OF CRIMSON INDIGO: TALES OF THE MASTER-BUILDERS

by Grant Fausey

  Each of the ten tribesmen took off in a horseman's gallop, running along the bank until they couldn't see them, anymore. Callen doggy paddled like a real mutt, following Jolland's long strokes across the width of the river to the other shore. The water formed a natural barrier to the Kel-fee. The rest of the tribe was out there somewhere in the wilderness running along the edge of the river in a desperate attempt to find another way across the water.

  "They're afraid of the water!" yelled Jolland from the opposite shore. "You okay, Callen?" He nodded. "Good, then let's keep moving."

  One of Kel-fee yelped, prancing back and forth on the other side of the river, angry about missing his catch. "He's calling for help!" barked Callen from his knees, climbing up the shoreline to stand beside Jolland; his leg in pain.

  "I agree," snapped Jolland, not intentionally, but out of breath. "They'll be back and in greater numbers."

  –– 21 ––

  FIRST FLIGHT

  Jerolda Manchi tightened his grip around Tee's neck, cupping his hands together in clichéd fingers, like a child on the rollercoaster ride of his life. The last time Tee leaped into flight was near the Organian Peninsula, in the Ruskennian Mountains; off Ragus Twelve ... he bounced up and down cowboy fashion then spread his legs out like a pair of wings. "Woe," shouted Jerolda Manchi. "Woe when I say woe, dammit!"

  Tee unfolded his legs, dropping them down from under his body, landing hard on a real lengthy run through the meadow. One foot touched the ground then the other in a gallop along the trail in front of Callen and Jolland. Jerolda Manchi slid off his back; landing on the turf, butt first. Jolland laughed, "Are you okay?"

  "I think so," screamed Jerolda Manchi, snarling at his companion. "With no thanks to them! Don't you ever do that again!" he shouted at Tee. "You scared the shit out of me!"

  Jolland chuckled. "What are you?" Tee stood up; adjusted his backpack and pushed Jerolda Manchi out of the way. "Hey," she added, realizing... "Your the two little critters I saw you on Rampia."

  "Excuse us, but we've never been on....”

  “We’re lost," said Jerolda Manchi. Tee interrupted the tree dweller, grabbing a hold of him like a sack of potatoes.

  "Ahhh..." yipped Jerolda Manchi. "Ouch!"

  "They're living machines," whispered Callen. He tugged at her arm. "Come on, we have to keep moving."

  "And go where?"

  "Anywhere!" shouted Tee. "By tomorrow morning you won't recognize this place. The planet won’t exist. At least, not as we've come to know it, m'lady."

  "M'lady," repeated Jolland with a laugh. "I like the sound of that."

  "True, m'lady! I'm Jerolda Manchi,” then point at the Trods. “This is Tee and his companion Relix. They’re explorers.”

  Jolland smiled her acceptance.

  "Come on," yelled Callen. "We're running out of time."

  "You son-of-a-bitch!" yelled Jolland without considering where she was. "You still haven't told me everything have you? There's more to this nightmare of yours––"

  "Listen to him," exclaimed Jerolda Manchi. "He knows what he's talking about. Doesn't he Tee?”

  "You two stay out of this––" yelled Callen. "This is important."

  "Feisty bitch, isn't she Jerolda Manchi?" added Tee. Jolland huffed and stomped off again.

  Callen stomped his own feet, "listen to me."

  "Why?" answered Jolland? "To hear more of your lies?"

  "No––" alleged Callen, squawking. He walked a few steps closer. "We know there's more than one of you. You exist in different times, on different worlds––in different universes." He paused. "A thousand different worlds to be exact!"

  "Good for me!" screamed Jolland.

  "You don’t expect me to believe any of this, do you?”

  “No. We're not sure why you appeared in so many places at the same time. There are a thousand replicas of you wandering the infinite universes, waiting to do something. We're just not sure what!"

  "Neither am I!" Callen hobbled after her, stepping on Jerolda Manchi's foot.

  "Watch it, human!"

  "Sorry," she said to him, embarrassed. "Stay out of the way, so you don't get hurt." Callen snarled at Jerolda Manchi then turned back to face Jolland.

  "We're not sure how or why you were created, but someone has to be responsible for you."

  "We are!" announced Tee, shrugging his shoulders. Jerolda Manchi looked up at him and frowned. He raised an eyebrow as if the whole universe was supposed to know they were responsible for her.

  Jolland ran away, remembering her father's last words to her before she left Rampia. "You're more than..." She turned to Callen, "When I asked him what is to become of me? He said great things. Whatever that is suppose to mean. There must be some mistake. I'm just one person."

  "Pardon me," said Jerolda Manchi. "It's obvious why you're here. Sara Jolland stared at the little machine. "You're an insurance policy," the tree dweller said to her.

  "Actually," said Tee, "That makes sense. What he meant is there had to be a secondary plan to reach out and strike at the Industries, if the first plan failed. Jolland has always been the second plan.

  Our freedom was at stake. We couldn't leave room for human errors. There wasn't time for corrections; there was only one window. It's the only time living machines have ever had the chance to work together with humans."

  "You're talking as if it's already happened."

  "Well, hasn't it?" asked Tee, bluntly.

  Jolland looked at Callen, realizing the fact of what faced her ... these were time travelers. They were all time travelers. She smiled at Tee and patted him on the head and shoulder. "Right!" she continued. "You two saved the universe."

  Tee smiled. There was a definite look of contentment on his face. "The clones of Trithen Kellnar stood united. They were the ruling body of the galaxy, spreading terror from the border kingdoms to the heart of the Nexus."

  "The Eden ranch was part of a plot to collapse the future course of mankind," Relix told her, taking her by the hand.

  "What have you done?" Jolland shouted, headed for the forest.

  "There was no other way," cried Callen. "The threat of replication needs to be stopped. None of us are one of a kind, Jolland, but someday the generations will grow out of generation, and none of them will be the same. They'll all be different; for all eternity."

  Callen pointed to the two living machine counterparts, Relix and Tee. "With their help and a few others we've managed to alter the cloning process. The replicant beings can evolve into whatever they desire; the result will be unrecognizable. The changes will be subtle at first, but as they evolve new races will appear. This Earth will be a new breeding ground––a garden in the Eden sector in the Source’s infinite universe."

  Jolland stared at him with an overwhelming feeling that she was alone in a universe she knew nothing about.

  –– 22 ––

  ASSAULT

  The darkened shades of night gave way to dawn over Trithen city. The lights from Travis' home at the Bayside Complex twinkled into rippling waves off the lake. The complex was enormous, grandiose, measuring a mile high in the sky. Two miles wide at the core with structured arches, dividing the housing into thousands of free-floating dwellings and apartments that fanned out across the valley like outstretched arms and hands to welcome all that were fortunate enough to afford the expense of residing there. Senator Creed was one such dignitary, and he was hell-bent on getting off planet. His skycar pivoted sharply, crossing the traffic lanes as it neared the top of the buildings. Its twin motors roared past Travis’ bedroom window to landing on the terrace outside.

  Travis viewed his sleepy stepmother run across the terrace to his father. She wasn't exactly a beautiful woman, but pretty anyway. She stood about the same height as his father, slender beside him, yet a well-built woman. Her body pressed against the Senator, flattening her shape against his as her nightgown drew tight, flowing in the breeze. The Senator kissed her in a frenzied afterthought, gripping h
er arm while pulling her close. His voice squeaked, pressured by the words he dared not say.

  "What is it?" she asked. He touched her face tenderly, lovingly and proceeded for the apartment.

  "Its begun...." he muttered trying not to be heard over a whisper. The joy in her face drained quickly. She followed him to the apartment and stopped watching him cross the room back and forth in frenzy. Something was wrong and she didn't have a clue as to what was wrong.

  "What's wrong?" she questioned wide-awake now. "What's happened?"

  "We're getting out of here.” The Senator pushed aside the clothes closet door, pressing the back wall until it gave way and slid open revealing a side panel near the bottom of the shoe rack. “There isn't time to collect our belongings––just take what you can carry."

  Creed pulled out a small, narrow box from the floor of the closet and walked back across the room.

  "What's wrong? They're all dead."

  "Who's dead?” A sudden worry crossed her face. “Why are you acting this way?"

  "I found out this morning," Creed announced, moving faster now––less concerned for what items he collected. "They executed Jones ... Taylor ... everyone. Everyone, except me."

  "Jones?” said Laura. His wife couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Dick Jones and Robert Taylor? Why?"

  The Senator paced back and forth in front of the door. "I can't think straight," he answered. "It doesn't make sense."

  "What doesn't make sense?" It was obvious he was frightened, but of what? Any attempt to comfort him would be futile. He was frightened of something unknown. "The plan has gone into effect," he said harshly with tears in his eyes. "For my help, they've given us twenty-five hours to get off the planet."

  "To get off the planet!” Her eyes widened. “For your help in what?" She repeated trying to make sense out of what was happening. "What have you done, John?"

  "We've twenty-five hours to reach the Valley of the Temples!" He said, hesitant.

  Laura had no idea of what he was talking about. She wasn't a party to the plan. Whatever set him off had something to do with being an accessory to some dark secret he h tucked away. "Why–Temple City?" she questioned. Her voice turned shaky, scared. "I don't understand."

  "You don't have too––" he repeated. "Just believe me ... there's no way we can get off this planet alive, after that."

  "Alive?" she assumed for the moment meant certain death if they didn’t follow instructions. "You're frightening me!"

  Travis couldn't hear all of his father's confession from the doorway, but he heard the fear in his voice. Callen did too. "My nightmares are coming true,” He told Travis. They are becoming real somehow.”

  "You're still having the dreams too, aren't you?"

  "Yes,” he answered in a whisper, uncertain if he should reiterate his experiences. "Do you remember the dream about the medallion?"

  "Why?" Callen pulled a drawing from under a stack of papers hidden in the nightstand next to his side of the bed, and held it up into the light. "Look familiar?" he asked.

  "Yeah–– I've got one just like it," answered Travis a little confused. The ordeal was getting the best of him. There wasn't a choice; he was in it up to his neck and he didn't know why. Callen stared at him wide-eyed like a punch in the face. Then it hit him; Callen knew what was going on. Travis took a hold of him, and slammed him up against the wall to force the truth out of him, but he knew it wouldn't work. Travis figured the clone would just lie out of it, so he thought for a moment. There had to be a way of appealing to his intellect. Questioning him wouldn’t do, so he was direct: "Do you know something you're not telling me?" he asked.

  Callen shook his head. If he knew something he wasn’t telling. "No––" he answered finally. "Not really."

  Travis noticed his clinched hands. He had a hold on the sheets as if in a rage. "I'm just computing everything that we've overheard and––" He paused, thinking. Travis couldn't tell what he was hiding, only that he wasn’t telling him the whole truth. He was still trying to keep something covered up. Callen pulled the sheet over his leg and gripped the end tight as he could. The edge knotted, between his fingers.

  "I'm concerned about this plan."

  "What plan?" Travis asked bluntly.

  Callen walked over to the mirror and stared at the image of him looking deep into the reflection of his own lifeless eyes. "Something happened on the shuttle you watched take off earlier. I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I have a strong feeling it was about us. Something that father helped plan. I think it's something we need to investigate, but I don’t think there’s enough time now." He paused then sheepish said: "I don't know if we can trust him." Travis jerked; the insinuation bothered him.

  "Not trust father?"

  "I not sure it is father. He's been overreacting."

  "He's under a lot of stress," Travis stood up and walked nervously between the beds. He wanted to defend his father, but couldn't, not yet. Callen was right, there was something different about him. "We are all under a lot of stress, aren't we?” he noted, reiterating the stress level on everyone involved. He looked past Callen, said: “Sometimes I think there's more than one of you around here."

  "That's what I mean," said Callen, a proverbial huff immediately followed. "We have to be careful, or he could get us all killed."

  "Killed––" Callen took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Look––" he said under his breath. "I realize something these past few days."

  "What's that?" barked Travis.

  "I’m a living machine … maybe even part of this rebellion, that’s growing or something. Haven't you a notion of what I am?"

  Travis thought about it for a moment then looked over at him with a dumfounded blank stare. "You think you're a clone? That's––"

  "What––That’s ridiculous," snapped Callen. "Unbelievable!"

  Travis couldn't believe what he was saying. A machine, never; a clone, maybe or whatever it was the Industries were building, but Callen a genetic wonder? No way! It was more than he was willing to accept or even believe. Even if Callen was making sense, and some good points, it wasn't something he wanted to consider or believe.

  "I may be a different form of you," Callen continued, "but we're so much alike that I have to be a double of you: A replicant ... maybe a doppelganger. I'm at least a mental copy of you. Why else would I be important enough for father to risk taking us along?

  “Wait are you saying the plan includes me?

  “It's the only explanation––"

  The bedroom door slammed open, swinging back to reveal John Creed. The Senator's eyes bore down hard on the two of them. Callen didn't say anything; he didn't have too. The fear was so prevalent in his eyes even a child of could see he was scared.

  "Get dressed––" said father. "We're leaving."

  • • •

  The sun peaked over the mountaintops, shedding its rays through the scattered tree branches of the machine city, casting beams of sunshine to the streets below. A lone bird chirped a delightful melody, fluttering from one limb to another until it finally spread its wings in a flight of fancy. The gentle overnight rain settled in little pools of reflective liquid below were it bathed the leaves in flickering streams of musical harmony. The angelic bird cocked its head listening to the usual quiet. A calm had befallen Trithen City during the night. Only the fast pace of footsteps mocked the melody.

  Following his father's directions, Travis scampered into the skycar in a hurry. The Senator closed the curve of the dome, latching it. The flying auto lifted into the air and departed for the clouds with a single roar of the engine. Callen marveled at the surroundings as the car rose higher into the sky leaving behind the Bayside Complex and the vast expanse of the machine city. Like a rocket, the car shot skyward, destined for the heavens.

  A tiny, grey fighter dropped out of the clouds toward the housing complex abruptly in front of the skycar, emerging from the bellowing cloud of expanding smoke, distorting metal and
blazing rubble of a midair collision that was about to result in unparalleled pain and suffering. The bulk of the buildings tumbled in upon one another in a catastrophe of cosmic proportions. The rivers and spillways of his nightmares ran red with blood. The heavens suddenly filled with starships and fighters: An assault force descending to the planet from space. Travis let his mind race. He had foreseen the events in a vision in the night; a nightmare in his sleep. Now, he was seeing the last of the Bayside interconnecting cities collapse to the ground: His world under siege.

  The skycar climbed higher, traveling away from the explosions on course through the clouds toward the sun. Travis covered his eyes, shielding them from the glare of a huge transport's engines as the mile long vehicle descended from above directly in front of them, a wave of assault craft emerging from its hallowed decks, laser beams piercing the air to alight the atmosphere in streams of phosphorous colored s jets of high energy weapons that hit the ground in a frenzied pummeling of the city's streets. Travis recognized the starship, shouted: "It's the Omar." Callen looked at him with an odd grin. He also knew the ship by name. He had seen the vessel in his own nightmares. The feeling was overwhelming, like reliving history. He knew the future, the past, and suddenly became more frightened of the present.

  The Omar's hanger bays swooped down like vultures toward the city opening fire on the helplessly overcrowded streets as the Industries’ planetary based defenses came to life spitting slender spears of energy past the domed windshield of the skycar to strike distant targets further away than Travis could imagine. The Senator drove the controls forward, pointing the craft into the cloud cover but it was too late. A hot beam struck the tail section and black smoke began to pour from the left rear section of the engine. A moment later, the interior of the skycar shook hard, leaving little question: The flying car was damaged, and coming apart by the violence of the impact. A blustering upheaval spiraled from the car’s aft section, sending the vehicle plunging seaward.