Nanomech

All at once, ten heads turned to look at him. Aiben couldn’t tell if they were looking at him from behind those black holes in accusation, or merely acknowledging his presence in their chamber among them. After several breathless seconds, they swept their obscured countenances back towards each other without so much as a question. A chill shivered its way up and down Aiben’s spine as one from the circle spoke. Although Aiben couldn’t see who it was, somehow he knew. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see the man’s mouth, his lips wouldn’t have moved anyway.

  “The power to shape the world around and within us using our minds, isn’t this what sets us apart from the lesser beings of our galaxy?” The man’s thoughts reverberated through the great conglomeration of minds that Aiben sensed had coalesced around the circle of ten. The fact that he could perceive this at all, without the hypernet, surprised him, and even terrified him. However, the sensation was not foreign to him either, and soon it felt natural to know what the others were thinking without the help of his molecular familiars.

  “Nograth, my brother, you’re correct that shalal hiliz, the language of the mind, which birthed our great Consciousness, gives us power over nature and sets us apart, but that doesn’t give us the right of dominance over others.” A voice of opposition, another of the ten, countered into the river of thought.

  “It’s a fact of nature that the strong survive by feeding off of the weak. The Haman are strong indeed and no other race have we ever encountered which has our mental capacity. Therefore, nature dictates that we should rule over those who surround us but do not equal us. The predator is the true sovereign of the flock.”

  “You would demean us by comparing our abilities to the instincts of animals who cannot throw off their natural state? We are a people of great accomplishment and splendor, unrivaled by any other. We can and should rise above base instincts and weak character.”

  Nograth responded by laughing. It was a strange sight to see Nograth sitting in the circle, neither trembling nor throwing back his head in the act. An insidious laugh of pure mocking thought spoke of his malicious intent. “All are animals no matter how advanced, Tulan. You are the wolf, or the sheep, nothing but fate can control that. Nature gives us our roles, and we strive to either fulfill them, or shrivel up in fear of them. That’s the true test of character.”

  “I don’t presume to govern nature,” Tulan responded, “but I do presume to govern myself. The true test for everyone, not just you or me, is to look nature in the face and turn away from the tempest that stares back at you.”

  “The reality is, storms don’t turn tail and run, and if you’re the one who runs, they’re strong enough to follow even a Haman and overtake him.”

  “Then I feel sorry for you, Nograth, that you’ll let it carry you where it will.”

  “You can’t turn your back on the storm of nature.”

  “If you don’t try, it’ll surely catch you and twist you in its tendrils. It’ll strangle your morality and dash it against the rocks.”

  “I’ll strike into the eye and let fate enshrine me! I’ll ride the storm, Tulan! The other beings in our galaxy will be helpless before such great might. The Haman have a destiny, even a duty, to preside over those who cannot face the storm and cannot mount it as it sweeps aside the debris scattered before it.”

  “I agree, the Haman have a destiny. It’s to help those already caught up in the storm of nature to build shelters against its buffeting gale. It’s to guide others less fortunate than we are into maturity among the stars.”

  Nograth’s motionless laugh returned. It echoed within the conglomeration of conscious thought and reached such a sinister crescendo that Aiben thought it would snap the wills of all those who listened like dry twigs. “There are those who believe as you do, but there are also those that see the truth as I do. They’ll ride the storm with me.”

  “Brother, the Haman have linked their minds together in conscious thought for thousands of years. Great things have come to pass through the power of our many minds working in concert. We have molded our society into the greatest accomplishment ever known in our galaxy. Would you really threaten the tremendous harmony we’ve built for so many generations?”

  “Tulan, we’ve argued our opinions with one another for over a hundred years. Now is the time to act.” Nograth’s laugh was gone, and his thoughts penetrated the consciousness of minds with something much more menacing now: utter finality.

  The horrendous renting of minds that followed was so painful that Aiben feared the intensity of it would burn his brain to cinders. It was physical and mental anguish all wrenched up into a knot that the Nograthi’aak twisted and pulled apart. Aiben was disgusted at their delight in the agony they were causing. Even more nauseating was the fact that they tortured themselves with the tearing of thoughts as well, and did it willingly. It left a hollow bitter wound in Aiben’s mind and exposed him to the raw emotion that flowed all around him.

  In that same moment of torment, his thoughts relived the agony of Nairom’s departure. This time, it was magnified a thousand-fold. Aiben’s strength gave way and he fell to his knees. The blackness of unconsciousness closed in on him like a scavenging vulture not waiting for death, but some inexplicable source of mental forte, deep inside him, struggled and kept the raptor of mortality at bay.

  When it was all over and the massive suffering of torn thoughts died down, the ten rose from the circle. Their gray-green robes whispered in contrast to the horror that had just passed as all but one shuffled from the room. Each shrouded figure peered at him with that dark hole where its face should have been. Aiben knew, this time, some of them stared at him accusingly. From the others, he felt nothing but sorrow and fear.

  Finally, only the one who had spoken first, Nograth, remained in the chamber. Panic gripped Aiben as the veiled figure spun and bore down upon him. The Haman was so quick that he backed Aiben into the wall. Aiben’s face trembled, millimeters from the gaping blackness. His chest heaved with quick shallow breaths. A hand swept aside Nograth’s hood and two eyes bolted him to the spot. He knew those sharp steel-grey eyes. He had gazed into the soul behind them since childhood, and that knowledge scared him more than anything else ever could have.

  Aiben held the other’s gaze, eye for eye. He didn’t want to take in the rest of the face that stood before him, so he blocked out the features struggling to solidify in his peripheral vision. When Nograth spoke, his voice, so familiar in tone, stabbed Aiben’s heart to the very core.

  “Don’t be so surprised, brother. You knew I would do this. It was just a matter of time before I left you.”

  Aiben found the courage to speak. “Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

  Who is it I am speaking to? Aiben thought. It can’t really be him.

  “You and everything you stand for will be destroyed by my plans. Nothing will stop me. Nothing can.”

  Then Aiben was staring into empty space, surrounded by drab gray walls. The soles of his feet were freezing on a cold cement floor. A low ceiling hung overhead and a single bulb of light hovered a few feet above him. His mind spun with confusion. He wanted to convince himself it had been nothing more than a dream, a vivid dream of pain. He pulled his awareness in, ever tighter. He wanted to blot out the world around him and will it all to go away so he could wake up.

  A voice from behind shattered his concentration. He turned and saw Oand-ib standing there, dressed in one of the same Haman cloaks, his hood pushed back onto his shoulders. His face was young. A vitality Aiben had never seen in him had ironed away the wrinkles.

  “This was unfortunate. All of this was very unfortunate. Such great power diminished and lost.”

  Aiben opened his mouth, but his jaw just hung there, words escaping him. Oand-ib waited for him to speak, but Aiben shut it again with a click of teeth.

  “Don’t force it, iniri,” Oand-ib soothed. He took hold of Aiben’s shoulder. Youthful thickness replaced the usual patch of skinny bones. “I have given you more
knowledge than your mind can handle right now. It will take time for the whole to coalesce. Until then, your mind will do its best to understand bits and pieces.”

  Am I still dreaming? Aiben thought. This isn’t the chamber in the Citadel and Oand-ib looks so young. Is this what the Haman called shalal hiliz? How is this happening? An answer to that last question seeped out from an unknown place in his mind and into his conscious thoughts. “You’re Haman, aren’t you, anab?”

  “Yes, after a manner. I am descended from genetic material of that once great race.” A thin smile curled the corners of Oand-ib’s mouth. It was pride in Aiben.

  “That’s why we can link without the hyperportal.” As Aiben heard himself say this, he realized not only Oand-ib was speaking through shalal hiliz. He pushed away that thought for the moment, more eager to know the meaning of what he had just experienced. “What was that, anab? I’m not sure I understand it all.”

  Aiben pressed his eyes closed for a moment as he sought to clear his head. It was beyond what he had ever experienced before with the cyberlink over the hypernet. It had physicality to it, where hyperportal links just carried sensations of thought.

  “That was a piece of memory from the Splitting of the Haman Consciousness. That’s what they called their powerful mind-link.”

  “That much I think I understood.” Aiben opened his eyes. “I was sure the pain was going to split me as well.”

  “I know,” Oand-ib nodded. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. What was it you didn’t understand?”

  “At the end, Nograth was there with me in this beautiful room. He threatened me, but it wasn’t Nograth’s face, or his voice, was it? It was Nairom.”

  Aiben sighed and knuckled his forehead.

  Oand-ib gripped Aiben’s other shoulder. The Hegirith’s hands tightened as if to support the halath from some impending shock. “Your mind is trying to understand the memories I have put there, iniri. Until it can grasp the entire memory, it will substitute the images it knows best, but it will choose those images that foretell some degree of reality.”

  “What are you saying, anab? Are you saying that Nairom is under Nograth’s control? How can that be? That memory happened over a thousand years ago.”

  “Many came under the influence of Nograth at the time of the Splitting. The Hegirith’hi Shez believed the Haman mind battle had destroyed his control. Now we know differently. Someone has brought back the Nograthi’aak from the grave.”

  “Magron Orcris.”

  “Yes, Magron.”

  “So he’s trying to repeat history. Is that why you let me experience this particular memory, anab? You want me to understand Nograth’s intent?” Fever prickled Aiben’s skin.

  “Yes, and to understand his evil and the evil of the Protectorate are the same. They follow him in the footsteps of the Nograthi’aak.”

  “You said he sways cybermancers to his cause or kills them. Maybe this is what has happened to Nairom. If I just knew where he was…” Aiben ground his teeth and balled his fists, but there was no stab of pain in his arm.

  “That’s what your mind now fears.” A mixture of emotions played themselves out on the Hegirith’s face: sympathy, pain, fear.

  Aiben’s task had become clear. He chewed his lower lip. “Then we have to go to Mora Bentia. We have to find this device, im shalal, you told me about.”

  “No,” Oand-ib corrected him, “Remember, I said you must find it. I must face Magron Orcris before he destroys us all.”

  Aiben jumped up, the blood rushed to his head, his vision blurred, and his ears hammered. The claws of the cheeba chair let go of him, but not before stinging him with their wrath. Aiben’s nanomechs shot into action, remedied the dizziness, and spared the contents of his stomach from making an uncomfortable journey. He was still in Oand-ib’s subterranean meditation chamber, alone in the dim light. His teacher had already left.

   

  CHAPTER 4

  On the forward control deck of the Ma’acht Vor three figures stood enclosed by the antiseptic gunmetal interior of a warship. Lights flashed all around them, holograms spewing out dancing rays. Each projection represented some piece of tumult now smothering the planet below. Two of the three figures were clad in Zenzani battle armor, a thin layer of interwoven fabric hardened to unbelievable strength by nanomechs, yet still flexible enough for movement. An old, tattered, black cloak wrapped around the third figure.

  A certain holographic emitter had captured their attention. It was alive with the movement of Protectorate fighters razing a cityscape on the surface of Besti. Billows of smoke and fire poured from almost every edifice as destructive energy lances sliced into them with precision and ease. Between the burning buildings, the constant sparkle of energy weapons played off the reflective surfaces like a ballet of uncoordinated fireflies.

  There were already thousands of fanatic shock troops positioned throughout the city. They mowed down all opposition. Besti’s troops were dwindling; they had been ill prepared to defend themselves from such a large invasion force.

  “What do you think of Besti now, Nairom, as our troops make their way through the streets of the capital?”

  The question came from one of the three figures watching the carnage in the streets below. Although Nairom had been concentrating on the cyberlink from which they directed the battle, he knew the sonorous voice belonged to Magron Orcris. Only he would have spoken. The other one standing with them, Selat Teeloo, never spoke except in private where junior officers and men on the line couldn’t hear him.

  “I look at their pitiful defenses, their misguided ideals, and realize they are nothing compared to the might of the Protectorate.” Nairom fell into the peculiar mode of speech he had learned to affect in Magron’s presence. A nervous twitch grabbed his jaw, but he turned it aside from the other’s gaze. Selat wouldn’t miss it, though.

  “Words you have no doubt heard spoken during battles over many of our worlds. Isn’t it a reflex to say such things?” Magron questioned.

  “The truth remains the truth no matter how many times you invoke it.” Nairom lifted his eyes to Magron. A hot fire blazed in them. He wouldn’t have his loyalties questioned.

  Unlike the modern design of Nairom’s battle armor, Magron’s hearkened back to those worn by the ancient Zenzani warlords. Magron reached six and a half feet with a physique sculpted like petrified bone and steel sinew. Nairom tried to make out the man’s face, but shadows from a nanomech-woven hood that had grown out of his armor kept it hidden. Each time Nairom worked on the puzzle of Magron’s face, he found it impossible to fit all of the pieces of his shadowy features together.

  “Yes, but we were once not so mighty. This is something you must never forget. Two hundred years ago the Zenzani were crushed down underfoot. We must never let others have dominion over us. This is deed of action, not mere words we memorize and take pledge in.”

  “My words do have meaning, Agar Hegirith.” Nairom used Magron’s honorific title in the ancient Haman tongue. “Besti represents the stagnation from which the Protectorate freed me. The Protectorate has a destiny to rule over those who sit in their shadow.” Nairom looked sidelong at Selat, but the third member of their group stared off into space as if ignoring the entire exchange.

  “When Supreme Commander Hezit first brought you to me, I remember how you longed to return here. Can you say that such desires have been completely extinguished?”

  “I will never return to being of such small worth. How can I desire the life of a halath, and conform like the others, and be taught to be ignorant of my providence, when I am now a general in the Agar Hegirith’s service?” Nairom’s ears burned with the words he spoke.

  “Those that do conform, will they look to me as their new leader?”

  “If their eyes are not open enough to see their fate entwined with ours, then it will be their misfortune.”

  “Yes it will, but I fear others will not be as perceptive as you have been, Nairom. That w
ill be most unfortunate indeed.” Magron’s fists clenched at his sides. Huge knuckles cracked beneath the steel-hard gloves growing out of his sleeves. It was uncharacteristic for him to show such emotion, even dark emotion.

  Nairom didn’t understand why Besti would evoke such a response in him. He had spoken almost as if referring to someone in particular. Nairom knew of his desire to turn master cybermancers to his cause. Did the dark feelings have to do with Oand-ib? What did Magron know of his former teacher? Was this why the Protectorate was invading such a useless world in the first place?

  Selat Teeloo, who still stood somewhat behind the two men, shuffled a little closer. A pungent odor, stirred up by Selat’s movements, wafted into Nairom’s nostrils. He had to stifle a gag by swallowing down hard on the rising taste of bile. He couldn’t abide Selat Teeloo. For some unknown reason, Magron Orcris kept this wretched creature at his side like an old fetid dog. He knew, at times where no one else was privy, Magron even listened to Selat’s counsels.

  Selat appeared human in a general sense, but the similarities far outweighed the horrific differences. His skin hung like pieces of limp, worm-ridden cabbage, which rotted on the very frame that held it. It was common for festering sores and pustules covering this decomposing layer to ooze a greenish-black pus. He had no hair and covered his bald decaying head with the hood of a dark filthy shroud, which cast his face into shadow much like Magron’s did. His blood-red eyes sought the shadows that the cowl cast over his putrid face.

  Unlike Magron, he would throw back the hood on occasion and reveal the horror that lay beneath it. His hands poked out from underneath his robe, also green with rot, and grew fingernails long and gnarled with age. He had sharpened their ends to razor-thin points. Unconsciously, Nairom moved a step farther from the over-powering smell. Selat smiled.

  “Have my drop ship prepared for planet-fall.” Magron’s voice had the sound of revenge in it. “We will not need to be here much longer.”

  With that, Magron spun from the control deck. The black cloak that covered his armor billowed behind him. Once he was through the main doors, Selat beckoned to Nairom with a bent dagger of a finger. Nairom found himself moving closer to Selat’s side.