by Kevin Gordon
friend—you aren’t supposed to know of that!^ cried Ilgin, terribly amused. ^At least, not yet, that is. Dreams have a unique ability to heal, Hols. They let the mind work through problems it couldn’t solve in the roa, couldn’t solve with the waking mind. You could say we all have two aspects to our persona. The rational one that moves our body, makes us cast and nest. And the abstract one, that looks at life in stark terms of black and white, and yet, with images based in riddles. I have spent much of my life, since Mal, since the death of my son, studying dreams. Even collecting dreams. Don’t you remember me? Then again, why would you? I didn’t even know of you, for so long . . . Then, to see you, a broken man, almost dead, after what she did to you. It amazed me then that you loved her with so much of yourself—such an unNovan way to be. You have this magnificent mind, Hols, yet it is so oddly constructed. You can withstand terrible amounts of pain, control even the strongest of minds, and yet, sentiment is so very deadly to you.^
^What of it?!^ gruffly asked Denged, irritated at the unwelcome analysis.
^Getting angry, are we? Not used to being so much not in control, are we? It reminds you of that point in your life, when you watched your parents die, and you were too young to do anything about it. You did have some dreams about that, didn’t you? Or rather, nightmares about it. You blamed yourself mercilessly, didn’t you? Never will you allow yourself to be in that position again, will you? When you won’t be able to defend those you love.^
^I don’t love anybody.^
^The correct phrase would have been ‘I didn’t love anybody since she hurt me, until now.’ You see, I think that’s changed. I watched you three come down here. It takes so small a body movement to reveal so much to my eyes. What would you do for her now? What could you do? You can’t move, you can barely cast. I could take a knife, and slit her throat open, watching the blood run down her neck.^
Denged struggled, forcing his mind to search for his body. He pushed and pushed, and eventually could finally feel his chest, his arms, his hands. He balled them into fists, and struggled to lift them.
^Very good,^ cast Ilgin, in sarcastic approval. ^I always said you were the best; after all, you come from a rather illustrious pedigree. It might take you the longest to figure things out—you are so awfully short-sighted. Is it that you prefer to remain ignorant about the globes around you, of fear you couldn’t comprehend what was going on? Well, no matter. This knife has no hidden agenda, no motivation to search for. It does my bidding, and I command it to slice flesh.^
Denged’s mind burned with hatred, his fists shaking violently up and down. Sweat glistened on his skin, as his face was contorted by the struggle his mind was waging.
^There was so much work to be done on you, my dear Lundin. So much reconstruction, so much of your consciousness to resurrect. You were right to change your name—you’re just not the same person anymore. I always wondered why Mal rebuilt you, why Mal cared so much for you. After all, we had long since fallen out, Mal and I, and it was a great risk Mal took in bringing me to you. Then, one roa I witnessed Agilia come in, and see you, and I understood why. Just a small moment in time, a brief expression, and it all was made clear.^
Brief fragments of memory surfaced in Denged’s mind, punctuated with the remembrance of terrible pain and brilliant light. He faintly remembered a small team who were assigned to oversee his rehabilitation, and one roa, Agilia’s presence beside his bed. He recalled great secrecy, his complete isolation in some small, white room.
^But I do prattle on, spilling all my secrets before the time is right! You’re just helpless, Denged, just as before. Perhaps I should wake your dear Maenid up, so I can hear her scream as I drain the life out of her. Maybe I should record a virt-life of the whole ordeal, so I can play it for you as you sleep. I know Uld would get some satisfaction, even with her dead body. He does hate her so. I actually don’t know if he fears or hates her more, all I know is that he would take sweet vengeance on even her corpse.^
Something happened inside Denged. His mind seemed to break, some barrier within fell under the intense strain. He let out a primal wail, as if newly born, clarity for a short moment soaking his very soul. His hands burned with energy; they glowed before him. Denged could feel the power within them, could feel he had shifted to another level of existence.
^I wasn’t done with you before, Denged. Now, I am. Bury me deep in your mind, Hols. So deep, not even Mal will sense what I’ve done. At least, not until it is time . . .^
^Denged!^
He blinked, and he was still in the service duct, his body collapsed on the floor, Gilc leaning over him, a terrible fright on her face, She quickly pulled him out, and he slowly recovered, Errece hovering close by. He staggered, then leaned against a nearby wall.
^What—what happened?^ he asked groggily.
^Are you alright? You seemed to fade for a moment. You mind went null.^
Denged staggered around, rolling over the fading memory of being with Ilgin. He looked down at his hands, and though they appeared normal, he knew now there was power within them, power within his mind as yet unrealized. Errece came next to him.
^I sense a number of people, a few levels down. We should—^
^We will leave them be,^ cast Denged absently, his mind still far away.
^What?!^
Denged lowered his gaze on her, and Errece knew to be null.
^There are some things, Errece, that you will learn should not be disturbed. Ilgin is not meant for us, and we will not find Nahlai with him.^
12
Source-Humans (slang soumans): designation for non-clones, for humans born of a woman. Source-clones (slang sclones): single clone created from a single genetic donor. The terms were coined in the 2200's, as clones enjoyed a high level of inclusion with the Novan society. Several times sclones murdered their source, following an innate desire to be unique. After a widespread plot was uncovered to murder thousands of soumans, and the Long Plague of 2236, where six million died from a mutated virus that originated from a sclone, sclones were outlawed. Around the same time period it was discovered that clones had the best chance of succeeding when their basic genetic makeup was constructed from multiple sources. Not only did this seem to fortify the new being, but it reduced the chances that the clone would seek its prior identity, or that others would seek to impose an identity upon it.
Never in her life did Theia imagine she would be in a place such as Gan-Elldon. Ruggert, a general in the OLMAC militia, accompanied her on a tour of the gleaming city, and with every turn and step she found something that awed and humbled her. The city was like a perfect original, from which all on Novan was poorly based. There was space between the buildings, gleaming glass that reflected the stars, and moving through it all a people that waved to her as she passed, who laughed and spoke with one another. After a while, she thought them all foolish to build such a utopia, until she saw the strength beneath it all.
She and Ruggert boarded a small hovercar, and flew over fields filled with black voidships, all bristling with emdec cannons and teeming with battle meta. She saw low, wide hangars filled with thousands of blue and grey fighters, been through the massive banks of defensive emdec platforms. They landed, and he paraded their arsenal for her, comprised of hundreds of thousands of emdec rifles and pulse cannons the likes of which she had never seen.
General Ruggert was a short, squat man with broad shoulders. He was downright garrulous in his descriptions of the various military and social aspects of the mighty city. He also gave her a quick lesson on military tactics as they related to defending a city like Gan-Elldon. She rarely had to defend a position much in her life—the life of the Iganinagi was a transient one, successful because of the ability to relocate on a whim. But Gan-Elldon was a crown jewel, a symbol of not only technological advancement, but of its people, and their commitment and faith in an ideal. And as Ruggert cast of defending Gan-Elldon, to the last souman, with the last breath, he seemed less like a military man, used to strict
regimen and duty, and more like a father, who cared deeply for his own.
Standing next to a defensive battery put many things in perspective for her. The housing for the dark-grey barrel towered above her, like a small building on Novan. Its barrel extended high into the sky, blotting out Novan itself, if one stood under it. And there were hundreds of those all around Gan-Elldon’s perimeter, tied into four fission reactors buried deep within the surface of the moon.
^What if they should try to drill to those reactors, sabotage them in some way?^ asked Theia, the wonder still in her thoughts. Ruggert smiled, as if she was a child asking why the sky was blue and not red.
^The TELREC don’t think in that way. They are strictly offensive, not subversive when it comes to battles on a large scale. On a one to one basis, they can be the best at covert operations. But in battle, they set out to prove their superiority by strength of weapons and force of their clones. They have no desire to destroy the moon, they want to set this city afire, set it ablaze in the void, to strike fear in all those below. We cannot, will not let that happen.^
That’s what I thought about my Iganinagi.
The memory of her Coss played on her mind more and more, as she was integrated into the society on that moon. She met the