The Rise of OLMAC

by Kevin Gordon

again, felt a shred of armor return, hiding him from the eyes of the world. Later he stood in front of Arciss’ suite for quite a while, panting, though not out of breath.

  I have seen all that is, thought Graid, and yet it holds no answers for me. I have touched some part of the divine, and yet it holds only contempt for me. I am no destroyer, yet I am no savior.

  The door slid open, Arciss standing in front of him.

  “You are merely Graid. You have a function in this world, a need for your existence, but that is all. Does that give you some comfort?”

  “I don’t know,” said Graid, feeling worn and beaten. “I just don’t know.”

  He embraced Arciss, grappling onto him with his strong arms, closing his eyes, feeling as though he was slipping into a bottomless void, and Arciss was the only anchor he could hold onto.

  “Come in, Graid.”

  Graid looked up for a moment, seeing the detail around Arciss’ doorframe. It curved in slightly, an echo of an arch, and near the top were inscribed a few words.

  Welcome home, lonely wanderer.

  Arciss looked on Graid as he examined the words.

  “What is it?” asked Arciss.

  Graid smiled to himself and nodded, then walked through the door. “Just thinking on the words of someone I once knew.”

  Arciss watched Graid enter his home, walking as though a weight pulled on his body, bending his shoulders and his will. Never before had the Kal-Alçon been in his quarters, and somehow, they seemed small around him. Arciss thought it was as if a Kal was standing in his living room.

  “Your mind is afire, Graid.”

  Graid sat on a small wooden chair, tense and nervous, leaning forward, rocking slightly back and forth. The creak of the legs against the floor was the only sound to be heard for a moment.

  “Arciss, I have experienced so much in these past droas. I have seen and been places and things you could not begin to imagine. I have conceived of the entire universe . . .”

  Arciss saw the turbulence within Graid’s soul, could read it on his face as easily as he breathed. Part of him was immensely happy for Graid, witnessing this transformation occur, but another part of him was aware of the great responsibility he faced in counseling the Kal-Alçon.

  “Did you see how you fit into the universe?”

  “No. I have never felt more powerful, yet more insignificant at the same time. My life has always been defined by my relation to Kolob—he is what I must destroy. That has been the statement that summed up my life. Everything else was immaterial. But now, I feel . . . it is not enough. I wonder, why didn’t the Kal-Durrell make me a woman, so I could seduce Kolob? Why didn’t they make me taller, and bigger, instead of this small-framed man? Why was I conceived so late, so I will face him having lived so little life?”

  “You speak as though you have already failed,” said Arciss sadly.

  He looked on Arciss with eyes of doubt, and fear, not answering with words or thoughts, but with the silence that hung as death between them.

  “What is my purpose?” asked Graid, with no anger or sarcasm in his voice. “What is my destiny? Why am I here?”

  Arciss was silent for a moment, then carefully spoke.

  “You are, who you are. Nothing, more, nothing less. Purpose is never revealed to one, it must be discovered. Such is the journey of life.”

  “I feel as though I have squandered much of that journey, Arciss, on carnal indulgence.”

  “Graid, do you know how much you have influenced those around you?” he said, his face beaming with a wide smile. “Uonil no longer thinks of the Novans as simply an evil people. You opened her eyes, made her see the multitude of hues within their spectrum. She understood finally of the necessity of experiencing love and lust, understood the destructive and constructive power it can have over a person. Her decisions will be made from so much more experienced a source. I would never have become the man you are talking to now if your strength didn’t challenge me, force me to confront my own self-loathing. The Trint-Averil would never have begun if I was that same weak, unsure man you once knew. But it is time now, for you to be influenced. You know now that you are not the greatest being in creation. I think you realize you are more man than superman. As such, you must find a bond, a connection with the people you presume to protect. You must explore what lies within yourself, in relation to those around you. You have begun that on Novan, but you must finish that journey on Rell.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have found much joy with some of the Novans. You see them with kind eyes, forgive their faults, exult their strengths. Yet you haven’t done this with your own people.”

  “After what my people did to me, after they stole so much of my life, it is difficult to want to get to know them.”

  “I am talking of forgiveness,” Arciss said gently. Graid reeled, his hands clenched, his muscles tense.

  “Forgiveness? Have you seen the council of Alçons?!” yelled Graid, gesturing wildly in the air. “They know nothing of the emotion, find no strength in it. Look how long it took for Uonil to get past her own preconceived hatred of the Novans?”

  “I know, I know. You don’t need to restate old problems,” he said, trying to calm Graid down. “You must move past them. The Alçons are but twelve people, not the whole of our civilization. And I don’t expect you to forgive them this moment. I expect you to go out, among our people, live with them, see what is in their hearts and minds, and then see if your hatred doesn’t fade.”

  “We don’t have the time.”

  “We have plenty of time!” exclaimed Arciss. “The moment of crisis, when we must go back in time, is not for many dcas. Have faith in Uonil and myself. We can control things here while you are gone.”

  “What will the Alçons say?” he asked, feeling a little hope.

  “Since when did you care what anyone said?”

  Graid thought for a moment. “Not until now.”

  Arciss felt such warmth in his heart, so suddenly he couldn’t believe it.

  “You know, they will make life difficult for yourself and Uonil,” said Graid.

  “And we will make life difficult for them. But they are not evil, merely misguided, as hopefully you will come to realize. You know what you must do, where you must go.”

  “Yes, I guess I do.”

  “If I could give you one last word of advice, Kal-Alçon?”

  “Yes, Steward?”

  “Leave your face, your identity with us. Leave your magnificent powers here. Go out into that world as a common man, earn your living, make your own food, clean your own space. For a while, you will set yourself above them, it is only natural. It was how you were raised. But you must fight that conditioning, if you are ever to find your true self.”

  “Thank you Arciss.” Graid shook his hand, and pulled him in for an embrace. “Take care of Uonil for me. Tell her I will be back, and I will miss her terribly.”

  Arciss watched Graid leave, seemingly smaller, bereft of the arrogance and pride that inflated him before.

  I wish you well, my friend.

  5

  The Montansc - a group of liberal revolutionaries who were first to oppose the creation of the Time Line Reconstructionists early in the fourth millennium PD. They believed the death of the last person to receive the download was a conspiracy, an attempt to seize power and control over Novans. They rallied others to refuse to chronicle, staging non-violent protests in front of the first headquarters of the TELREC, then called TL-Reconstructs. Though they were ultimately killed in a supposed fuel accident at their headquarters, their perseverance set the foundation for legislation that halted the TELREC growth, slowing down their encroachment onto Novan freedoms for at least a millennia. It is said that Mechle Dils of OLMAC began her quest to create the Envoy starships as a result of reading of the struggles of the Montansc.

  It was a small gathering in the Iggaraout, but all were pressed close together in a room dank and dark, with ex
posed pipes leaking fluid overhead. It was one of a thousand makeshift, temporary Iggaraouts that Ellore knew of, and began to visit, as she took over the network Ksilte worked so hard to build.

  Her first orders were simple: give up all locations and go deeper, and smaller. Find small rooms near water treatment plants, waste disposal plants, crematoriums, anyplace noisy, dirty and foul. Carry only the idols, for they shall consecrate the ground and make it holy—nothing else was needed. Denged had purged all traces of the Iganinagi that Ellore knew of, and was hunting for Ksilte’s contacts now. There were constant searches, identity scans, double and triple precautions before every cast to someone she thought was familiar. She glanced at those around her, kneeling in prayer, eyes closed, exhibiting an almost Rellican sense of devoutness.

  But the Iqui were always a devout people. It was the TELREC that bred that out of us. And finally, it has returned, grabbing hold in soil parched and burned, digging deep with roots that shall never again be broken.

  Next to her Dobrin bent low, linked into the service with an implant scarcely four dcas old. He was thinner, yet stronger, running errands for his mother and her supporters, learning the streets of Novan like few she knew.

  Dobrin is truly becoming a man, even at his young age! He navigates the cast-net like a forty-cas old. He never casts it, yet I can feel the vengeance building in his soul, the desire to hold the TELREC accountable for his ordeal, for the death of his father. How I curse them for causing a child to grow up with such