The Needs of the Many Page 4

  “In here,” El’iadryov said, veering from the staircase to take one of the narrow walkways that led into the temple’s study areas. The end of the hall widened into an open and airy room with low tables and seating, as well as high windows that looked up into the twilit sky.

  Julian followed, knowing instinctually that this was one of many areas of meditation and repose used by ancient Eidyssic scholars, even though he himself had never had a chance to explore the temple. What he didn’t understand was why El’iadryov had brought him here instead of to the acceleration chamber.

  The former master crossed the room to stand under the center window and looked up at the faint glow on the horizon. The Star of Eidyn was setting for the day, cloaking the city below in inky black shadows.

  “Julian, I have a question and I need you to answer me honestly.”

  The subtle shift in tone caught Julian off guard. Whether he realized it or not, El’iadryov had assumed the authoritative voice of the true master. Had he been in command of the Kyroibi, Julian would have been powerless to disobey. However, he was not.

  “I will answer as honestly as my tether to my current master allows.” The reply was carefully measured, but El’iadryov frowned.

  “Julian, I’m aware that with my daughter as your master, you have a measure of free will that was never meant to be. I am making no judgement as a father or former master, but I am asking you to look inside yourself and realize what I am about to ask requires an honest answer for the continued existence of all humankind. You mentioned that history lies. That the battalion has awakened before. Does this mean that you too were awakened at that time?”

  “Yes,” Julian answered without hesitation. El’iadryov knew something, so lying would have served no purpose other than to create suspicions. Suspicions that would lead to more difficult questions.

  “Master Yellenoae gave his life to put the battalion to rest once again, didn’t he?”

  For a moment, Julian hesitated, but again, there was no point. El’iadryov was not truly looking to confirm what he already knew.

  “Yes.”

  El’iadryov nodded once. A grim expression of worry marred his brow as he carefully considered the wording of his next question.

  “Were there others?” he asked at last.

  “Master?”

  “Julian, please,” El’iadryov begged in a low whisper. “History says the Kyroibi has—since its creation—prevented the disruption of peace in the galaxy. History also says that the battalion has stood dormant throughout the ages, yet you have told me otherwise. If I was to simply take at face value only that which has been revealed had ever been hidden, I would not be worthy of the title of former master, no matter how briefly I held the position.”

  Julian held his gaze in silent, feigned ignorance. He knew what it was El’iadryov hadn’t directly asked, but as the question was merely implied, he felt no compulsion to answer. But after a prolonged moment of silence, El’iadryov rephrased, leaving no doubt as to what he sought to know.

  “Were there other masters who gave their life to keep the Limitless Battalion from seeking out and destroying all life in the galaxy?”

  A single word rested easily on Julian’s tongue. A lie, yes, but a lie that would have allowed the former master to go to his final rest without burden. But Julian would not lie. Could not lie, even though El’iadryov held no power to compel him to speak the truth,

  But El’iadryov deserved nothing less than the truth. For no other reason that it was his own sacrifice, knowingly or unknowingly, that did more than simply ensure El’iadrylline’s survival. By weaving the Kyroibi into her being, El’iadryov allowed Ellie to shape the course of her own life rather than bend to the burden of the knowledge.

  And in turn, he too was given a measure of life and freedom he was never meant to know. That he knew love, and yes, even the heartache of love lost, was enough to respect El’iadryov’s wishes and answer him with the truth.

  “Yes,” he acknowledged, turning away from the last whispers of daylight that had yet to be driven back to the horizon. “There have been… many.”

  Chapter 5

  Enough documentation and living recollection existed to know that Androyo had died of natural causes prior to her birth. Ellie knew that despite all the secrets and lies she’d uncovered about her people, there truly was no way that bit of information could have been altered or skewed. Yet there was a substantiality surrounding the man standing before her that was quite different from that of her father or Rhymallian. Her instincts said to leave, to return to the rooftop garden and pretend she too had never noticed the portal in the trees. But even as her thoughts screamed, her feet moved of their own accord, taking her further into the room.

  “What is this place?”

  Ellie winced at the sound of her own voice, which even at a whisper seemed loud and harsh as it cut through the absolute silence.

  “The Temple of Kyri,” he replied, an air of mystery surrounding the words. “The same in every way, yet not the place from which you came when you took your step sideways.” He stepped closer, peering into her eyes with an intensity that Ellie found unnerving, yet she was unable to break eye contact. “You found the path. In the garden, I’d imagine. That was always my favorite. Such an idyllic scene. I am impressed you were not distracted. That you found within yourself that which the many who claim to thirst for knowledge would decry boldly, yet blindly, is impossible.”

  “Phase pulse?”

  Androyo’s diodes alit with joy that matched his sudden smile.

  “Phase pulse is the means to cross a vast expanse without shifting forward through time. To do so requires the ability to transcend dimension, which is the method by which you have come to visit today. As I mentioned, most children of Eidyn refuse to believe such mobility is possible and are thus destined to live a limited life on a single plane.”

  His words were spoken with a reverence, but also with an accent that Ellie had never before encountered. It was as if the light itself was bending to form his voice, making it difficult to follow along entirely, but certain phrases stood out.

  “Are you saying then that although you died on T’al Eidyn, that is… in the other dimension, I guess, you are still alive here?”

  “The complexity of transcendence requires several thousand more words, but to economize, yes, El’iadrylline, I live, abstraction and all, and I have carved out a place in this realm in which to await your arrival.”

  Ellie blinked, taken aback by his words.

  “You were waiting for me?”

  It wasn’t that she disbelieved him entirely, but Androyo died not just before her birth, but before Huptsovia seceded from the Federation. As far as she was concerned, there was no way he could have known she would even exist.

  “Of course,” he said, looking into her eyes with an expression of dismayed concern, “I’d hoped the circumstances under which we met would be cause for celebration, but it is painfully clear that my sacrifice and your father’s was in vain.”

  “Sacrifice? Forgive me, great grandfather, but much of what you did—and all of why you did it, for that matter—remains an unknown. There are few who believe your intention malicious, but even fewer who can deny that the outcome and intention were not the same.”

  Androyo cast his eyes down for a moment before returning his gaze to Ellie. He was old, but not elderly. The marbling in his eyes and deep silver of what little hair remained gave the impression of a much older being, but lines around his eyes and mouth revealed the premature aging was likely due to stress.

  “Ours is a history of secrets and if I may be so bold, poor decision making,” he explained. “The ancients believed themselves to have put in place the means by which their own hubris would never again threaten the emergence of life among the stars. In truth, it would be this very hubris that set in motion what has been our shadow legacy.”

  “Shadow legacy?”

  “El’iadrylline, what have you been told
of the Limitless Battalion?”

  Caught off guard, and still trying to process what little Androyo had actually said, Ellie stumbled for a moment.

  “What I’ve been told is very little,” she began. “My father transferred the Kyroibi into my genetic pattern at conception. I was born on a remote planet and up until just a few short months ago, I knew nothing of the Eidyn, the Ghowrn system, or my father, for that matter. I have pieced together, mostly with information I’ve found on my own, that the battalion is meant to ensure peace.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “At any cost.”

  Androyo studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought, before he moved across the room and placed his hand upon one of the softly glowing orbs.

  “You understand more than you know,” he said in a low tone as he guided the orb closer. Ellie flinched, but did not pull away, knowing that what he wanted to show her was nothing more than archived information. However, she’d already learned that information was its own sort of weaponry.

  “As I said, our ancestors believed their constructs would ensure continued peace. This, as we know, stemmed from their own ancestors’ willful destruction of emerging life. But by creating an unstoppable force meant to suppress the emergence of violent and authoritative civilizations before they had the chance to fully form creates a paradox that was lost to all of the ancients but one.”

  Androyo gestured to the orb and stepped back, allowing Ellie to come forward. Despite knowing that all she was about to see was an official record of past events, she hesitated. Her great grandfather had just hinted at what she’d long suspected, but could not prove: that the battalion’s purpose may not have been entirely peaceful.

  Curiosity won out over fear and she placed her hand on the orb, allowing her diodes to align. Instantly, she was transported back to the parade floor at the original Temple Kyri. Rhymallian stood as he had when she’d first visited the archive, before an empty space. But instead of awaiting the arrival of the battalion, he appeared agitated. His eyes darted to the side briefly before he addressed the recording device directly.

  “I have been tasked with a measure of immortality as was decided by the council, but consider this my formal objection to the path which our people must now take. While we acknowledge our past mistakes, none have been willing to admit that we are setting up future generations to do the same while simply shifting the blame to an empty vessel. Which is why I have proposed the Kyroibi, a measure by which one among us will always carry the knowledge of what our meddling in the affairs of natural order has wrought.

  “And yet I worry my sacrifice too will be in vain. That our beliefs as a people are too shortsighted to understand the nuance and complexity of life so immeasurably different from ours. As such, a sacrifice had to be made. I have, within the Kyroibi, allowed for the bearer to restore peace. Use what I have given and prevent our shortcomings from carrying through.”

  Ellie watched the message blink away with a frown. There was a subtle shift, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her rewind and look again. Just before Rhymallian’s last, bizarre statement, there was a small jump, as if two separate recordings were spliced to make one. More likely, however, was tampering.

  “That can’t be all,” she said, frowning at the dimmed orb. “I know that can’t be all. Something was removed or erased.”

  “That is all I was able to recover,” Androyo explained. “I believe it was Master Yellenoae’s intention—”

  “How do you know of Master Yellenoae?” Ellie interrupted, suddenly feeling extremely defensive and more than a little scared. But Androyo held up his hands in a show of benevolence.

  “All that has been shared with the temple archive is available to me,” he explained. “I do believe Master Yellenoae recorded the message he left with Abinessyn with the intention that it would be a last line of defense. I also believe he intended to have his successor—the first of our ancestors to carry the burden of knowledge—keep secure the archives which housed everything our people did not want to know. I believe he saw in her the means by which the battalion could be molded, if not stopped entirely.”

  “Clearly, he was misguided,” Ellie grumbled, but her great grandfather shook his head.

  “No, I don’t believe he was. My life here has allowed an awakening of sorts. Information that had been stolen from me in life has in part returned.”

  “And that is?” Ellie asked, agitated now as Androyo seemed to be skirting the issue.

  “It is my belief that Master Yellenoae’s sacrifice was not unique. I myself saw the awakening of the battalion, both when my father passed the Kyroibi to me and when I mistakenly thought I would be the last to give my life to prevent the destruction of all life as we know it.”

  Ellie’s blood froze in her veins.

  “The last to give your life?”

  Androyo nodded. “Our benevolence comes with a price.”

  “You mean to say the battalion has awakened often, and when it does…” Ellie swallowed hard, understanding the price her great grandfather spoke of.

  “In every lifetime with the exception of your father and my daughter,” he confirmed with a sad smile. “Though I admit, the circumstances of your being her now means my plan to end the cycle of sacrifice has indeed failed.”

  “And your plan was to split the Abstractive Root of the one who was to be next in line as true master?”

  Androyo nodded.

  “But why?” Ellie asked. “What purpose was it supposed to have served?”

  “It was my belief that in splitting the Abstractive Root, one side would balance the inherent nature within the Kyroibi to right what was seen as injustice in the galaxy. However, in doing so, I created a new threat to peace in the form of dominion. The Kyroibi became a power and that power became known to those who were not as a society advanced enough to know such power.”

  “The people of the Ghowrn system,” Ellie noted, but did not elaborate on exactly which people—or person in particular—she was thinking of.

  “I thought we could use Rhymallian’s information to put a final end to the battalion’s presence. I thought we could erase knowledge of Ia’na Eidyn from our people’s collective conscious.”

  “But Rhymallian’s information was incomplete,” Ellie noted, but Androyo shook his head.

  “No, the memory you saw was what I took with me from the archive. In truth, I’d once possessed that which the temple keepers believe destroyed: the full account of Master Rhymallian’s sacrifice. However, as I said, I did not expect the ramifications of my sacrifice. I cannot say with certainty what my daughter did with the information, but I can assure you, she did not destroy it.”

  “You seem rather assured of that, given what happened.”

  “I know my legacy is that of a meddling fool,” he said with a sad smile. “I can’t take all the credit, but I did nothing to dissuade the belief that I had a personal agenda in creating what was seen as chaos. I know that I failed, but I also know that in one way, I did not. Dryova, the partial abstraction that was meant to prevent the falling of the other, told me she removed much of the knowledge before Andressa had a chance to destroy what she saw as a means to end her. Rhymallian’s original missive exists.”

  “Here?” Ellie asked, at last feeling as if she was getting somewhere.

  “She would not tell me, but I would suspect somewhere on Helsyn.”

  Ellie’s heart sank. Of all the places in the galaxy that Androyo could have named, that was the last one she wanted to attempt to explore. Well, second to last, perhaps, given Huptsovia might be the first.

  “Your hesitation is understandable, but I think you do not yet understand the full power of transcendence and what potential you can unlock if only you allow yourself to believe.”

  Ellie stared openly and with incredulity at her great grandfather. Ignoring the fact that his words sounded like the cheap platitudes on a college brochure, there was something else bothering Ellie.

  “Forgive
me,” she said, addressing her issues as delicately as possible, “but it seems there is much I am finding difficult to understand and you never fully answered my question as to how you seem to know all that has happened since your death, as well as… other things…” She trailed off, unsure if she wanted to know how he seemed to know such deeply personal information about her.

  Androyo held his hands up and gestured to the orbs of information that hovered overhead and all around.

  “I am apart and it is true that this physical form may not return to the plane where I have expired, but knowledge knows no such tether.”

  He moved over to the small desk and picked up a slender box that looked a little like a fat tablet computer. On the display, instead of applications and icons, a multi-dimensional matrix of light responded to his touch.

  “This is the catalog of the Temple Kyri,” he explained, pushing vast swaths of information to the side with a diodal command. “And this,” he said, flipping the matrix completely around, “is the annex of T’al Kyri. Naturally, it would be impossible to assimilate all knowledge without the Kyroibi, so I built this device to help me process what’s important. I’ve programmed it to constantly calibrate its own algorithms and filter out that which is unnecessary. What is left is categorized and flagged for my perusal.”

  Ellie had to admit, a device that could replicate the cataloging system that was inborn in her thanks to the Kyroibi seemed ingenious in its simplicity. On a technical level, it wasn’t at all different from the average internet search engine, but in application, it was lightyears in advance. But despite being impressed, a thought occurred suddenly that tied her stomach in knots.

  “So… I guess this means you know everything that’s been recorded in regards to my return to the Ghowrn system?”