Abbalar Tales ~ 25

Abbalar Tales ~ 25  Revisionists 2

By Len Morgan

   One moment, Genna was gazing into the portal the next she was falling into an endless void.   When she felt firm ground beneath her feet once more she opened her eyes, to find herself outside the walls of the city, gazing longingly across at the Poche Platzi.   She crossed the road without realising she was now alone.   There was a sign on the door: Artists Wanted, apply within.   She entered the house of ill repute, conscious that this had always been her childhood dream.   It was as though the past six months had never happened.   She was no longer a child and her inner desires were close to fulfilment.   Whether dream or reality, she was not concerned, this was what she had always wanted.    She could hear the music, Sexy and seductive, she moved into the light…

.-…-. 

  Skaa stepped through the portal and into full sunshine, the colour temperature totally unique to one place only to his certain knowledge.   He gazed around him, everything was as it should be, and two hundred feet below him he could see the family farm.  It was late summer and the Easterly facing slopes were overgrown with lush ripe red fruit.   He placed several of the small grapes between his lips drawing them into his mouth, testing their texture with his tongue and crushing them slowly against the roof of his mouth.   He smiled with approval as the sharp sweet juice burst forth into his mouth.   A taste and memory that cast him instantly back to his childhood.   His limbs were strong his muscles supple and springy the agues and aches from the many wounds, that had plagued him constantly, were gone from both his body and from his memory, he was home.  It seemed that fifty years were slewn away from him, in an instant; it was as though he had never left.   He looked at his hands with incredulity, he had been walking and the house was much closer now, he felt excitement charge his limbs, and broke into a run…

.-…-. 

   'Why did you bring them?   You must know that standards are not permitted here?' the voice in his head upbraided him.

Aldor gazed down at the two who had entered the portal with him; both lay unconscious on the floor of the chamber.

'Put them in the easy room they will be out of harm's way there.' A door opened, revealing a neat white room, bathed in a gentle pink light, containing two single cots.   He laid them both carefully down, and covered them, allowing the door to close as he left.

'Where are we' he asked.

'If you need to ask, you are not of this world or you are damaged in some way.'    He felt a sharp pain and experienced a bright spot expanding within his mind and with it, his memory returned.   In addition, as the brightness enveloped his mind it brought with it further enlightenment.

He knew Raelon was not his real name, but for the second time, in a matter of months, he had been renamed by the same young woman; the one he knew as Genna.

'All that I know, you now know' he thought the words and knew them to be true.

The fresh voice speaking in his mind was familiar and yet not the mind of a living entity.

'I have been inactive for longer than the creators intended.   I know that when last I was conscious humankind were trying valiantly to banish war, and all other forms of conflict, but ABBALAR had already been ravaged by centuries of excess.   Most of humanity elected to travel out to the stars seeking new worlds to inhabit; a new beginning in virgin pastures as yet untainted by man.   Aeons passed, and their migration disappeared from the memories of those who remained.   Of those, 99% elected to turn their backs on the technology and machines that had brought this world to the brink of ruin.   They returned to the more natural ways of farming and husbandry, living in harmony with nature.   In time they knew their planet would recover but they did not want future generations to be subject to the same temptations they had succumbed too.

So, when the last ships left their launch pads, the enormous circles of silica rock, became the foundation sites for new cities and towns.   But, the people were so disaffected with the old ways that, after building these new cities, they chose to desert them and favour the countryside and an agrarian way of life.   The cities fell into disuse and decay, as nature relentlessly reclaimed its own.   Just 1%, a tiny sect, chose to continue making use of computers and continue to perpetuate the discarded technologies that had once made man a power in the universe.   This sect was known as REVISIONISTS, they were reviled and persecuted by the majority, and learned to develop teach and practice in secrecy within their own groups.   They are the ones who continue to develop the questioning mind that is able to communicate with higher-level machines.   Within just a few thousand years the others - the STANDARDS - lost the ability altogether.   Most of the machines now exist either in sleeping, or sentinel mode, since the few occasional demands made of them are little more than routine operations.   AEONS passed and this place, together with many other similar complexes, was completely forgotten.'    The world ceased to have any real technology.  

'Then the KARAXEN arrived.   The 'Standards' of course had no defences.  They had lost the mental capacity to use the existing defences, even if they had been able to access them.   Finding little resistance and, by their criteria, no intelligent life on Abbalar they deemed it ripe for exploitation.   Despite their technological superiority, the struggle (I hesitate to use the word War) lasted for centuries during which time humans became fugitives; living in caves and inhospitable environments where the Karaxen chose not to go.   Anywho became too prominent were hunted and exterminated like vermin, gassed, poisoned, shot and burnt out of any area capable of being inhabited by the Karaxen.  Throughout all this, the 'Revisionist' cult continued to exist and thrive, in small communities.  They maintained the computers and machines whilst keeping the old ways alive.   At the start of the invasion, when the Revisionists first became aware of the Karaxen, they sent out distress calls to the stars appealing for help from those who had left.   Some ships did eventually return disabling the then long-deserted Karaxen mother ship which had been abandoned in orbit.   They had adopted a policy of non-interference with races below a certain development level, and since the 'Standards' had degenerated below that level, and the Karaxen were not a race with whom they could coexist, they left.   The Karaxen were then effectively marooned on Abbalar.

 'Does that mean there are still Revisionists?   Of course; you do not allow ‘Standards’ to enter here so who maintains the place?'

'’Standards are not capable of comprehending the nature of this place, what they do not understand they will invariably destroy.   Yes, there are others like you "Revisionists" who do know and understand.'

'I need to find them, to enlist their help,' said Aldor.

'The larger communities live to the north, your friend Wizomi has gone in search of them.   He implores you to leave that task in his hands and continue with your own quest.   He will contact you when he has news.   He counsels you against revealing our existence, to non-revisionists and, especially Orden - he is not of this world.'

'Orden would never act against our interests,' Aldor assured.

'Orden is a good and loyal friend to Abbalar but, he cannot hide what you tell him from the Universal Network.'

'But, Wizomi and I both use the UN' Aldor said.

'Ah, but there is a difference, they are able to skim the surface of your mind but, they are not able to delve deeper unless you consciously give them consent to do so.   That is why secrecy is necessary, that is also why they are so interested in you.   You alone, of all the races, have the ability to shield your minds and deny them access to your innermost thoughts.   They can access only what you are prepared to reveal.'

'I knew he was hiding something from me,’ Aldor smiled with satisfaction, 'they fear us?'

'If so, you should hope they are not like men, who habitually destroy anything they fear or do not understand,' the voice replied.  

'If we are unique to them, what became of those who travelled to the stars?' he asked.

'All I can tell you is what I learned from the past, and what I learned from your mind at the moment you entered the portal.   At that instant past, present, and future, cease to have meaning.   Wizomi would say that you sing for your supper.'  Aldor grinned and pictured the machine smiling with him.

"Is there another way out of here?" he asked, clearing his throat.  

'Follow the blue line on the wall' it answered.

'How will my friends fare' he asked.

'They will sleep and dream happily enough for four days, and then they will hit a block.   You must return for them within four days or they may not survive.'

'How will I be able to return for them?' he asked.   Pictures and maps began forming in his mind.

'When you leave the sanctuary of this portal, you will be unable to commune with the outsider known as Orden.   This is necessary to protect the knowledge I have passed on to you.  I have buried it deep in the recesses of your mind; it must never be divulged to outsiders.  To ensure its security I have set up blocks in your unconscious memory, however, should you need access it will be instantly available.  Remember, if Orden knew, or even suspected, the existence of this place, he could not hide it from others in the UN.    On the table behind you, there are documents of introduction to Asba Dylon, first counsellor of Corvalen.'  

'He is a highly placed and respected official, at the palace, I know him well’ Aldor replied.

‘I think you have changed a little since last he saw you.   There is also something you do not know about him; he is a ‘Revisionist’ and, therefore a friend.  You will have sore need of friends in the near future.’ 

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan