Olympus, and the House of Tchrlok

By D.R. Spires

The work is grouped into four books, the first three starting approx. Five thousand years ago, and the last, on a critical day, bringing them and the characters all together into one work.

Opening with "A Book of Traxis," I introduce an ancient, imperial race of creatures from the adjacent Cygnus Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy, across from the Crab Nebula, where a girl is graduating from a technical school. For her finals project, she develops a device that more or less creates a temporary copy of life forms, past and present, depending upon data input. The device is seen as a minor accomplishment, one which could be used to confirm or refute Traxian history books, but little more. The ruler of Traxis finds the device intriguing, and likely one she might be able to employ in combat, to probe a far distant enemy prior to invasion. Her chosen target world is Telmut 3, which humanity refers to as Earth.

In "A Book of Earth," we find odd occurrences, with fabled beings from the remote past somehow being reborn, if indeed they were ever born before. Among the returning entities are a number of Greek heroes, such as Herikles, crossing the streets of New York City, and impish Pan roaming the wilderness of Pennsylvania and Ohio, filching food from farms, where he eventually meetsa mermaid. Through astronomical observations, Prof. von Kreiger of Cornell University is able to deduce the impending invasion, but can see little the people of Earth might do to prevent the implied conflict.

With "A Book of Gods," we have the return of the Greek pantheon, and a new god, Herikles' great grandfather, Perseus, the first king of Mycen, complete with the glory of Pegasus, sent upon a quest to find his wife, Andromeda, the first queen of Mycen. The gods, being gods, realize the approach of the Traxian armada and set preparations to meet force with divinity.

Finally, in "A Book of Khaos," the enemy is met and conflict is . . . well . . . more than expected. There is a minor twist in the story here, as a major defender of Earth, Aphrodite, discovers the truth regarding the rebirth of Olympus, tracing events to the machine aboard the Traxian mothership. Fearing annihilation for herself and her amazing family, she approaches the Traxian ruler, in search of salvation.

Except for a few minor additions for the glossary (I was informed by a reader some years ago this might be nice for the cartoon-raised generation who may not be well versed in Thomas Bulfinch's mythology text books) and some rewriting (truncation, actually) of published lyrics and the addition of a few poignant chapter quotations, the manuscript is complete, with the ending left a bit open for a possible sequel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514480373

D.R. Spires

D. R. Spires grew up living in Central Ohio. A picturesque setting that honed his power of imagination where it blossomed unhindered. The highlight of his childhood was a camping trip to Cape Canaveral to watch the launch of Apollo 11. He entered the army and did a long tour of duty at the Panama Canal, where he found his remarkable Anita B. Bright. His 14 years of military service included seven years of Infantry working up to squad leader and seven years of Signal as shift supervisor and section chief, where his interest in information technology was truly sparked.

Book preview

© 2016 by D. R. Spires.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016905091

ISBN:      Hardcover          978-1-5144-8039-7

                Softcover           978-1-5144-8038-0

                eBook                978-1-5144-8037-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/09/2016

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Contents

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To this author’s Aphrodite is this book dedicated,

to the memory of Anita Bianca Bright, my wife and loving friend,

my companion and mother of our children,

and a living catalyst for so many grateful lives around her.

* * *

1.14.60 – 6.28.07

* * *

Growing up a naïve young man in the heart of Ohio, knowing a true desire to write, to see this vast world of ours, and to actually one day live in a dense jungle environment, I joined the US Army at the tender age of 20, in the summer of 1976, requesting that my first tour of duty be to the lush forests of the Panama Canal Zone. It was just a year later that I looked up from a pinball game at the Ft. Clayton snack bar and shopette (AKA Building 95), where I found the daughter of Eleanor and Guillermo Bright smiling so gloriously at me. The rainy season of Panama, 1977, was in full fury, and many of us were indoors, awaiting a break in the storms. Anita was just sweet-17, soon to be a senior at Balboa High School, when a member of her current gang of friends, a fellow young GI from my own company, had commandeered my Pronto One-Step camera, ostensibly to take some instamatic snap-shots of my back … for some unknowable, doubtless nefarious reason. She was gracious enough to snatch it away from him and return it to me, with full apologies. I looked into her lovely, brown eyes, saw her brilliant smile, her glowing nature, and decided then and there I was going to marry her. It was simply that sudden for me. Later, people would ask how we ever met, and I would jokingly reply that she had been some young jungle waif who had tried to steal my camera, and that I was still working on civilizing her.

Well, I followed this lovely tropical flower everywhere she went for four months (today, we call that stalking), and she just wanted me to leave her alone. The following year, on a bright June 24, 1978, First Sergeant Booker T. Poole marched Bravo Company, 4th Battalion (Mechanized) 20th Infantry Brigade down the road to the Ft. Clayton NCO Club, where Anita and I were happily joined as husband and wife. I’ll admit there was just a moment of hesitation for me, when she stated a desire to retain her maiden name, but I quickly realized how trifle a thing this was, so long as I had her.

After 14 years of military life together, now including three fantastic sons, we had traveled to many lands, moving bag, baggage and household as many as 10 to 15 times, eventually, in 1992, settling in Central Ohio. Joy, sadness, pain and pleasure, it was life, all shared, all survivable. There had been good times, tumultuous times, and even a short period of separation, where she did not wish to be with me any longer, but I could never let her go … and now I must.

In the winter of 1999, a quiet little virus visited our home, leaving behind a lovely young woman with chronic congestive heart failure. It was years later, on the morning of June 28, 2007, I readied myself for work and kissed her goodbye, as I had all our married life. She, still half asleep, patted my head and told me to drive carefully, as she always had, even when my journey might only involve a walk across the street to the barracks. I returned home at just after 4 PM, and found her still in bed, looking so lovely, I had to smile to her. Thinking she was just taking a nap from housework, I quietly changed clothes, then crawled softly on the bed and kissed her, when I found she had already left us.

There are no words that could ever fully explain the connection Anita and I shared. We seemed to argue about everything, though our devoted affection for each other was well known. We easily gave each other our own space, and all that required was for me to pick up a manuscript, kiss her on the cheek, and say, I’m going out to write, honey. She would then pat my cheek, and tell me to drive carefully. For Anita, her outlet was caring, with a ready shoulder to cry on, some tender, or not so tender advice, or a back, if you needed help with a load, be it material, or emotional. Someone would phone her with some dire emergency, and she would be out the door. Gotta go, honey! Lesley needs me! Ruthy needs me! Esther needs me! A neighbor would knock on the door, needing a ride somewhere, anywhere, even at 3 AM, and she just had to go. It really did not matter for whom an emergency existed; Anita lived her life on-call for anyone, with an understanding smile, a sincere hug, and a soft kiss on the cheek.

And there is no way for me to express her entire life, because so much of it involved the people she met at her own work, at the synagogue, or just around town, those I did not know at all, which resulted in the surprising, usually wonderful changes she brought to their lives. Rereading this story, though, I find a lot of my own gruff, though mildly cultivated personality in the characters of Tchrlok and Apollo, where Anita’s love, understanding, and tireless, critical devotion to reading material of all kinds could be found in the character of Aphrodite. In this manner, I hope to introduce you to just a tiny piece of the most wonderful woman I had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and been so fortunate to have met at the right time to claim her as my own, and to hold her so dear, even for the short time she was here with us. She was exactly what I had been searching for when I left home for Panama, so very long ago.

* * *

For Anita Bianca Bright

"It is a nice name. …Beautiful, in fact.

It suits her."

* * *

Please, do enjoy the adventure.

D. R. Spires

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First Law of Nature

If something can go wrong, it most assuredly will, and at the most inopportune moment.

-- 19 the Knower (c. 8510 BCE)

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…and so, when they make a wasteland, it is called peace.

-- P. Cornelius Tacitus (c. 110 CE)

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MIDSUMMER, 6137 BCE . . .

More than 8,000 years ago, under the brutal, domineering leadership of the ruthless Traxian conqueror Pod-Mother 1330 the Unforgiving, an ancient, tottering republic died, and a new, thriving empire was born. In a celestial region that spanned nearly 50 light-years of space, far out among the scattered fringes of the Cygnus Arm of the vast Milky Way galaxy, this new empire prospered. The pod-mother held to a violent rule, building a powerful regime, one whose single goal came to be the proliferation of Traxian-kind, forsaking all others. Under Pod-Mother 1330, the merciless slaughter of all alien life forms had become the accepted formula for imperial progress. In the bloody wake of this barbarous reign of terror came the wanton siege of Stoltrim 5 and 7, as well as the valiant, but failed, rebellions at Sumpro 9 and the three habitable moons of great Tempi 4. The millennia that followed brought with them the Thousand Year War of Balaria, which culminated in 40 decades of dictatorial peace, with fearfully offered tribute from the conquered. Ancient laws, set forth by Pod-Mother 1330, stated that payment from the timid, weak, oppressed beings of these occupied planets was obligatory and, if to the liking of the people of Traxis, to be accepted. The dominated were looked upon as chaff, barely worth the trinkets they offered. They were little more than a base commodity, but their value as slaves and bound servants was being considered.

As it stood, life became complacently well, within the bounds of the flourishing Traxian Empire.

It was not until the short, four-year reign of Pod-Mother 1338 the Chosen, and due the direct influence of her graciousness, that huge profits and great expansions were finally realized for the binary star system of Traxis. Hers were the great reorganization years, where her choices in leadership initiated a complete re-thinking of the empire’s system of government. As time progressed, the assumed need and actual want to purge all life from newly acquired worlds was repealed, seen as being economically, as well as ecologically counterproductive. The tribute that was once considered a luxury for the Traxian elite had become a major income for the common advancement of imperial life everywhere. So did it happen that this much-desired wealth, provided now through steep taxation against the distant, dominated communities, became a constant, anticipated requirement by the ruling classes.

Under the laws of 1338 the Chosen, the task of educating its acquired populations fell to the same military forces that had conquered them. So it was that, following the last, inevitable siege of any newfound world, decades would be spent re-teaching the overpowered sentient masses. It was the military’s task to show that the despair felt in what lay ahead of a violent, bloody, generally deadly discovery was completely unfounded. Serving the Traxian Empire and the pod-mother was both good and right, of this there could never be any doubt. Discovery by Traxis, along with the subsequent amalgamation to her vast Assembly of Worlds, was to be seen as an honorable episode in the annals of any planet’s meager, uninspiring history. It was, after all, this eventuality that would essentially raise a cognizant being’s existence from the dregs of slow, random evolution, out to the wondrous stars of the great and mighty empire.

As was to be expected, resistance remained against this forced servitude, but those few radicals who sought to end the empire’s millennia-long tradition of colonial pilferage soon found themselves arguing against the military might of the pod-mother’s personal garrison. As was generally projected, a new planet’s integration to the empire would bring with it much wealth and rejoicing for the Traxian people, and through the people, some level of added comfort for those pressed to imperial bondage. Across the light-years, grand caravans of raw materials, technologies, workers and pleasure-drugs marched unimpeded to and from the teeming capital planet of Traxis 4, the fourth planet from the bright, yellow star, Traxis-Prime.

So, and as had been demonstrated in contrasts between the rules of Pod-Mother 1330 the Unforgiving and Pod-Mother 1338 the Chosen, extermination was no longer a means to imperial expansion. What was now required for a supreme species’ dominance was a steady influx of replacement parts and workers. A relentless flow of new equipment and tools, with such aids as builders, cleaners, fixers, herders, drivers… The august list of regal needs and demands continued and grew, as did the wondrous Traxian Empire…

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It was soon after the short reign of Pod-Mother 1338 the Chosen, in the dawn of this first millennium of true growth for the empire, that the pod-mother’s Assembly of Worlds was distinguished by a somewhat spectacular, though utterly unrealized, accomplishment: the birth of a brand new life form. This miraculous event was not marked with fanfare, nor was it the result of an intended discovery of some new world, but rather by the unintended destruction of several. There was a famous Traxian mother, who had granted her lowly boy-child the transitory name of Tchrlok, roughly transmutable to something like Enlightened One. Not being especially different from any other youngster of the empire, it was determined that Tchrlok would be sent to the fertility farms, prior to his fifth summer. This, however, was a mandate bound for change, for, at barely three years of age, this somewhat innocuous lad was already destined for godhood.

During these first few innocent years of life, young Tchrlok could most likely be found in the warm company of his mother, the remarkable 34 the Definer, and up until the fateful day of the supernova event, the boy’s entire world had been the remote Arami Research Facility. This was an orbiting station, in close proximity to huge Tractosk, a heavy red giant star on the far side of the distant Balarian region, situated far below the adjacent Perseus Arm of the Milky Way galaxy, hundreds of light-years from the heart of the Traxian Empire. What drew all these factors together was that there was an actual survivor of the supernova that claimed four sovereign worlds of the empire. The lowly boy-child, Tchrlok.

34 the Definer was well revered, by peers and superiors alike, as a person of some accomplishment. To her credit, it was she who had defined, hence her qualifier, 8 the Abnormality Investigator’s first three laws of temporal space continuity. This achievement was looked upon as a spectacular triumph in itself, one leading directly to the defeat of the Ondorpians at Keska 12, just 10 years before. At that time, the Traxian forces had been holding their own, but it had been a prohibitively expensive war, with public opinion wavering toward a full Traxian withdrawal, a tactical option that had never before been considered. Taking advantage of this situation, Definer had approached Pod-Mother 1337 the Voiceless One regarding the obvious need for her tracking and temporal experiments, based upon 8 the Abnormality Investigator’s formulas and notations. Her ultimate success resulted in the long awaited conquest of Keska 12.

Her latest campaign, however, was with Trak 9. An offshoot civilization from the Antagi system, one hostile toward the pod-mother’s regime, was the current resident, and these wily inhabitants of Trak 9 were showing themselves to be formidable adversaries. The subsequent attack and purge of Antagi 2 had proceeded without difficulty, but the failing tactical situation at Trak 9 needed to be reversed, and as quickly as possible. Now, a full decade since her success over the Ondorpians, Pod-Mother 1338 the Chosen had looked once again to 34 the Definer to save the empire. As was her mission assignment, Definer had traveled to the distant Arami Research Facility and the red giant star Tractosk. Her purpose there was to test her latest temporal plasma cannon for a coming offensive against the Antagi-occupied system at Trak 9.

After four long years of tests and construction, a period that included the birth of Tchrlok, the death of Pod-Mother 1338, and the rise of Pod-Mother 1339 the Destroyer, Definer was nearing completion of her work. All initial subethereal transmissions from the Arami facility to Traxis-Prime showed the cannon tests to be successful, but the physical results of these tests were lost to history, having never been permanently recorded to the pages of the empire’s Grand Traxian Ledger. The reason for this omission was that the test equipment, test-bed, test personnel and test station had all been annihilated by the test event.

As planned, and according to the stacks of mathematical notations Definer carried around with her, the plasma cannon had been aimed toward the surface of the red giant, with a direct angle of a calibrated 90 degrees, and fired. After a steady, nearly four-day saturation barrage, the physics and anomalies teams moved in for the required period of observation, paying special attention for any signs of nuclear and magnetic unrest. What were not noticed, or even looked for, were changes to the star’s physical structure. The heavier elements were quickly forming, and a few hundred thousand years ahead of schedule. By the end of the firing, the star’s core was already converting to silicon. It was a mere 10 hours following this test, and totally without warning, that the surface of the giant star suddenly rippled, with cool, turbulent regions appearing at a rapid rate. The silicon core was fusing into iron, and growing hotter by the second. The cool surface regions combined, forming magnetic filaments and surface prominences hundreds of thousands of miles long all over the surface, culminating in an unprecedented coronal mass ejection, one that seared the communications antennae from the observation ships. Another second of time elapsed, as the iron core solidified, and the surface of the huge star fell rapidly away, with the great mass imploding under its own weight. At the core, electrons were forced into the nuclei of their atoms, forming neutrons and neutrinos, and the star exploded, throwing 86 percent of its material into space, at speeds exceeding 30,000 kilometers per second. Tractosk had novaed, leaving behind its neutron core, spinning viciously within a newly created envelope of purest vacuum.

Three light-seconds from the star was the Arami station, to which 34 the Definer had recently retired. Ten hours following the actual weapons test, a subethereal warning message from the observing teams was transmitted, but abruptly cut short. Ninety minutes later, while the Arami technicians were busily trying to restore communication with the observers, Definer, feeling suddenly and unaccountably ill, was back in her pantry, preparing a small meal for herself and her young son. Tchrlok, on the other hand, being an ever-inquisitive child, and unattended on this particular occasion, was in the throes of electrocuting himself with a small, carelessly placed household appliance.

The gamma-blast from the imploding red giant star had just ripped through the station in less than a nanosecond, irradiating any and all matter in its unrelenting path, burning cells and altering chemical makeup, which brought about a sudden feeling of illness among all residents of the platform. Thirty minutes later, the accompanying shock wave struck, spreading in a bulging, annihilating sphere of heated, high X-ray and gamma bombarded stellar debris. A supernova had been triggered by the test, killing all personnel in the immediate vicinity of the red giant, even irradiating life from four adjacent Traxian planetary systems, just a few years later. The supernova was a blazing explosion, one lasting hundreds of days … and it was this same blast that, remarkably, saved young Tchrlok’s life.

Even as the child writhed in the final, irrevocable throes of death, the blast from the exploding red giant was tearing through the station. During the expansion of the initial shock wave and the creation of the blue-red nebula of scattering particles, even in the midst of his dying from radiation and prolonged electrocution, the boy’s life-essence was suddenly torn from his tiny body, transcending his dying, mortal being, and was cast to the surrounding confusion of stellar particle debris. In the resulting blast, little Tchrlok’s physical presence, along with anything else larger than a proton, was abruptly dismantled and sent to all points of the universal compass, leaving behind a sentient, though very disoriented, field of purest energy. This tiny bit of drifting dynamic potential was all that remained of the young boy.

At first glance, the occurrence could have been looked upon as a sad ending to a very short life, but young Tchrlok was still very much alive and, being a sentient child, he also remained very curious. The being, or soul, of the lad had actually stumbled upon a kind of immortality. Through trial and error he learned to arrange his form, as well as to move about, propelling himself with greater and greater ease through the void of interstellar space. He learned to replenish his expended energies by feeding upon the gamma particles that flooded the galaxy in the cosmic trade winds. So did he live, and so did he travel.

Fifty years following the supernova of Tractosk, Tchrlok happened across a lone outpost of the Traxian Empire, drifting far below the Milky Way’s galactic plane. Here, he covertly stayed, hiding within the very walls of the station and quietly observing the everyday activities of these contemporary beings, the only life forms he could recall, shadows of a former-self he could never truly know. He learned to slip through the walls of the platform and to feel for the vibrations that caused sound.

For more than 80 years, Tchrlok stayed at this space-platform, an invisible, ghostly presence, where he managed to relearn his lost language and test his strange abilities. He studied the Traxian life forms, watching them play, fight, love and die, wanting, but never quite able, to join with them. After a time, though, Tchrlok found that he could transform his energies to a solid kind of matter, taking on for a period the shape and consistency of some member of the station’s personnel, with stories told of the haunting ghost of the space platform.

As his strength and knowledge grew, Tchrlok traveled from this station to other, similar facilities he had learned of, investigating further and finding pleasure in his newfound skills. It was only inevitable that he should one day seek out the pod-planet, Traxis 4 of Traxis-Prime. This he did, and there he stayed.

And so the alien empire of Traxis matured, continuing to spread over the eons that followed, eventually doubling its dominion in the cosmic vastness of the Milky Way galaxy, even as Tchrlok explored and grew stronger, within the warming glow of his newfound homeworld.

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WEDNESDAY, MAY 29, 1940 CE . . .

Nearly 8,000 years later, and upon the far distant planet of Talex 8, a young girl looked with satisfaction upon her scholastic certification project. All the components were in place, all the power supplies had been properly leveled, and all readouts were indicating as expected.

Seated around the many tables in the university’s exposition mall were fellow scholars, with their little projects held before them in clutched hands, or tucked under stools and benches, each waiting to be called for presentation. Some of the projects were a few sheets of inspiring notations, while others were so cumbersome as to require two full tables to display.

This young girl’s project literally surrounded her, with a long row of electronics cabinets lining an entire wall of the room, and four tables covered with humming, blinking consoles. She ran another systems check, moving purposefully from unit to unit, verifying the balance levels from her three power supplies. With a proud spark in her golden eyes, she looked up to the railed mezzanine, one deck above her, where she found the smiling face of her teacher, 28 the Mathematician.

12.

She spun quickly to the voice. 826 the Physicist approached, passing a sharp, critical eye over the project she was to inspect. She paused before the girl, gazing sternly from her height to the bright eyes of the youth.

What is this? Physicist asked. Size alone will not earn your credit.

I … I do not know, teacher, she hesitantly began. I am sorry…

So, am I to grade you for your lack of knowledge?

Oh, no! No, I just do not know what to call it, she quickly corrected. The device before you … creates … things… Well, not real things, but … kind of real… she struggled. It can create an image … a live, moving image … of … anything…

I see, she mumbled, jotting a quick note in her recorder. And what does it do with this … image?

Do? Um…

Yes. And what would be the benefit of your … device … to the Assembly of Worlds?

Well, the image is real, relative to its presence. If you were within the ethereal field generated by my device, whatever was conjured would be absolutely real to you, until you left the field, she explained. I believe the true benefit would be to historians. With enhancement … further research … it could be used to bolster and/or refute historical records.

Verifying … even correcting … the Grand Traxian Ledger…? Physicist verbally wondered.

Easily, 12 idly nodded her uncomplicated affirmation to this vastly complex assumption, as she moved innocently over to a kind of keyboard apparatus. You see, I enter the known parameters of a thing, a plant, an animal … even a Traxian citizen … here, and my machine will create it … or recreate it … over there.

826 the Physicist looked around and up to where 28 the Mathematician still stood, watching. A remake of Paltron’s Curtain? she called out. Is this what you teach your disciples now, Mathematician?

No, the other educator replied from the upper walkway, her voice ringing out sharp and clear across the great room. This one actually works, Physicist. 12 has apparently fixed Paltron’s errors.

Fixed them? The Curtain schematic is over 1000 years old, she easily blustered. Why, everybody knows…

Before you fail the student, Physicist, ask to see her product. Ask many questions, and ask them many times, for you will not believe the first response … and likely not your own eyes, either.

Faced with this very public academic challenge, Physicist drew a deep breath, then faced back to 12, slowly nodding her head to the child. She settled herself on a stool, dutifully awaiting the demonstration, and watching the young girl scurry about her device, activating secondary power supplies, shunting data feeds, and generally doing complex, technical … stuff. After five fretful minutes, 12 looked to her grader, and the thing at the grader’s back. Her impish smile could not be contained.

Hearing the unexpected rustling of foliage at her back, Physicist turned to the small patch of previously nonexistent jungle growth. The scales across her back tightened with a loud clatter, and she quickly leaped across the table to stand at 12’s side. The formerly extinct Talexian jrskan, a flesh-eating wolf-like creature dating from the planet’s pre-colonial days, charged upon the two, leaping high to clear the separating table. Physicist cried out and assumed a defensive posture against the beast, while young 12 merely laughed, and the jrskan vanished from existence.

It can create anything, she said. But the thing created must remain within the field of its creation, or it will cease to be. For example, here. She reached across the table and picked up a broken leaf that had fallen from the jrskan’s paw. Take this in your hand, feel it, then draw it in to yourself.

Physicist did as she was instructed. The broken leaf was definitely a broken leaf, but when the teacher drew it in to herself for closer inspection, the leaf was just as definitely gone from her hand.

It can create anything, 12 restated. "And anyone."

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A bare week later, a certain young graduate was feeling very pleased with herself. There could be no greater feeling in all the Universe, than the respect one received as the holder of an enlightened qualifier. Designer. She glanced to the cooling irons beside the ceremonial brazier, then gazed with pride at the firebrand she had just received upon her exposed upper arm. Smiling to the burning image of an encircled protractor, she wiped the single tear from her cheek. The pain had been nearly unbearable, but she had endured it, silently receiving her title well and becoming a potent member of a real pod-family. Her full title was now 12 the Designer, and she had done very well.

There were other revelers around her, many of whom were close classmates, who had received branded titles as well, though certainly none who had gained such a title as hers. The young girls were happily gripping her sore arm and pointing to the prestigious brand, jostling her about in their joy for her accomplishment. It had been an arduous journey, one encompassing five long years of meticulous research and analyses, inclusive studies and thorough documentation. Finally, and as had been foretold by more than one of her understanding mentors, graduation day had arrived.

First at the Academy, 28 the Mathematician capriciously mused aloud. Not so great an honor, she idly chuckled to the young girl. In all things, someone will ultimately be first. At this particular juncture in the continuum, it just happens to be one named 12.

"One named 12 the Designer, she was quick to correct. The Assembly of Worlds, Mathematician! the young girl excitedly continued, shaking a rolled document to her teacher and friend. They want me! They requested that I, 12 the Designer, go to Traxis 4! …To Traxis 4 of Traxis-Prime! They want me!"

Traxis-Prime? Mathematician nodded, accepting the paper. Yes, that is indeed special, She regarded the bold, cursive strokes that decorated the thick sheet. When will you be going?

In two weeks! she quickly replied, the smile fading from her. There is a temporal warp involved in the journey. It’s not a large one, just six years.

Roughly 5.75, the mathematician playfully corrected her back, returning the document. No, it is not a large one.

Will you go with me?

Surprised at this sudden invitation, the elder woman took a step back from her former student. With you?

28 the Mathematician, the younger lightly taunted in return. I have known you throughout most of my life. This was to be your final year at Academy, and you have already stated the fact that you have no future plans. She held her upper arms out to the woman, palms up, while her lower arms remained limp at her sides. I need you, your guidance, your…

Now you speak as a child, Mathematician scolded. "Designer, she emphasized. This is your time, your day, your life. Her green-speckled yellow-brown eyes sparked sharply with her own words. This is not mine. You will go forth and achieve greatness. When you think back on your old Academy, and a certain ancient instructor, I shall feel honored. She shook her head. But for now, you must go … alone."

If I go and return at once, fully 12 years will have passed…

Nearly 11.5.

Designer had to smile at the woman’s persistence. I will miss you … a great deal, I think.

Mathematician turned and looked out to the northern horizon. You cause me pain, she playfully scolded, but she smiled and pointed over the heads of the other young graduates, still reveling in the near distance. And as for plans, look, she directed. Out there is the mountain Pao.

I know, and you have vowed to climb that rock to its summit. I offer you a mountain a million-billion times higher, Mathematician, she challenged. She leaned to the woman’s ear and hissed, Traxis-Prime.

The instructor laughed at this. Oh, you do tempt me.

Come with me, then, she pleaded. Recall the anomaly of the perpetual nangate in Paltron’s Curtain, and how the two of us proved that it was not Paltron’s idea that was in error, but rather the physical design of his gate array. She grinned with the instructor. Come with me. Together, we two could conquer this galaxy!

Or be shot trying, Mathematician lightly amended for the child, smiling wryly to herself. Yes, she nodded. Yes, 12 the Designer, I shall accompany you on your quest. She shrugged her upper shoulders with playful indifference. Who is to say? Perhaps I will even meet the pod-mother.

Designer nodded. And prove to her that it is the Assembly of Worlds that rules over her?

Well, in fact it does.

Laughing, the two returned to the main body of the graduation celebration.

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The 17 finely tuned temporal gateways required to span the 23 light-year flight outworld from Talex 8 to the capital planet of Traxis 4 took a shipboard interval of barely two days to traverse, while everything else in the vast Universe continued to age the expected 5.742 years. Her departure from her family-stem had been bittersweet, and she knew she would miss them all, including the youngest of her 18 sisters, the ever complaining 19, and the scores of that child’s meddlesome little friends.

A new and dramatic future was opening for her. Young 12 the Designer was on her way to fame and glory, of that she had no doubt. She was of the family of Designer, now, and they were watching. It was 12’s firm desire to show her new elders her best.

The arrival at Traxis 4, though, left much to be desired. If not for the accompaniment of 28 the Mathematician, Designer felt certain she would have returned home straight away, doubtless to some unnoticed desk appointment for the duration of her uninspiring life.

It is good to have another at your side, she silently reasoned. If only to bolster reserves and keep one’s aim upon a chosen path of endeavor…

While processing into the planetwide Forbidden City of Imperial Traxis, she and her elder companion were duly searched for contraband items. Designer had caused some trouble at this point, asking one of the sentinel officials just what sort of contraband she was looking for. Mathematician had given the inexperienced child a hard stare, wishing her ex-pupil could simply remain silent. With renewed aggression, though, the officers further detained the two troublemakers for a more thorough search, evoking a smoldering anger from the former teacher toward her adolescent associate.

28 the Mathematician was now beginning to seriously reconsider the entire affair, believing the journey to Traxis-Prime, in the company of such a youthful novice, to be a colossal error on her part. Mathematician did not belong on the pod-planet and, regardless of what that silly cub had gone on about, she was relatively certain that 12 the Designer had no business there either. Later, on their first evening within the walls of the boundlessly enormous Forbidden City, and in a small room they managed to acquire, just a few roads from the sprawl of the main imperial citadel, Mathematician admonished Designer severely, regarding her cavalier attitude toward regency authority figures. She demanded to view the appointment statement one more time and, with glaring eyes, the young girl handed the document over to her former instructor.

It is there, she heatedly pointed out, jabbing a finger at the sheet. "You see it? Anomalies engineer."

Mathematician cast the girl an equally heated glance. "Assistant anomalies engineer, she gruffly corrected. I don’t know how you ever talked me into this fiasco. If there was…"

A mountain a million-billion times higher… she started.

…Higher than Pao! Mathematician finished in a sudden shout. Yes! I know! She tossed the rolled parchment angrily to the girl. "Here. This is yours. I do not belong here. That sheet assigns one to a position. I shall take the next available lift home."

Designer looked around herself, astounded with this unexpected declaration. With what? she wanted to know. It cost you three retirement years to come here. Even then, 11 and a half years will have elapsed by the time you get back home. She grimaced, angrily baring her young, sharp teeth at her elder. By that time, I will have achieved commission, as well as status, while you will be severely in debt … and still old…

Mathematician took a challenging step toward the young girl and hissed loudly, the scales across her back tightening and rattling sure displeasure at the girl-cub. Designer frowned, feeling the scales across her own back constrict in an instinctive preparation for battle, but she simply pushed the elder woman aside.

Stop! she suddenly hissed, her fierce tone of victorious logic startling Mathematician. We must prepare ourselves.

For what? Mathematician barked.

I have a position in the main palace to prepare for, she reminded. …As do you.

What position? She shook her head. There is nothing here for me. Nothing on that piece of…

You are a great mathematician, young 12 the Designer argued. None at Academy could ever best you.

The elder waved a lower arm in frustration, turning herself from the child. I think that you will soon find we are no longer at Academy. Here, we shall meet against the best of the galaxy.

You shall be my assistant, Designer informed.

Further startled, Mathematician looked around at the young cub. Your what? Your assistant? Amazed at this announcement, she stepped toward her again. I? …To be yours?

Designer canted her head quizzically to one side. It is a short ride home, teacher, but there will be few to greet you, she softly growled to the woman. Unless you count the many debt collectors. She took a deep breath. I need you here with me, Mathematician. Can you not see that?

As your assistant?

Designer smiled at that. Shall I be your assistant for the flight home? she pointedly asked. I have the position at the imperial palace, I know this, she assured. I offer you a place at my side.

Mathematician turned again, stepping toward the room’s nesting area. Then, so shall it be. She sighed, looking around the small chamber, with its large single nest. I would require my own cell.

Designer nodded her understanding of this fact. As would I, she agreed, also reviewing the tiny room. Tomorrow morning, I go to the palace.

Alone? was 28 the Mathematician’s somber expectation.

Feeling secure within her own pride, the girl stood a little taller, her resolution firm. You are with me, Mathematician. I go alone to secure the position, but we shall win, together.

The old woman slumped all four of her shoulders, looking down to the satchel in her hand. And we shall conquer a galaxy, she muttered, tossing the bag onto a cracked and scarred storage chest.

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TUESDAY, MARCH 20, 1945 CE . . .

There was a slight ripple in the air surrounding the grand imperial pavilion. Pod-Mother 1595 the Builder, leader of the planet Traxis 4 of Traxis-Prime and thus supreme ruler of the great Traxian Empire, was accustomed to this anomaly, paying little heed to the routine occurrence. Over the centuries, many had witnessed this rippling phenomenon as well, merely regarding it now to be the blessing of some deity upon their vast and unconquerable domain.

It was a mystical, magical kind of power, an apparition of sorts that was almost always present in the vicinity of the empress, or one of the ruling pod-family. There were strange powers at work here, powers that spoke of unlimited, surely omnipotent, strength and authority. Many recalled those who were considered enemies of Traxis, ones who would do the empress and her family-stem great harm, given the opportunity. In awe, the people had seen pod-mothers throughout history turn these same enemies away with little more than the wave of a hand, a nod of the head, a scowl of displeasure. So had it been, far longer than living memory, a wonder to be looked upon, as a visible sign of divine approval.

A new parade of adolescent geniuses, Pod-Mother 1595 softly grumbled, watching, as yet another mob of young hopefuls shuffled hesitantly into the broad pavilion. …Another harvest from the academies … another crop of fledgling talent… She turned to the aide at her side, gesturing questioningly to the` first graduate. What is this? she grudgingly asked.

My sovereign, this is 53 the Writer, 9 the Wise replied. She comes to us from Ozar 9 with…

Oh, no. Pod-Mother 1595 was already shaking her head, her eyes taking in the scarred and misshapen features of the young girl before her. No, no, no. We have writers, you know this … both technical and creative … as well as journalists. …And if we should choose to consider a new writer for the palace, Wise, she … or even he … should at least be pleasing to the eye. She looked to the elder woman at her side. You were a writer at one time, were you not, Wise?

Of some standing, my sovereign, she replied, waving the rejected applicant away to the protocol marshals.

Yes. She turned back to the long line in front of her, smiling to the next hopeful. Oh, and who is this lovely creature?

18 the Sculptor, my sovereign, Wise stated, regarding the approaching young girl. She is here from…

18? the pod-mother leaned playfully toward the wide-eyed child before her. Are you any good? she pointedly asked.

Startled with the blatant directness of her ruler, the young girl dropped to her knees at the foot of the dais, almost in tears and bowing as low as possible, shivering in her sudden terror. Pod-Mother 1595 settled back in the nest of her throne pedestal, grinning appreciatively at her subject’s response.

Perhaps there is another talent for which you are famous? she smirked, glancing to Wise. What is your designator, child?

18 … 18, empress … I mean, my sovereign! she meekly stuttered to the floor, her shoulders trembling.

Ah. 18-18, the empress chuckled. What a charming designator that is. She tapped the toe of her slipper lightly against the girl’s upper shoulder. "Sculptor, I believe? And I asked if you were any good," she reminded.

The girl blinked her beautiful eyes up at her ruler. I believe that I am, my sovereign! Sculptor gasped.

Pod-Mother 1595 looked into her bright, emerald eyes. Startlingly bright, she mused, then smiled. We shall have to see. She waved a hand to the cushions that were occupied by scores of girls and young women, as well as three young boys, in a cluster along the right side of the large room, all very happy, all very youthful, all very pretty. Sit. We shall discuss further, after this endless procession has finished with me. As 18 the Sculptor moved hesitantly toward the piles of pillows, Pod-Mother 1595 glanced to 9 the Wise. …And how many more are there?

Still 798 this afternoon, and another…

She shook her head. I shall see 400 for the day.

But, my sovereign, Wise cautiously countered, holding the four review scrolls out for her majesty to see. There are fully 50,000 applicants seeking positions within the palace itself, and another…

She waved the list away, shaking her head. You see to them, Wise. I am tired. I have been interviewing candidates all week long, and I believe it is time for a change. She glanced whimsically around the high chamber. Wise? she softly murmured, placidly watching her omnipotent guardian ripple the air around her shining dais.

Yes, my sovereign?

Perhaps a department could be founded to handle this … influx. When 1424 the Seer first invoked this custom, I believe the Assembly of Worlds was much smaller, and transportation far more costly. There weren’t so many … candidates.

No, my sovereign.

Fine, she decided. Hence, let it be known: I shall review the final applicants for palace duty only … while you see to the millions.

Wise bowed low to her empress. So shall it be, my sovereign.

Pod-Mother 1595 stood from the royal nest, looking across to her crowd of pretty choices. Yes. She nodded her agreement. Yes, Wise. So shall it be.

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Excited in her adventure, 12 the Designer was simply unable to sleep. Rising early, she dressed in her absolutely best robes, tucked her plan-viewer under her lower arm and, cautious not to awaken 28 the Mathematician, crept out of the single-room dwelling. She, and several others, had met with the great and powerful 9 the Wise the previous day, and had been promised an interview with the pod-mother herself, to be held later this very morning.

Walking through the unlit, quiet streets of the Forbidden City, the young girl paused at a bridge, where she sat and gazed down at the stars reflected in the slow, dark waters of the ancient Tu River. No one in her family stem had ever been to Traxis 4. In fact, since her family stem’s migration from Tchlder 3, nearly 500 years before, there could be found no record of any member ever traveling so far to anyplace. She was paving the way from Talex 8 for her sisters, first by becoming a member of the potent Designer faction, and again with an offer of position within the grand palaces on Traxis 4.

She stood, looking with marvel and determination to the high abutment of the palace wall to her left, while the brightening light of Traxis-Prime presented a new dawn in the west. High in the Eastern skies, she could just make out the dimming dot of Traxis Red, the star’s giant companion. A second sun was odd to look upon, but the vision touched upon a sort of primal impression of home for the child.

A few hours later, and Designer’s dreams were visited upon. Her five minute interview in the frightening presence of mighty Pod-Mother 1595 the Builder was completed, almost before the child could register it had even begun. She was then swept out of the chamber and down a seemingly endless corridor. The three young girls escorting her stopped at a tall door, which opened to a set of large, damp, dark rooms. She stumbled across the age-worn, though slightly uneven stone floor of the foyer, with 9 the Wise holding out a lantern and following at her heels.

These will be your quarters, Wise was saying to the bewildered child. She paused, looking around at the bare walls. "You may do with them as you will. Later today, I will send servants to see that you and the others are aware of the supply cabinets. There, you may acquire furnishings, bedding, clothing, toiletries… The girls will also instruct you in palace etiquette, and what chambers you are not allowed access to. Heed their warnings in these matters. She looked down at Designer. Your work will doubtless require access to technological … things and agencies? You will have them. Your properties will be delivered to you as well, later this afternoon. Have you any questions?"

My properties…?

Yes. From the room where you have been staying.

And … my Mathematician?

Wise frowned, regarding her a moment. You have … your own Mathematician?

Yes. 28 the Mathematician. She is my … assistant…? she meekly attempted.

I see. Yes. Wise turned to leave. She will be supplied to you as well.

The doors closed with a hollow echo, leaving the young girl alone in the large, dark quarters.

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Knowledge was power, and Pod-Mother 1595 the Builder knew, as had previous rulers of Traxis, that the general public must never learn of the awesome discoveries from the Tractosk incident. Fully 7.9 millennia separated this day from the calamity of the Tractosk supernova event, and the annihilation of planetary systems Alket, Travis, Khuris and Tec, and still people spoke of the catastrophe in hushed tones, displaying an almost religious sort of fear that was very real, though also very unfounded. It was an ignorant class of fear, brought about by too much superstition, and too little information. This being the case, and to better secure the growing empire, the stellar catastrophe had been dutifully buried under reams of bureaucratic text and testimonials, sealed in time.

Pod-Mother 1595 knew the truth, or at least a summary of a very close truth. What had been revealed in the aftermath of the supernova were the countless deviations to physical law, which flashed in and out of existence, seemingly without regard to scientific reason. These aberrations of space and time were what made near-instantaneous interstellar flight a possibility. The knowledge of these temporal gateways had been passed to a select few groups of researchers and military persons, as well as such private citizens and laypersons as technical engineers and long-range pilots, all sworn to absolute, deadly secrecy.

And there remained new wars to be waged, new frontiers to be conquered. Pod-Mother 1595, sovereign of Traxis 4 and supreme ruler of the Traxian Empire, recalled the tactical display her aide, 9 the Wise, had set up for her earlier that very day. The newly discovered Telmut system, far across the gulf that separated the galactic arms, and on the far side of the Tractosk neutron star, appeared very promising, and very inviting. There were also reports of a possible warrior population at Telmut 3, the yellow star’s third planet.

Pickings had become scarce for the empire, and it was time to consider the ripe, inner systems of the galaxy. Here, she found a region rich in main sequence stars, with young planets heavy in mineral wealth, where the discovery of one populated system brought forth a promise of workers to process and transport this stellar wealth back to her empire. Pod-Mother 1595 smiled with her thoughts. As Traxis was by far the most advanced civilization in all the known Universe, as evidenced by the 137 non-Traxian civilizations now under her control, as well as the hundreds of earlier civilizations that had already been beaten to extinction, she knew a full conquest of lonely Telmut 3 could be achieved within days of reaching the planetary system. The glory of the conquering pod-mothers who had preceded her would soon be hers to realize, and, with a new arm of the galaxy acquired for the empire, her name was sure to live high in the Grand Traxian Ledger for all time.

With an august flurry of cloaks, Pod-Mother 1595 the Builder turned from 12 the Designer’s little plan-viewer. She was, as usual, bored. Still, the pitiable creature now before her bowed with much pride, leaning as awkwardly low to the floor as was inhumanly possible. Watching this young, pretty child, though, only succeeded in further boring the empress.

The destruction at Tractosk was tens of centuries ago, young Designer, the empress sighed down to her minion. "You will find I am better schooled than most. While many may recall