by Grant Fausey
"I'm afraid not, Jolland," I said bluntly. "I've an errand for you on Earth."
"On Earth, Maccon..." she said to me, calling by my name, rather than by my favorite title. "May I ask why?"
"A great change is about to take place here, Jolland."
"A change, Father?"
"Yes, Jolland. A change that will alter the future course of mankind, forever." The wind turned brisk, then bitter cold. Jolland shivered inside, but not from the drop in the temperature. For the first time she felt my presence. She spoke in a whimper, one that warmed a father's heart. "What have I to do with your plan, Father?" she said softly. "I am just one––not an army."
"And so you will always believe, Jolland," Maccon explained, "but it's time, and you must play the part. Remember... you are more than meets the eye, Sara Jolland. You have had many lives before this one, and will have many after."
"And what is to become of me, Father?"
There was no answer.
"Father?" she repeated.
He hesitated then finally said: "Only what you would expect, my daughter."
“I am here too, Sara Jolland.” I said, awakening her to my presence. She cringed with fear, about to be swept into the depths of the bitter air. She felt destined to be airborne on dragon back, a blizzard raging from within as if carving its impressions into the snow covered branches of the towering tree fortress that laid midway between the Pillars of the Black Sun and the Athinian Plain. Her mind was aware like some electrical honeycomb spanning the distance between us, the flickering light immersed of both our minds alive in the luminescence that extended from the vortex of the Netherlands Nexus to the threshold of her reality.
“My name is Crimson, Sara Jolland,” I told her, “And I am once and again, a part of you.”
––– 2 –––
RALLUMN
The blizzard raged for hours, piling snow against the shinny black slate of the fortress, small ice flows curling around the roots of the tree instantaneously transforming the blanket of blowing white sand, into drifts of winter. The fortress towered over the dunes in a conglomeration of intertwined organisms, bound together in an alien dance of bio-mechanically engineered living, breathing mechanisms. Its wooden cliffs rose through the milky covering, overgrown by branches filled with enormous leaves and thick brush. Its base wrapped around itself in a series of intertwining trunks, forging skyward in columns of thickened forms, shaping the castle's body at the top of the tree. Like a monument forged hundreds of kilometers into the heavens, only to be dwarfed by a frame of grey lifeless sky, the twin adjoining pillars pointed the way to three villainous black suns. Each of the colossal stones ascended from the dunes, hovering above the castle like legendary guardians out of the past. The sheer size and depth made passage beyond the canyon treacherous and any approach to the fortress nearly impossible. Only the stone carved bridge of ten thousand steps trestle its way across the base of the canyon to the fortress––an impassable journey that ended in a protruding platform covered in a thick layer of ice, and new fallen snow. It seemed the single haven for weary travellers; only it was an inhospitable palace, no one man could love. Yet, atop the fortress, watching the energy dissipate from the vortex, Maccon's image stood; his face glistening from the sparkles of snow touched by an inner silence.
His mind drifted; unaware of the danger before him or the cause of it; his hand pressed hard to the railing, supporting his weight against the dark. His head ventured into the wind and he could feel the ever-present breeze that struck him in the face. We lifted his hand to wipe away the dusting of snow, but the flakes were already iced, frozen to his face. The worlds were he stood, drifted between realities, nothing more than a tomb within a tomb.
A tear dripped upon the curve of his cheek, freezing instantly into ice. He brushed it away; his mind adrift in darkness within, seeing the futures we had endured. But the visions, the events of our own experiences, the hardships yet to come, filled us with endurance, filled us with the painful memories that traversed the years of his life. We were one and the same, host and symbiont, friend and enemy. Time made us him, little more than a puppet to our feelings. We were more alone now than anyone could realize. The mind stretched the memories of the past, filling his heart with a burning desire to rebuild the future in so many forgotten ways of the past; tradition took the place of both our ancestors. Time heals all wounds, unless time no longer exists. For Maccon time no longer existed. For me, the fabric of our existence had unraveled centuries ago. I existed now as a means to an end. We survived because we had too. The Haulers look-a-like transport was testimony to that part of us that survived in another reality; a former existence where I knew him as Jake Ramious and he knew me as Indigo. Success would come at any cost, the tempest of sifting sands set adrift, reminding the both of us of life, and death.
We witnessed childhood flow into the nothingness of adulthood and obscurity. The universe left us shallow, like a facade no more vibrant than a slave to the keepers. Life no longer had meaning, our outer ego ventured to understand my presence within, but felt haunted by the memories of another life somewhere in the back of his mind. Perhaps it was clouded by the wintery blanket of snow like some tainted villain waiting for a chance to get out and be extinguished.
He leaned back; turned to face the darkness, sheltered within the entrance between the monstrous doors and the vast emptiness that engulfed him. He listened silently to the pounding of the wind, while long flowing robes gently swept aloft by the force of a tyrants grip. His body lurched forward, held in suspended animation as I felt my blood rush through him. His hand tightened around the wooden railing and for the first time in a millennium; his body hidden within a shroud of mist that churned out of the heart of the machine revealed the bottomless maze of electronic gadgetry and living organisms held within the organic contrivance we called our soul.
Above him, obscured by the thick cloud of mist that gathered from the depths of life itself: A scene of breathing coursed our being; for the first time the fortress was aware of our presence and we of its. A thousand branches spiraled downward toward him, descending as many steps as we climbed in our imagination. We were not alone. Maccon could feel our existence blending into a single entity. He took one step, his first step. He watched the contour of every step; climbed higher into the audience chamber as if on a cushion of air. The tree's vines twisted converging around him to form a central mound supported from the top of the cavernous room by a long neck that formed from within the mass. Its head emerged from between the branching arms, supported the body.
Two of the branches intertwined within the assembly, forming the extremities of what I would call spindly legs. Maccon studied the mass then took a step back from the mass to take it all in. We watched in awe, secretly discussing every detail as the thing approached. Mysterious as it was, the body of branches sailed outward suspended in space as they moved through the chilled air to bring the mass face-to-face with Maccon. For a moment, Maccon and I were one and the same. Joined by the thousand strands of a million lines of consciousness held together by an infinite universe and the source of all things.
My former existence was that of Crimson Indigo, a bounty hunter assassin in the service of the Galactic Senate, known now as they Assembly.
"So–– it begins," whispered the voice cautiously from somewhere in the midst of the branches.
I perked up, recognizing the voice. "She has departed, Rallumn," said Maccon. His words were but a mimic of my own.
"And what of the two small explorers?"
"Aboard the Earthcore II as planned," I responded in turn.
"Jolland's journey will be a costly one. Many lives will be lost should she discover the truth about herself and her origins, before the rebellion is rectified."
Maccon twitched. "No one will recognize her for what she is, Rallumn," I said candidly. He knew it was nothing but a lie. The universe would know. "The prophecy will abound her."
"Ah, yes ... the prophesy," w
hispered Rallumn nearly inaudible, talking mostly to himself. "The future course of mankind.”
“And what of machine kind?” He said, questioning his own recollection of events already recorded in the annals of history. “What will become of them in our new universe? Have you planned for them as well?"
"As I have for you mighty Rallumn," said the ghostly image of my former self. Our embodiment of Maccon smiled: alone we knew only that the other existed, together we drew on each others passions and past.
"Then I leave it in your capable hands, son of Alvericon," said Rallumn, following us with great attention. He sensed the other as I turned around to face him, seeing the mass blend back into obscurity among the branches of the tree.
The sound quieted, hanging on each heartbeat as he listened, identifying each of the noises before he backed away. Our reality shifted. I too could feel it. We descend the steps from the audience chamber as if time was aware of our presence. Our mind shifted. I knew the tiniest mistake would cost me his life. "Guide the next generation well, Maccon," continued Rallumn; his voice echoing from the mass. "And keep to the record, our history lies within thy journals. In time, it will be all that is remembered of this time. It’s not the destination old friend, but rather the journey. It truly is one of importance."
"Rest easy, Rallumn," I whispered, the words echoing from the lips of my ghostly companion. "I'll keep your secrets. It's best unspoken."
"As it will remain, always. We have only to keep the secret, not discard it."
"Agreed," said Rallumn, "Your journey awaits you,. As you father has said, Maccon: “Take time to prepare yourself'."
I felt Rallumn's influence. My thoughts raced, feeling nothing of other times or places; however, the guidance was too robust, something within pushed the present, and I felt the stretch; my thoughts like fingers grasping at the darkness for as far as our mind carry us, there was another in our reality––A long lost love.
The thought escaped me, crossed my mind like some proverbial ghost in the darkness turned to grey, filled with memories; fuzzy images of people and far away places.
A longing touched my thoughts, reaching back along my lives to a place where time lapsed with the presence and reality vanished. The ghostly image of Maccon turned away from the inner window as Rallumn's closed his eyes, and drifted back into the nothingness from which he came; his breathing barely audible above a whisper.
The embodiment of Maccon caught the corner of his eye, but Rallumn did not trust his conviction: Especially, not in the matters of mental capacity. He turned away in the darkness, aware of my failure. But he didn't speak of it; instead his silence regretfully pulled me back to my own surroundings, as I lowered my head. Our passage was complete.
––– 3 –––
INTENTIONS UNKNOWN
The fourth dimension ... the fourth universe.
Out of a tapestry of twinkling suns came a galactic shift, a vortex for the interstellar passage of great sailing ships. The vessel passed from its threshold a simple traveler destined to follow the trade routes from one distant planet to another, insignificant in its purpose. Its appearance changed nothing in the heavens. Yet, a greeting transmitted to the captain from an awaiting tugboat answering their hale. The officer breathed a sigh of relief, sipping on a cup of hot, brownish liquid. He smiled, and gave a nod to his mate. The mission was only moments from completion then he would turn his attentions on getting home.
The huge Cargo Whale filled the tugboat's windows with a metallic horizon. The captain studied every aspect of the craft at length, making sure the tug's docking apparatus remained free and clear, until the umbilical lines connected clamoring tightly together with the sound of metal, striking metal found silence in the arms of one another. Like a gigantic bubble, the curved horizon of Oceanna, a water world of mighty seas and islands made of steel, plastic and glass, rushed up against the crashing waves, thundering with the sounds of natural beauty set against a sky filled with oncoming traffic. A winged diplomatic plane sliced across the sky in front of the tugboat, crossing the path of the cargo whale like a giant gull in flight. Its wings swept out to catch the wind as it passed through the cloud currents, diving across the hauler's bow. Its landing gear snapped into place, down and locked; its twin search beacons scanning the darkness for its destination––the largest of three floating cities on the ocean.
The cargo whale yawed to port, turning along the same flight path as the space plane. The hulk of machinery rocked slightly as the tugboat fired pulses of directional thrust into the ocean of air, lining up with the city's approach lights. Their destination rolled into view, a darkened shape submerged into the ocean, swaying gently in the calm sea like an iceberg waiting in lay; its pointed, cathedral-like buildings draped in the moonlit shadow of a night on the waves. The vision, that of a technological nightmare of ice-cold beauty, the expertise only the Industrialist could achieve brought a smile to the captain’s face. A single landing support descended along the length of the cargo whale's lower hull, locking into place within a cushion of exhaust that obscured the pier's supports as they stretched upward, mating with the transport in a dance of systematic splendor and howling engines.
The space plane pivoted sharply landing on a platform inches from the nose of the cargo whale. A lengthy ramp lowered to meet the platform, allowing a royal envoy of well-dressed, fish faced men to exit the ship. Meanwhile, several others approached the shuttle from across the dock. Senator Clarion Starr, a man of years and chiseled features, emerged from the underside of the craft and walked the length of the ramp to greet the emissary. He shook the hand of the first ambassador, giving him a smile then stepped away to greet the next. He looked the part of the mechnocrat, under the cover of a diplomat on a diplomatic mission nonetheless: Hence, his wardrobe of fine linens and satins. His lengthy, blacken grey hair was tied back in his ancestral fashion, reflecting the training of a cadet in uniform. The Industry's government was ever present, revealed by the honors he was bestowed. However, to the fish–faced ambassadors, he seemed little more than a messenger, a diplomat with a diplomatic pouch; he was an errand boy. "I came as soon as I received word," said the Senator, heading off across the dock while the others yelled back and forth over the roar of the wind. The two statesmen closest to him hurried to keep up, taking the distance in wide strides across the deck.
"How many Robo-Troids were dispatched?"
"Ninety-two––" huffed the ambassador attempting to keep up. "In full combat armor."
The Senator stopped. The two aliens passed him by, turning to face him. "NINETY TWO?" He questioned on the walk. "In full armor–– For what purpose?"
The question was directed. "Intentions are unknown, Senator Starr," said the fish-faced ambassador, dry mouthed. "It's believed their destination is the Eden sector."
"The Eden sector?" answered the Senator. "What on earth would they want with the Eden sector? There's nothing of value there." Senator Clarion Starr stopped in front of a secure dock elevator and slammed his fist into the front door panel, opening the mechanism. He stepped inside more or less in a trot, and then depressed the controls as he turned around to face the other ambassadors.
"There's no time for customs,” he told the others. “We must talk with the Governor Colonel immediately; there's much to discuss."
The door slid aside and Clarion stepped to the center of the elevator, with the ambassadors. "I've a few inquiries to make on Trithen."
"They weren't dispatched from Trithen, Senator Starr," claimed the larger of the two ambassadors, speaking bluntly.
"That's impossible––" snapped the Starr. "What's their point of origin?"
"We've narrowed it to one of three possible locations," answered the aide. "Rampia seems the most likely source."
"That's a bio-planet in the Escay system," added the other ambassador, as he too stepped onto the elevator.
"Then Rampia is where we will find our answers, Gentlemen,” answered Senator Clarion Starr as he de
pressed the "UP" switch. The door swooshed shut, and the elevator began to move. "Contact Admiral Titann on the starship Omar and divert him to Rampia."
"At once, Senator," acknowledged the ambassador. And with that, the elevator vanished into the superstructure.
• • •
The battle cruiser Omar sliced through space, in transit along the rim of where the galaxy met the Nexusphere of the Netherlands Nexus, maintaining standard orbit around the departure ring station, Phoenix; an ancient vortex gateway left over from the first federation, during the regeneration wars. The Phoenix’s departure ring revolved silently about cylindrical core of brilliant, white energy––a future wave corridor to the other side of the galaxy. Six great arms extended from the main structure––tether lines supporting cities flung into space. A fleet of warships hovered near the hub, while other, more commercial traffic and heavy cargo vessels, departed and arrived.
The Omar wasn't long on beauty, but sleek and cigar-shaped; a medium–sized battle cruiser, fortified and poised ready for any encounter. Her crew waited a turn at passage to the destination on the far side of the galaxy and the time was passing rather slowly, but then, time always passed slowly on the frontier, and crews took time ashore whenever and wherever they could get it. Captain Relnar and several members of his staff had retired to Omar's lounges, while the bulk of the crew enjoyed the recreational facilities aboard the ring station. Relnar was deep into the departure schedule, drowning his mood in ale. He wasn't happy about the amount of time they had to remain in orbit. Departures sometimes took days or weeks, depending upon the waiting list, and the list was growing by the hour. Only the highest priority, diplomatic and Industry vessels departed on any kind of real time schedules. The Omar was none of them, at least, not in the eyes of the Alpha Renetta, and if not for Senator Clarion Starr's incoming message, they probably would have stayed on station indefinitely.