by Grant Fausey
Jolland coughed, regaining consciousness then collapsed once again face down into the dust and debris of the wave-ridden water. She was a captive in no uncertain terms. Her mind filled with memories, as if she'd been reprogrammed to go off at a certain time like an alarm clock: her thoughts A captivated in a dream state, focused on her father's relentless stories of how Kellnar became an idolized hero among the people––undoubtedly, she was having a life moment, an imbedded past history event she had somehow forgotten. It seemed Kellnar was more than just on her mind. She forced herself to remember the legacy of the Industries discovery: the process by which artificial life was manufactured and controlled. The inhabitants renamed their planet after him out of blind faith, but instead of using the process to create creatures to be used as a food supply for hundreds of worlds, entire planets were converted to ranches on which to raise these slaves.
The Industries shipped millions of creations to thousands of worlds across the universe. No one considered them slaves, but rather, living breathing machines replicants––Doppelgangers of humanity. Hybrids. In its earliest years, Rampia was known to the galactic republic as Athin; a world at the center of the galactic trade hub, home of the Galactic Senate––the place from which Rune Linka and Maccon began their journey to the one world the universe abandoned to the Triad––Haven.
No one really knew how the Industries achieved power; it seemed to happen everywhere at once. But the Industries erased it from the star charts making its location inaccessible to the inner worlds, leaving the uninhabited planets along the outer ring of the galaxy to the hands of criminals and thieves. Athin was a world of splendor and achievement, a civilization like no other in the history of the universe. A civilization with technological and magical wonders that far out-reached the concepts of the society, extending far beyond the outer rim of the galaxy.
One moment the people were in control; the next, the Industries replaced planetary governments with absolute and unconditional control.
The knights of the Ronna-Kaa defended the great houses, but a change befell the people of Athin, a change that altered the course of Galactic History. The population split between those who defied the Industries and those that supported the scorned followers of the eternal being with fits of rage, destroying entire worlds with the power of regeneration. Those closest to the Source of eternal light responded. Alvericon sent forth twelve of the finest warriors the Source created, arming them with the purest of hearts and the knowledge of mysterious supernatural abilities to be used only for the good of humanity. And although no one ever told her, Jolland somehow realized her father; my earlier incarnation was one of the twelve. As a child, she'd listened to the stories of how thousands of Athinian people fled with only their lives, reliving the antagonist sent against humanity. As her father told her the story of how a family survived the first days of regeneration.
Placed into the corporate system as chief administrator overseeing living machine development, a programmer named Creed became a Senator in the Industries high council. But the Industry was rooted on a thousand worlds like an octopus with outstretched tentacles of technological, bureaucratic treachery. No one was safe; only the wealthy mechnocrats and power-hungry bureaucrats maneuvered themselves into office. Trithen Kellnar predicted the birth of the Senator's son and knew his efforts would place him within striking distance of a child's mission––the downfall of the Industries would be this son's objective, once he became a knight of the Ronna-Kaa.
Alvericon knew this too, and did his best to prevent the slaughter of first born Athinian males, yet during the first years of his life young Travis Creed, along with Rune Linka, discovered the truth about themselves––the who and what they were. Neither the name Maccon, nor the knights of the Ronna-Kaa had any meaning to them, yet that was the point, to wipe the past from their memories and rather quickly, as they reached the age to awaken.
–– 14 ––
REUNITED
The world of Rampia hugged the sky, floating among an endless sea of stars; its reddish, yellow-orange surface emitting the appearance of a mutating star. Yet, the planet's fourth moon; a blue-green marble in the dark heavens danced its way across Rampia's curve like a hardened sphere about a dead sun. The background, studded with stars, rushed into infinity only to be slashed by the sobering presence of a giant barrier of red-hot energy––the Trithen Barrier Nexus. It fanned out across the galaxy like a wound in blackness––a channeled stripe open to the depths of the unknown fabric of the universe and the vast emptiness beyond the Milky Way Galaxy.
As for the Planet, it was an old world, this Rampia; a rock known on the star charts as DKN 346b. No one knew exactly how old DKN 346b was, only that it was older than the Galactic Republic itself; left over perhaps from some first civilization or the regeneration of creation. No one ventured a guess at who the true inhabitants were, but countless legends passed down from one generation to another on every planet in the Industries Empire best told it as the birthplace of the Master-builders
Young Travis had a favorite tale of course; one told to him by his father about the myth of man named Attar Maccon. According to the legend, Attar Maccon was an ox of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall with curly brown hair that glistened in the burning light of Rampia's giant red star. His body was one to be remembered by any woman, nearly perfect in every detail but then he had been manufactured that way or at least that was the legend.
Travis stood just under six feet; a formidable newcomer by comparison; at least, he was well-built, solid muscles, trim waist, powerful legs––in his twenties and more fit then either his constituents or me. I was the looker; he was the brawny bystander who felt great, almost powerful, but not quite perfect. When he slept he felt the gentle curls of his hair brushed by the breeze, his eyes closed tight, concealing the sapphire blue of the iris. None of his movements revealed the nightmares occurring in his mind. Nevertheless, like Sara Jolland, Travis somehow knew Rampia was at the galactic center for trade and travelers from every economic corner of the galaxy-wide empire.
The legend his forefathers spoke of made it a Utopian civilization, the home of a race of beings so advanced they were able to change the vibrations of the world and evolve to a higher plane of existence. They left Rampia behind in the midst of the Regeneration Wars, evolving beyond the need for physical body or three-dimensional worlds. Alvericon was supposedly one such being. It too was considered a legend.
Legends made no different to young Travis Creed. Attar Maccon, however, was a warrior; a descendant of the Vericonians who evolved to dwell in higher realms. Officially, the Industry librarians had no record of the inhabitants of Athin. The chronicles showed only a single settlement on a barren corner of the rock with no indigenous life. The official testimonials listed the planet as having a dead race, unfit for living machine habitation. Never the less, the radical groups recorded the population simply vanish, escaping to the stars or whatever rubbish the Industries wanted printed about them. Not all; however, there was one tale––a remarkable recounting of a great exodus recorded in the Journals of the Kalamar. A legend based in fact, but most believed otherwise. According to his log, Maccon knew the Industries had reclaimed Athin, regenerating it to fit an empire's needs. Rampia was the silent sacrifice of what was once perfect to form something imperfect. History held its place, keeping the secrets of Athin and Rampia for the universe to unravel. It was certain that like Athin, Rampia was destined to play a more significant role in the times to come.
Travis’ memories of Rampia; spent in sleepless nightmares of what was to come, tormented the night with long unwarranted indulgences into the psyche, alluding to rather nightmarish remembrances, nevertheless. Travis knew of Maccon; how, he didn't know, or why he knew of him. He just knew that he knew. There were memories of Rune Linka, deja vu really. From some other time, some other dimension: some other universe, and then memories of an elated trip to the depths of the Nexus––wishful thinking, perhaps; subconscious thou
ghts; however, like me, his wishful thinking had no recourse. Being a ward of the state in the hands of a benefactor in another universe left little to chance even for the son of a Senator.
Travis heard voices in a childish adventure, resonating with something that wouldn't quite allow him to place everything or put all the pieces together. A feeling––a discontentment, which soared through him: sooner or later another piece of the puzzle would unravel another story. Dreams tend to be overactive, I thought, regardless, the images jumped from one place to another, shifting through the sands of time.
A spectrum of color spinning around his nightmarish world opened in the heavens, one of the star points exploded into a pinwheel firecracker. Although the vortex noted the arrival of something more than he expected, the slender shape at the epicenter was most certainly unmistakable in the wake of the transit wave corridor. An enormous starship transposed the points of origin with those of the destination exchange of molecules marking the end of a molecular shift across the galaxy. The experience subsided as two ghosts occupied the same moment of time.
The vessel's shinny multi-layered hull glowed with an aura of white-hot friction from contact with the planet's atmosphere. The senator’s son considered the ship’s shape, remembering the vessel’s main body as it slipped into low orbit, slicing between Rampia's floating landmasses like a clipper ship breaking ice. The image seemed so vivid it looked almost ethereal passing overhead, only to maneuver through the treacherous sky analogous to a longboat at the edge of a whirlpool. Centered to the midsection four brilliant reactors crammed with exhaust-radiated energy in reverse, slowing the enormous hulk to a stand still. The vehicle's shadow designed shadowy curves on the rocky surface, alighting Travis’ imagination as if the ground in front of him came to life. He remembered the shape, considering everything and how real it felt, so familiar to the hallowed walls. He could feel his feet standing on her deck, walking the long corridors between the thickest of battles.
"It's the Omar," he exclaimed, tormented by the reach of its destination. The massive vessel kept to station, holding a stationary position more than a thousand feet above the edge of the jagged rock formation were Travis stood watching for the multi-colored beam of light to drop from the curve of the ship striking the ground between the shards of uprooted stone silhouetted with the fluttering images within light. The sheer power of the spectacle simply overpowered him, until the images shifted, hurtled him again into the nightmarish vision of things to come. His mind splintered, stuffed into a dark, endless tunnel of twisting turns swept along the sparkling corridor into infinity.
"Behold the staff," began the extra-terrestrial, static electricity gathering around the extraterrestrial visitor gripping the center of the staff in a gesture of acceptance. The husky warrior, dressed in shimmering blue combat armor, radiated with a sparkle around him; his identity fully recognizable; the person in the transporter's pillar of light stood with a cat-woman. Travis couldn't believe his eyes. He had heard of such creatures, but not in his wildest dreams did he consider their existence. She curled around his waist like a frightened child, eyes locked on the horizon. The creature, congruous to an enormous black widow spider, cautiously stepped one landmass to another, treading the rocky terrain, until the beast's voice broke the roar of the wind with a high-pitched whine.
"We meet again, Titann," groaned the creature. "What importance do you speak of to Raa?"
"The conquest of the planet Trithen and the downfall of the Industries," shouted the warrior, feeling the call of the wild. The spidery creature moved closer, standing before the cliff edge crushing from his weight; his head flattened relaxed in a gracious smile as it crossed his lips in subtle compassion.
"Ah...." he groaned, "... a time of rebellion."
The images in Travis Creed's mind dislodged him, forcing a new perspective on the future, altered his perception of how he fit into the universe. Once again he shouldered the responsibility for his actions understanding there was more to him than the simple life he had experienced in dreams and awakened nightmares. He stood aboard the vessel and for the life of him he realized everything around him seemed familiar. His journey here had happened many times before, as just as many individuals… never before had he seen so many versions of himself. Yet, there he was, presented with every possibility to bestow upon him self during the resurgence of knowledge, which escaped him for so many years.
The bridge was multi-leveled, and circular in structure with hundreds of compartments, each with an adjoining corridor and access ways. The color of death splashed across the walls of battleship, dancing reflections arched across the flight deck, bouncing off an assortment of panels filled with twinkling lights and colorful knobs. Even with its enormous size, the Omar remained a cramped craft, commissioned long before he was born; berthed from the harbor port of Myatek on the planet Telta Minor. An eerie feeling of anticipation controlled the Del-fian crew; especially, the captain. The Del-fians were all but friendly, slave to the complexities of the ship. Thank God he wasn’t invisible. The true meaning of the empire was twisted to bear.
No one realized the truth of his or her imprisonment: each pleased to do what the other’s biding had done for generations. The respect of service on such a huge ship was overwhelming, especially in the service of the Empire. Relnar, also a Delavan, perhaps one of the ugliest creatures known to man, or ever produced by the Industries genetic laboratory stood not more than four feet tall; his long flowing robe covered head hung from a grotesque body, awkward as it was. His skin wrinkled, drawn tight together at the joints like an old washrag, especially around the slits of his eyes. The pupils stewed with large dark ovals centered in a sea of blue-white, while massive lips protruded to form the upper portion of the mouth and jaw.
Beyond him, the starship bridge came alive with information and tactical readouts superimposing the holographic image of the planet below, which changed constantly. An instant later, a bright light filled the rear compartments with the glow of the teleportation beam. The two extraterrestrials, Titann, and his cat-woman, Rena returned to the ship in a flash of light that filled the bridge's lower levels without recourse as time altered again, the reality of the universe changed in a sparkling explosion of light, propelling itself along Travis’ nightmare without warning to a futuristic city.
The fuzzy imagery exploded into a vision of flames, bellowing out columns of thick black smoke. Travis pivoted sharply, taking in everything around him. He in the midst of an assault, the city burnt to the ground. Explosions ricochet off the huge circular building at the center of the invasion. The city resided among the clouds; long slanted supports embraced the skyscrapers ending at the point of huge glass pyramids, fortifying its position, amidst an upheaval of excitement that sent Travis gasping for air. Trithen City was in flames.
Another explosion rocked the Omar, Travis dashed into the confines of a family skycar. His vision went white, the flash of another larger explosion. The Bayside Complex––its towering city structure, erupted into a billion pieces, being swept away from the surface of the planet in a single thrust. The skycar shuttered caught in the explosion, fire spit from the rear of the car, rolling the vehicle out of control. The rear quarter section ripped away, shredded into pieces of rubble discharged within flying debris that became oval tables surrounded by high-backed cushioned seats on floating entertainment freighters from some far off rejuvenation center filled with aliens from a thousand worlds.
Travis changed direction witnessing the departure of a gleaming red space plane. Somehow he knew it was a cruel journey into an endless sea of stars at the threshold of another universe. Like a bullet shot from a gun, the tiny vehicle pitched out across the galaxy in a sudden burst of speed that blurred its journey across the sky in a brilliant glitter of orange and blue.
An intensified beam of energy sliced through the clouds, streaking past Travis as he leaping only the smallest fraction from his arms. He had escaped a strike in the center of his chest. The boy ga
sped for air. Everything felt so real; yet, life swept him into another narrow roaring river as it cut its way through the gorges of stone, only to drop over a thunderous waterfall; his life in intimate danger. Travis let out a terrifying scream, awakening to his own reality in a deafening roar that instantly subsided. His open hand, outstretched in the morning fog, the senator’s son heard the voice for the first time. It filled him with passion and a liveliness that protected him.
"Come on!" he shouted, the disembodied voice echoing in his head. "Hurry––this way."
Travis felt older; his dark brown-eyes and ruggedly handsome face still that of a young man, but there was something different. Taking his hand in a moment of desperation blanked his mind, only to pull him to his feet. A noise flashed through his mind like a bite of information traveling across a circuit board in bio-pulses. Regardless of what he thought of it, there was a sense of danger in the air, danger at every turn. Recognized and unrecognized, he knew consciously the influence was without intellect.
Already running behind Callen, Travis realized he was already on his feet, traveling at a pretty good clip when he reached the jungle at the edge of a thicket of undergrowth tore at his skin and clothing, making passage through the brush painful as well as dangerous. Not because of scrapes, but because of the noise. Somehow, or something knew the noise was that of his enemy: Another memory, the screams of the innocent left to fend for themselves. The people of the forest encompassed him, even those of Oleander tribes.