Mansion World III Celestial Sphere in high orthogonal orbit around Eden’s Solar Orb, Pollux
Collin shuffled along Main Street toward Frank’s Grocer Store. He tried to rehearse what to say; however, nothing came to his mind. He had eaten a quick breakfast with Jess and given her the news about Britt. She seemed relieved.
He suggested she take a long walk on the beach, maybe a swim, then come back and have a nap — she could even use his bed if she liked. He suspected he would sleep on the sofa tonight anyway. It seemed odd that it was so easy to tell her what to do to feel better, but he had no idea what to tell himself.
He started thinking about the first time he had seen Frank. Collin had been on Oceania for a year when he encountered Frank staggering down the beach one Thursday evening with a girl under each arm. All three were obviously inebriated. The next Monday afternoon, Frank appeared in the logistics office with a long list of items he needed. He was still wearing the same casual, open-necked, now quite crumpled, sandy, and otherwise stained shirt he had worn on Thu
rsday. Quite plausibly, he had been sleeping in it on the beach since then.
Collin asked him if he had a place to stay, as it was quite easy to set up a room for visitors. Then, much to Collin’s surprise, Frank told him that the long list of items he ordered were needed to re-open one of the island’s two grocery stores. He had an apartment above the store, but because of recently spending so much time in prison while on Eden’s Material world, he had preferred to sleep on the beach in the open air.
When Collin delivered the first batch of items to the store, Frank introduced him to his store clerks, Laura and Janene. He recognized them as the two who had been under his arms last Thursday. A few visits later, he met another clerk, Fran.
Fran was unlike the others. In the many years afterward, Collin never saw her raise her head from her work and on only one occasion had he overheard her talking to Frank. Other than that, she never said a single word.
After a few more deliveries for ‘Frank’s Grocer’, and drinking together several times with Frank at Bill’s, often with Laura and Janene but never with Fran, it became clear that Laura and Janene were in no way Frank’s lovers. They looked like they might hurl at the idea of intimacy with Frank. Collin well understood, considering how disgusted Skillit looked when anyone asked if they were an intimate item.
Frank, like most residents, would disappear for a few years, enduring some lifetime on Eden or another nearby evolutionary world. When he was on Oceania, he never wore a uniform. In fact, Collin thought he was a civilian because he always wore shorts, sandals, and a casual shirt. Sometimes the shirt was clean; frequently it was not.
Frank never talked about his visits to Eden, although it seemed clear from his off-handed comments to Laura and Janene, all three had been there many times. From their deeply troubled expressions, he could tell their experiences had not been pleasant. Regardless, Collin still assumed that the three of them were Sisters of Mercy on some random, space-filling mission, incarnating as ordinary business people, householders, grocery store owners, or schoolteachers. Certainly, he would have laughed at the idea that Frank was an SAS Valkyrie assassin.
Lilith: Eden's Planetary Princess (The Michael Archives Book 1) Page 10