Genesis - the Battle Within (Pillars of Creation Book 1) (5 page)

What looked like a fine gas engulfed her wounds, but Rotas knew that an army of nano-swarms were being released onto and inside her wounds. Eventually, she felt a sense of relief as the tiny bots began dissecting and removing one molecule at a time of the ion-round casings, residues and surrounding scoring. In a matter of seconds the millions of bots removed the source of her wounds and began on the harder task of repairing any damage caused to her body; she felt little relief as a screen flashed up on the droid with the familiar words, ‘As long as it is not major organs that are destroyed, patients generally have an eighty-two per cent chance of recovering from most minor wounds. Please take care though, in the event of hazardous situations, to avoid incoming projectiles … not
all
wounds are operable … please do have a good day …’

Rotas snorted. She’d seen enough men die atop of these droids to know that the message didn’t mean a hell of a lot. She sat back and relaxed a bit as new drugs numbed the excruciating pain and the MMR droid finished its work.

Meanwhile, Stiggs and Phoenix took point on the corridor, covering their position while their captain was seen to, and West and Ace set up the ion turrets. Rotas knew she would be well covered, these were her most trusted men after all.

Osiris felt the comm buzz in his pocket, again trying desperately to get the attention of its owner. Slightly annoyed, he ignored it; he hated this form of technology and couldn’t see what could be so blasted important.

The Immortal Historian quickly put it out of mind and tapped his pointer on the podium. He paused before continuing his sermon, a sermon that always gave him trouble. Deep down he hated its motive, it always felt like he was trying to sell something, something that shouldn’t have to be sold, and which the humans, if knowing better, would submit to easily.

But as always, he sighed and continued. It seemed they needed resistance before opening their minds to the righteous path, the illusion that there was choice in their fates.

Osiris cleared his throat, shaking the thought and remembering that it was for the disciples’ own good that he played this charade. He added a note of importance to his modulated tones, and as he addressed the hundreds in the audience he looked unfazed across the sea of faces, his hive of a mind picking the SINAI’s indoctrination precisely to draw followers to its will.

“So as I was saying,” he continued, “this path that I and my brothers lead you on and that has been handed down from our SINAI, my young disciples, is now our combined path – our destinies are bound together. Our SINAI, the Sacred Intercessor of all Nations and Artificial Intelligence, made the Immortals strong so we can lead you, our weaker children, through the perils of the narrow path to faith and salvation.” 

How’s that for an opener,
he thought with a smug note of self-confidence.

He gestured emphatically, “An overkill some might say, but all to make sure we are strong enough to oppose those heretics to the cause, and take you safely with us. Yes, the Immortals are your guardians, designed in our own High Creator’s image, living out their beliefs and instructions beyond their human tendencies and thereby becoming our faith’s sanctimonious leaders.

“Our techniques are schooled from the Sacred Temple, its texts divulging our way and the path to lead humanity to its coming salvation and future – a future we all dream of and which, if eligible, may be possible for any of you to obtain and lead within too!”

There’s that lie again
.
He criticised himself, despite knowing it was for their own good. His pause unnoticed, he forged on to the feeble in faith before him, slightly aggravated by their need for more persuasion.

“If joining us – the Immortals – as many of you desire to do, you will be classed hierarchically into one of three categories. The Elders
,
the Historians – the same as my class, or, more likely for any of you, the Wielders.

“The ruling class, the Elders, are the bravest ones of the once Immortal soldiers, those who chose to sacrifice themselves to be physically integrated into the SINAI, and I might add, are the ones who are made anew in this transformation – a living joint entity. Which is, as I alluded to earlier, bound on the same Sacred Path as our entire Order. They guide us, its beloved people, and use their superiority as the highest point of authority in all of Terithian space.

“But of course, that is not all they do. For example, this entity, this omnipotent compass, guides our true future and goals, and all SED matters. The entire Sacred Earth Directive is largely influenced by it, the SINAI, and its own divine direction and protection is shared. It counsels the many factions along the narrow path of prophecy, and the most important endeavours of fate and time are all derived through its construct. All understanding derived from the words of the Sacred Temple on Mars Prime come through our SINAI.”

Osiris shook his head, “But I shan’t delve too deeply into the role of the Elders for now, as we will be concluding on this note to end our session today.” He took a quick breath and smiled around the room as the many faces eagerly waited for him to move onto the subject they were all here for, the next class of Immortal. Using his skill in public speaking, he tantalised somewhat more, before appeasing them entirely.

“Next, under our infused Elders and SINAI, there are the
Historians, who through study of the Creators’ texts have significant power over their own psychic abilities and Rieft talents. Their knowledge of the Sacred words, gifted from the High Creator himself, gives them unparalleled Rieft talent and raw ability. Their gifts enable those chosen for this path to wield the High Creator’s power and knowledge, forecast events far into the future, and focus and direct the SINAI’s masterful and grand endeavours.

“The SINAI, our almighty channel to our deity and most holy of creations, delegates these matters to its lesser subjects and disciples within our Order to ensure its route is carefully taken and carried out in due course, giving the Historians a high seat at the hierarchical table indeed.”

Osiris smiled again as the audience whispered reverently at the mention of the religion’s more mystical roots. Responding to their reactions, he continued, “Yes, if you are successful in joining the Historians, then you too will have such a seat of power. In just the beginning with these gifts you’ll be able to receive your own internalised nanoid group, grafted within you, and be able to repair your skin and organs while simultaneously freezing the decay of time for your fledgling earthly bodies. Advancement in science and technology has come a long way thanks to our Order, and it is only fitting we wield some of its greatest to improve our lives.

“Oh … but I must point out, as I will not lie to you, that unlike the Wielders – often mistaken by our popular media – the Historians do not have a macro-system of nanoids making up a suit of Apocalypse armour. Historians are not to be gifted with such attributed militarised and arbitrary shells. This is due to the Historians’ Rieft talent being inhibited by such technology. Nevertheless, a Historian is no less capable than a Wielder, and quite to the contrary in fact, they are powerful enough to not need such physical manifestations. Which brings me to our Order’s last class; the Wielders
themselves.”

The audience was now spellbound, listening as every word fell from the Historian’s lips and bounced through the hall; the mere mention of the Wielders captivating them. “Those selected or who make it through a Tour of the Sacred Path will most likely be suited to this last type of Immortal. While Historians have a tendency to be well and truly picked up by this stage of testing, the Wielders are the Order’s more tempered sanctions, and are found more often through physical application and trial, rather than testing.

“Wielders are fierce warriors of the faith and although having much slighter Rieft abilities than Historians, are unmatched physically by any foe the enemy can summon or throw at them. With lightning reflexes, a nano-enhanced DNA, a suit that can heal them of almost any grievous wounds, and the same internal nanoid system as the Historians – for
internal
damage control – they are the almost indestructible harbingers in fleshly form. They are exactly what is needed for these dark times, and as protectorates of the Sacred Faith my children, they assist the Historians to vanquish SED threats and ensure the true word and way is followed throughout our entire galaxy.

“Unlike the Historians, who can manipulate the Rieft far more inherently, the Wielders infuse their power within a Sacred object from history’s past significant campaigns and struggles. These symbolic objects, which
select
a budding Wielder, must be rife with the correct Rieft signature and become submitted with complete sacrifice. The Rieft binds itself to the weapon and their joint entity – a little how the Elders bind themselves to the SINAI deity – and they journey together, bringing faith to the faithless and strength to the SED’s cause. Through this bond Wielders can manipulate and bridge its connection and strengthen their power to the point of unyielding physical supremacy.

“Yes, these symbols of our religion’s endowment are based on and earned through trialled and secret techniques, passed down by our High Creator himself, through our Elders and ancestors within the SINAI and the Way of the Sacred Order. Constructed from the ancient designs of our people and civilisations past, they are the embodiment of a culture lost and the resurrection of strength forged anew. A weak, perceivably feeble, weapon of ancients is made more lethal than even the greatest technologies our enemy can conjure. Once they dip their weapon into the Mouziz stone it is a thread into the direct pathways of our ancestors and the SINAI – the Rieft flows freely through them and that is what gives them strength and foresight to judge you with, right into their DNA core.

“The Mouziz stone, which in truth was two stone tablets, were uncovered atop ancient ruins, created to govern the chosen, it now imbues
our
chosen to judge. Using the SINAI’s interpretation to use its words of power to pass on this right and empower those who use it to triumph over evil.

“One portion is here, giving this Temple a power to light our way and train the Historians, another is upon the SINAI, giving our Elders even more dynamic power. Its energies flow out to the training grounds, where our selected guardians, the Wielders, must also endure the stone’s trials, and then if being worthy, they can receive its energy within them, in their final sacred ceremony.”

Osiris paused, remembering the mighty battles he himself had been in, with his Wielder brothers at his side. A strange expression came over him as in his mind’s eye he saw some of those weapons falling, spinning freely to the ground as a hand fell limp and a life-force lost its energy… he blinked away the image as he remembered where he was. The old Immortal struggled to shake the sadness off and go on, trying hard to hide the sorrows of his long past. Far off he felt the echoing concern for his Wielder brother’s eternal plight and challenges they all faced in this dangerous era.

Genesis was stuck. The elevator was either jammed or not in use, blocking the other end of the vent. He was forced to sit and wait as his AI tried to hack into the enemy ship’s system and move it.

In the dark silence, his mind began reflecting over the events that had led him to this point – wearisomely crawling on his belly through an enemy’s ventilation shaft that was deemed crucial for the
betterment of humankind
– falling into meditation. He enjoyed this time; it was the only time he became his true self, able to see his second personality as a separate entity, with it unable to butt in.

How long had it been now, too many years to count, but enough to still be painful? His past was a scarred place, and the wounds from the loss of his Master clung like shadows to his nights … and not the shadows he liked …

His long-gone Master had vanished, along with the portal, in the Holy Wars, but the wounds felt fresh enough to fester, bringing a flood of bitterness as he remembered his saviour, his Sovereign, his mentor. Yet beneath all the pain, he knew the arduous training and procedures had made him into what he was today, an Immortal zealot of their faith. His Master had lifted him from the stench of his childhood – the gangs, the poverty, the constant struggle for survival, and worst of all, the hate and fear of himself that most mortals who truly knew themselves had. It was the reason he enjoyed the company of Rotas so much; he saw these qualities reflected in the woman he’d allowed to get to know him.

But Master Zeal had taken him above all that; somehow he’d made him into something else, something with … potential.

At first, when his Master had taken him as a young boy, the hate had remained, along with the nightmares. Zeal was just another adult who couldn’t be trusted, and his constant and brutal training regime had been a homage, he’d thought, to all those before him.

Master Zeal had made him bring only one thing from his horrid days on the streets, and that was the fortitude to stay upright and breathing. He had to be better than the best, faster than the fast. Zeal’s training was painfully meticulous and Genesis couldn’t miss the slightest detail, not ever, lest he be punished severely, or worse, be killed due to his lack of attention. Indeed, it was a miracle he was still alive. A fact he knew he had to attribute to his second, religious, personality.

The initial years in the Way of the Sacred had
all
seemed like punishment though, just more shit heaped upon his already shitty life. Just more oppression to finally break his already broken spirit …

But in hindsight, Genesis knew it had been for his own protection. No it wasn’t a miracle he’d survived – it was his Master’s tuition that had kept him breathing all this time. He’d been weak and his Master had known it, everyone knew it, and without his brutal training and commissioned personality, he would have died at the outset of his trials. Had his Master known his ability to use the Rieft was so badly broken, back then, maybe he wouldn’t have apprenticed him at all?

Possibly he’d known – either way Genesis still had to show them … show them like everyone else in his life that no matter what, he couldn’t be broken. His spirit wouldn’t and couldn’t allow it. He always had to get up and he always would try. Broken nose, ribs smashed, limbs twisted – shattered, stretched and bruised – whatever it took and not taking regard of what might be telling him to give in, eventually the nagging voices and pain became just an annoyance. He could then, and only then, use the resulting resolve as a sharp and clear reminder to do better and learn faster, not as a mortal that fought for life, but as an Immortal set to prove he belonged.