The Land of OTE

the land of O.,T.-1E.

By Daniel Stone

PART I: ASCENDING

1 OTE

A young man was already onto the answer, although he didn’t know it yet. He had been onto the answer since he was born, and one day would tell the world what he knew. Presently, crawling on the floor, he only felt pain.

Then Samuel remembered, lying there near the dirt and the hair, something he had once read. “It’s a test,” he said to himself. “They’re testing me!” This realization wouldn’t change the fact that he had always failed their test, and would always fail their test, if some answer wasn’t found that would save him from death. At the moment, however, he found temporary relief from the dread, and momentarily lost his fear of the gauntlet.

Sam got up from the floor, thought to himself how detailed the fight simulation was - to have dirt and hair on the ground that you would inevitably be sent to - and prepared for the next attack. ‘Thank heaven,’ he thought, noticing his class time was over. Sam retired to the relative peace of the locker room, in the relative safety of the physical wing of the military school he had been attending since birth.

All citizens were born into service in OTE, it was the only way to ensure that the soldiers would stand a chance in The War. At twenty one, Samuel Chambers Ford, near graduation, thought to himself what the days of commercials must have been like. A sort of sweet dream for the human race, an escape from the reality of nature - survival at all costs. Once oil ran out, and once the destruction from those wars dismantled the only technological infrastructure that could have saved society as it was, the world was split up.

After an incredible shaking of the building and breaking of lights and blurring of vision and spreading of dust, Sam knew a bomb had struck somewhere near the vicinity of the Military School of OTE, or Ms. OTE, as the students called it. The alarms sounded, “All personnel report to duty stations immediately.”

The warmth of the locker room shower would have to wait, and Sam ran down the corridor to the transit elevator. “Sam, hold the door,” a raspy voice declared. It was Sergeant Roschol.

“Yes Sergeant,” Sam replied. The doors closed and they punched their destinations.

“Do you know how close the attack was, Sergeant?”

“No, but from the intensity I’d say not more than two or three miles away at surface level.

Probably not enough to cause serious damage, but enough to sound the alarms.”

The transit elevator shook and moaned, indicating a change of tracks and direction.

“Seems like the bombs are coming more frequently now, at least once a week. Have you heard any news from the front?”

“Only of the confidential sort, son. But I can tell you not to worry, random rocket bombs don’t mean success, especially when we’re eighty percent underground!”

In the momentary calm of the elevator, with the countries’ knowledge and teaching at his disposal, all Sam could say to his military professor was, “I guess this is my stop, I’ll see you in HisSTop.” HisSTop class was, of course, the History and Science of Topological Warfare.

Another student acronym, this sort of unregimented language occasionally slipped out among trusted instructors.

2 The Sea

Julia woke up not knowing what time it was. Something like a dream, she thought, this moment of confusion.

She had been awoken by something far off, like a tremor or a reflection, but that was just the dreaminess. As it was, she had made 4,031 credits that week, by working night shifts and extra

hours at the old Gunnery and Ammunition Depot. The GAD was never busy, and never without someone idly browsing the isles. ‘What a ridiculous store, there is never anything interesting that happens here.’ Just then the General of WarTech walked in, looking for who knows what, but mostly just looking.

“Hello young lady, have I seen you somewhere before?”

“Oh I don’t think so, I just have one of those faces I guess.” But she knew otherwise.

“Well I am looking for some quarantine canisters, not the new kind but the old sturdy ones, and I want about a thousand of them.”

“I don’t think we have that many, but there are some around back I could show you.”

“Well sure, if you don’t mind that is. I’ll just follow you then.”

In the heat of the hallway, the General thought to himself how

the girl was very much like his daughter. But to acknowledge that thought would bring up too many painful memories, and the thought came and went as quickly as the flash of an eye.

“Are you enrolled at the War Academy?”

“Yes, but I’m taking my leave early to find out what I really want to do, you know, to help the war effort and all.”

“Oh good, good. Do you have any idea what that might be?”

“Maybe pharmacology of underground stuffs. I’m not sure. I suppose I’ll find out when I’m supposed to,” although she had for some time wondered when that might be. She couldn’t face the possibility that maybe Samuel was right, and what a tragedy that would be.

3 Arrêté

“Stop! You are in violation of Article 17, you are ordered to surrender your arms immediately!” Sam looked tense, sweat beading on his forehead, hands clenched to his semi-automatic rifle, unsure if he’d made the right move in his espionage.

“I’m surrendering!” He said, still undecided as to whether he would run at the last second.

But he did not. He slid his gun across the floor and walked toward the row of pointed weapons, hands behind his head, eyes to the floor.

In this brief moment he was able to shut off the higher functions of his mind and simply feel.

He felt sad, tired, relieved it was all nearing an end, ready for death if that was to be. But he did not want to die, 'I don’t want to die!' he thought.

Julia did not know what to do with the information she had just received. Was it really worth the risk? Was he really worth the risk? Either way, the decision would have to wait, because right now she was meeting with the Ambassador’s Council, and any misspoken word, nay any

misspoken thought would be used against her.

“Good evening, Mr. Chaumber, Mr. Chen, Ms. Rayul.”

“Good evening (×3).”

“I trust your trip was a pleasant one, or at least not an unpleasant one. Please let our embassy staff know if there is anything you’d like to make your stay a more pleasant one. Now, shall we make our way to the conference center?” They did.

The meeting went as all the others did, with reassurances of alliances and terms of agreements, and a general feeling of mutual disdain at the end. The fighting would continue with said enemies, the treaties would remain intact with said acceptable infractions, and all were equally strained at the final moments of the meeting.

The General stood up, “Dignitaries, officials, and ambassadors, are there any more comments before we move on to the final topic of discussion?” The General was well schooled in never asking questions he didn’t know the answers to.

“Good, then let us move on. Although it is not in the pamphlet, I would like to close the meeting in a somewhat unorthodox way.”

There was an audible stir in the room. The General glanced assuredly in Julia’s direction, and she blushed, although no one noticed.

“It has come to my attention that there is a top secret project being performed by my military school, and the only reason I mention it so freely is that similar projects you are all working on would benefit from our breakthrough and the exchange of ideas would be mutually beneficial in this specific instance.”

The room was now tangibly nervous at the General’s clarity and forwardness.

“I am of course talking about the OTE equation. Or for those of you interested in thermodynamics," (and he flashed on the screen)

∆𝑠 =

∆𝑡 ∆𝑒

“‘entropy=time/energy.’”

The group was horrified, they were all individually aware of the power of what was on the screen, and yet up until now thought the knowledge more... esoteric.

“Blasphemy,” cried the Ambassador of Canterbury, the Center of Archival Truth and Religion.

“That equation is untrue,” yelled the Official from the Mathematics and Code Center, one of the most powerful military establishments. He got the feeling that the viciousness of his accusation fell short on this crowd.

“Sir, you are in danger of losing your rank at this table,” threatened the dignitary from HQ. This was the most serious, and most realistic, threat at the table.

After a pause, and a look as of a father to a wide eyed child, the General continued.

“Fear not. The end is near.”

4 The End

Fire. So much noise, so bright. Death had come to the military school like cancer, killing the school’s cells one by one. Except the cells were students, and no analogy could excuse the horror. Of the survivors, no one spoke. Darkness itself had become their hearts. Their breaths were no longer warmed by their bodies. All was lost. All except each other.

5V

Timothy had been studying for five days. It was his time to get a mentor, to become a marksman’s apprentice, and Samuel was the best. Julia had told him so, and she always knew, so he always listened. Even though Timothy had a talent for other, more aggressive disciplines, he thought being a crack shot would pay off somehow. Being in his seventh year at the academy, he was lucky to be considered at all. Other seventh graders had a benign respect for Samuel. Of course Timothy knew better, Sam had just practiced until he’d become the best, and that’s exactly what Timothy would one day beat. The records! To have your name on them assured your standing amongst peers, as well as consideration for top ranking military positions. The only person who didn’t seem to care about such things was Julia.

Just then SGT Roschol walked in with Samuel, and Timothy stood At Ease. “At Rest soldier.

Journeyman this is Quartermaster Samuel Chambers Ford, Marksmen, IV Class.”

“Nice to meet you Samuel,” blurted Timothy.

“Samuel will be interviewing you for the next week to see if you qualify for the apprenticeship program. Now I don’t want you to bother Sam, you hear me? He’ll test you when he has time. Fall out.”

Timothy walked out the door, containing his excitement. After all, it was the first time he’d been allowed in one of the conference centers, where so much seemed to happen among the adults of the school. He had more to study, so he’d just have to wait until called upon.

In the conference room, Roschol turned to Sam. “He’s bright but nosy. You’ll have to keep an eye on him for his sake. Can you handle it?”

“Yes Sergeant.”

“His father served in the 8th Infantry. Hell of a soldier. Alright that’s all, you’re free until Monday at 0400 hours.”

Finally, Sam could relax as he walked through campus to his vehicle, a brown pickup-jeep that he was allowed to drive because he handled the ammo and rifle kit replacements. He remembered that he needed to stop by the GAD to pick up some purchase orders, and Julia was sure to be there.

He enjoyed entering the Depot from the South Entrance because the bridge extended past The Security Division, always a dark and ominous building. This time he noticed something

different, a golden sign at the entrance he’d not seen before. “Enter the Widening Gyre.” Odd he thought, maybe he'd read it wrong, but the bridge Transport moved too quickly for him to get a second glance.

As he had hoped for, Julia was sitting behind the desk with a magazine or journal of some kind when he walked in…

6 Heaven

HisSTop class began without as much as a bell, just the moving of the clock hand indicating the passage of time. Sam had been making useless observations such as these lately. One thing that struck him was that if time increased, then what decreased? Everything seemed to have its other, energy its mass, him his her, but what of time? Suddenly he realized that such musings were the effect of a lonely heart and too much school. He’d only known happiness once, he thought, and that was a long time ago, and probably would never happen again.

“Sam what do you think?” asked SGT Roschol, quick as a whip.

“I’m sorry I spaced off for a moment.”

“Yes I know, that’s why I called on you. Pay attention.”

Sam would have cared more for the reproach, except that he had the highest grade in the class and rather admired Roschol for his powers of perception. But something was missing, as if the Sergeant was here, teaching, but in reality was somewhere else. ‘But enough of that,’ he thought, ‘better pay attention or face the consequences.’

“So you see, the 12th War of Asia Minor, when the Tribe of OTE was at their lowest, became the turning point. They let go of everything - of their treasured knowledge - in order to save their race. We now know, through collected parables and experience, that the knowledge they spoke of was an advanced memory unit that housed their collective technological experience.

So it was knowledge that they let go of, or more accurately, the memory of knowledge that was

then destroyed by the invasion of The Order of RED. Now open the Remaining Manuscripts of the Christian Bible, of the King James Persuasion.”

Sam never understood the reason for the long name assigned that book. Why not just call it The Bible? Everyone knew what it was. He also didn’t like this part of history class where the authors dug up old mystical documents which had nothing to do with the History of Science and Topological Warfare. But it was only a philosophical argument; he rather liked the meaningless parallels to parables that SGT Roschol conjured up. This one, as he anticipated, was the lesson of the knowledge of good and evil, in which Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden for partaking in forbidden knowledge. He often thought that they got ripped off, getting kicked out for curiosity and what not. That was the problem, the rules were religious. So many do’s and don’ts that one forgets what to do.

“Sam, what religious parallel to this was evidenced by the Ancient Egyptians?” He’d spaced off again.

“Sphinx” someone whispered behind him.

“Sorry, not much sleep last night, training for the physical exam and the bomb and all,” Sam mumbled.

“Alright, except the bomb is no excuse, we all went through that and we’re all still here aren’t we? And whoever whispered that answer you’re next.” The students laughed, no harm would come to any of them in this class.

As the class ended Sam thought of asking the Sergeant a question, but decided against it. In the shuffle towards the door he saw someone throw a crumpled piece of paper in the garbage,

casually, and his eyes couldn’t help but follow the white. When it landed, he saw writing that chilled him. He picked it up, almost not thinking, somehow aware that no one had noticed him, not even Roschol.

He stuck the paper in his back left pocket and walked on, realizing what Einstein meant when he said that time was relative to the observer. Time had slowed down for him. At that precise moment his front left pocket buzzed - his alerter telling him that he had an unscheduled meeting in the left conference center of the physical wing. He grabbed his badge from his back right pocket, and stepped on the nearest transit elevator.

When he arrived, he noticed he was clammy and sweaty, and at once the instructor seized on the opportunity.

“Nervous?” Rip asked.

“No.” Samuel replied, thinking, ‘what kind of a stupid name was Riptide anyway, even if it was given to him by his platoon.’

“You should be, your test begins now.”

BAAAM White, red, black, blurry and vision again.

That was the familiar thud of the combat baton, only more painful. That must mean it's real, he thought as he fell into a somersault. There were five of them, and he just spotted the observer camera floating as his feet were swiped from underneath. ‘There are no accidents.’ He noticed Rip easing away, as the peers closed in. ‘Time to begin.’

His hand rose beneath him to catch the anticipated staff swing that was the next attack, and he noticed a look of surprise in the younger peer. A jerk forward and then back was all it took to disarm the young man, a defensive block to the right forward peer, a turn, and forward staff attack and the first student was knocked unconscious.

Now there were four.

The remaining peers circled him, but they were not the problem. Rip was the problem. He circled opposite and behind the three peers as if slightly ahead of Sam himself. Left attack, easily avoided with a step backwards, back attack anticipated and avoided with a lean forward, right block, overpower, pummel, knee to the throat. In combat, spurs would have extended from Sam’s combat armor through the enemy’s carotid artery, but in simulation mode body armor signaled defeat with a taser shock.

Three left.

A blow to the back; Sam was sent lurching forward. Now that was Rip. No time… he knelt and stuck his staff into the ground, just in time to have the poor fool who followed him impale himself. Except when he turned around he noticed it was herself, a girl’s exoskeleton armor. He caught the tell tale signs of anger in the remaining peer, and he knew he had him next.

Two. Sam dropped his weapon, effectively inviting knockout and test failure. The peer lunged, hatred shining in his eyes. Sam kicked up the staff, simultaneously spun it and stepped aside, and delivered the knockout blow to the temple.

R.I.P. Congratulations, he’d passed the test, he’d defeated four same level peers and could now surrender. But he knew that no one had ever defeated an instructor before, and to surrender seemed, well, boring. At that exact moment he lost his footing, tripping over one of the peers.

He realized that the student was being electrocuted until the test was over, just as a knockout blow resonated throughout Sam’s skull.

White, RED, black.

He woke up with students and teachers around him. The lights were on, but blurry. His hearing came back with his sight, and he realized a crowd was clapping. He heard “new record,” as they helped him up, Sam still confused and disoriented.

7 Time

This was not his room; he knew he must have blacked out. The ordnance alarm sounded.

"Now, the alarm is sounding now?" The door to his room was unlocked, he walked out but fell, his legs weak beneath him. “Calm down,” someone said who was hauling him back to his room. It was SGT Roschol, “You’ll catch the next one hot shot.”

Sam was regaining his senses, the alarm seemed to put something back that had been knocked loose.

“You took quite the hit, Riptide is being reprimanded, and you may seek complaint charges.”

“No,” said Sam, “why would I want to do that?”

“Well unnecessary force for one,” said Nurse Fawcett, who had just entered the room.

Roschol laughed, “I don’t think Rip liked you beating him, it was his record that you broke, or should I say destroyed.”

“How long?”

“10 seconds. You dismantled four level IV combatant peers in 10 seconds, and you’re officially a level V. But you don’t have time to gloat. You impressed a lot of people watching and they're sending you to the front, Marksman First Class, a full year earlier than usual. You leave in the morning, Nurse Fawcett will take care of you here tonight. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Yes Sergeant” Sam replied, although he knew he could not.

“Fawcett, make sure he gets some morphine, but that it will wear off by the morning. We need him rested and ready for travel, he can finish recovery in the ride to The Transport Station.”

“Oh you grunts. Can’t you see he’s got a concussion?” Nurse Fawcett replied.

“I can see that perfectly well [he could not]. But he’ll be fine tomorrow.”

They left his room and he was at peace with his thoughts and with the pain, which had subsided due to the morphine. He was thirsty.

8 Equals

He woke up. Uniform on, shoes shined, shaved and out the door. How long could he keep this mad rush up? He reached the Tran just in time. People on the Tran were looking at him. He looked down; they stopped.

The front! No sooner were those words uttered from his mind’s eye than he saw a vision of fire, bombs, trenches, and dead bodies. A fiery sky, missiles, explosions and dirt, and the face of someone he knew but had not met.

The thought shook him to reality. “Damn” he whispered. He hadn’t even told Julia.

The Transport Station.

Who thought of shooting capsules into space only to fly back down at unbelievable speeds into pinhole targets that tunneled beneath the Earth? He'd seen the wastelands once, in a dream, not unlike déjà vu. The dream was probably the most realistic vision of the apocalyptic front he’d ever seen.

Sam realized how tired he was. Tired of it all, of the war, of the endlessly perfect logic promoted by the school. Who cares? Who gives a damn? We’re all the walking dead anyway.

The Tran jolted, the station was near. What was it that he thought of? The Tran doors opened, and he was the first to walk out. He ought to go to the Secure Communications Center.

There might be a message waiting for him there, since he'd been summoned to the front by unknown entities for unknown reasons.

9 Order-1

Questions. So much time, wasted. What was the point? Where was Julia? What happened to the General of WarTech? His disappearance was the ultimate mystery in a string of mysteries.

The darkness was important to the whole image. It was everywhere, it was in Sam, it was his night and day, it was his heart. The darkness was his heart, and gold and silver shown thru. The Tran ride was a long one, almost a full hour, what seemed like days. He had to get to the SCC. He wanted Julia. He wanted answers. But most of all he wanted the other. Names flashed before his mind. ‘Obama, Lincoln, Land Before Time, Time Magazine.’ Remnants of the past, names with little or no meaning. Let it go. What was sanity? Was it shared names? Shared beliefs? What do you want?

Sam knew he only wanted her. Time was running out. He needed to put the facts together.

The Security Division was the key - that dark and ominous building - but why? He’d been knocked out twenty four hours ago. He was still suffering from the effects of the concussion, perhaps he wasn't thinking clearly. All had melted, death was near. There was peace in forgiveness, peace and rest. He didn’t understand what he was saying. What were the five pillars he’d seen; who were they? Why had he seen them, how did he know them, could he trust them, why must he go?

The Tran door

opened.

10 X

Ten was a good number. Ten was how many commandments there were. Ten was the number of soldiers in a squadron. Sam chose entrance ten into the SCC ward.

A guard stood on either side of the door, a door leading to an unknown and unavoidable destiny.

Sam welcomed death, because he believed that death was not emptiness. Death no longer scared him, because it represented togetherness.

He wanted to be dead, to have his spirit fly across the universe. He wanted to become one with every song and image he’d ever seen, and he wanted to be together and not alone. He was drifting in and out of awareness with the outside world, and was at the entrance.

“Do you have an appointment?” The guard on the left asked.

“No sir.”

“What is your purpose in being here?” The guard on the right asked.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Please follow me,” asked the guard on the left. Sam hesitated.

“We need to make sure you get a room and that it is not reserved. Please follow me.”

Sam trusted the guard and so followed, to a room and a larger area in which people were seated. Sam looked around. He saw meaning everywhere. He saw communication everywhere.

Everything was connected, but with rules. There was life. And there were those with dark hearts. There was death, which surrounded him and moved around freely in the world. The dead seemed to be pulling the strings, pushing him along. They had brought Sam here, and would show him the door. The marble on the floor reminded him of nothing he’d ever seen before, even though he’d seen marble. It was because he saw the marble.

The guard spoke, “Do you have a reason for being here?”

“Yes.” “Can you please tell me what that reason is.”

“I’m here because I have to be here.”

“Do you have anything on you such as knives, drugs, or weapons?”

“No.” “Do you have any confidential knowledge that you might use for espionage or that you might communicate to the enemy that might compromise OTE in any way?”

Sam saw a flash in the eye of the guard.

“Yes.” He now realized he was the object of attention for at least three guards.

“I’m going to put you in handcuffs now. You are being held against your will and will be

released at a time we deem appropriate. Do you comply?”

Sam did not comply. He still had things to do before he was ready to surrender. What had been the meaning of the Gyre? Where was she? What was on the crumpled piece of paper in his back pocket?

“Yes,” Sam lied.

“Hands on the back of your head.”

Sam put his hands at the base of his skull.

The guards approached.

11 RED

Alone in a cell. What had the crumpled piece of paper said? He didn’t care what. He wanted to stay in his cell forever. Here he was safe from the world, from the observer, from the RED. He wanted to stay forever alone in a cell where at least he had peace. Just then the guard slid the window shutter open, looked, and closed it. The handcuffs were tight, and Sam momentarily thought he might be able to break them. What year was it? He realized he couldn’t remember what year it was. Did that even matter? Was there anything he couldn't let go of? Could he let it all go?

The guard came in. “I’m going to uncuff you now, are you going to remain compliant?”

“Yes.” “You have some powerful friends. Here are the items we confiscated, including the alleged confidential information.”

Sam looked at the piece of paper, and read what it said. “The Sphinx is like the constellation of Leo and Virgo or something and that means that the Egyptians believed in the Bible and HisSTop sucks and Samuel Chambers sucks too.”

Stunned, Sam let out a smirk. It was all a melt down. A momentary crack, a buckling under pressure. Temporary sanity. Or, temporary insanity, that’s what he meant. He’d been putting things together that weren’t there. The Gyre, time, it was all in his head. He had even mused that The Order of RED was involved. Sam was relieved to be on his way. His ticket directed

him far away from the SCC, on the other side of the station at the gates of the transit section.

Gate E42 on Wing X76. Simple - head north through the maze and labyrinth that was The Transport Station.

Sam felt like running, but walked, almost floated along. He realized his ticket was in his right hand and so put it in his right front pocket, put the crumpled paper in his back left pocket, and enjoyed the sights and sounds of those freed from fear, for they would not be here were they afraid of death. “All those who go to the front must die,” was the motto of some of the crazier platoons. Being a marksman, Sam would probably be assigned a sniper role and would not have to deal with the platoon comradery shit. He never liked depending on anyone anyway.

But then he stopped short. He realized he did not want to go to the front. He wanted to go back to the GAD. But to do so would be to disobey an order. He would have to backtrack, follow the underground Tran railways and avoid security checkpoints and cameras. He realized he was already making the decision to become a fugitive. He had made the choice the moment he remembered her. He was no longer walking toward Gate E42, but toward the Gunnery and Ammunition Depot, and he was no longer in control of his body. His distaste for light and noise returned. It was as if the light represented the observer, that damn camera floating during his combat test, or the gaze of incredulous and hostile strangers on the Tran. The observer was everywhere; he had never longed for darkness so much in his life. He wanted to be surrounded by it, he wanted to find the deepest darkest place in the universe and stay there forever.

He was running now, running as fast as he could. Away from the noise, away from the light.

The light and noise seemed to flock together, like birds of a feather, and so he ran from shadow to shadow. Light, noise, smells haunted him, not just of people but of a certain kind of people,

those afraid of death who were after Sam. But Sam could not fail, because he was not trying to succeed. He was already complete. He was complete because he believed. He believed in the other.

He pulled out the crumpled paper again, and noticed something he’d not seen before. It was a word. One word at the bottom of the page. G y r e. Gyre. Scribbled but as clear as day. As if the author had known what Sam held closest to him. And then Sam remembered. He remembered the poem from his childhood:

Spiraling out into the Widening Gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer The center cannot hold Chaos is loosed upon the world And what rough beast Rises up towards Bethlehem to be born?

The author was unknown but Samuel knew the poem was intended for the present. It must have been passed down from the time of the author until now. The thought struck him that he was in the Book of Revelation, and that the Antichrist ruled the world.

Sam no longer cared about his faith in science, or his distaste for religion, or philosophy. It was all the same, all the same meaning, all the same truth. Two. One. Two become one.

But he did not want to die. And according to theology, if he fought against the Antichrist he would be martyred. That much was clear from HisSTop. And why did he get the feeling that the Antichrist was a companion? And why did he feel like he needed to go to The Security Division? He could not just enter the SD, he would need to bypass their defenses, made to keep the unworthy out, he thought. But he had to get to the inner circle that existed behind those closed doors, to the five pillars, to the Gyre. He was now sprinting down an empty track.

12 Ascent

Signs in the night. He could sense them. A noise here, an insect there. He was climbing. He figured he’d spend the night underneath the cavern ceiling, away from the tracks where he’d be safe. He felt an animal stalking him. Every sound was from the same entity. The entity would kill him if only it could destroy what he held. Sam realized for the first time what he had. A full heart. His heart had gone from broken to darkness. It felt as if he were dead. He still had a pulse, still breathed. But he felt as though he were at once dark and free. He welcomed the darkness around him. He reveled in it. He welcomed the beast, he welcomed death for he knew he could not die. He had read once how at the edge of black holes matter was brought into the universe from the fabric of spacetime itself, how matter and antimatter split apart and recombined, and matter was created if it did not recombine. He felt like he had found the other and was circling her as they surrendered to the dark and violent animal that stocked them both.

The animal stocked out of fear, and was tamed for want of knowledge to end that fear. He looked into the darkness. He became at peace with the darkness and with the animal. He let it have what it wanted. He let it ravage him, destroy him, destroy them. He surrendered completely. If it wanted to kill, he let himself be killed. But it did not, because he knew what the animal in the darkness did not know, that there was no death. There was only darkness.

13 Descent

Sam felt exuberance, peace, fulfillment on the hike back to the track. He was a fugitive from the law, and emptied his pockets to leave everything behind. One crumpled piece of paper, one expired ticket, one badge and one alerter, left on the trail to satisfy the beast. He now had nothing, was nothing, he let go of everything, and was free. There was no war, it was an illusion too.

Just then in the distance a light shown through. But not too brightly, and Sam did not feel the need to run from it. The light was a slow moving Tran, probably returning from a supply run to the station. As Sam approached, his guess was confirmed, “GAD Supply.” He jumped on an empty container to hitch a ride. Since this was not a speed Tran, Sam had at least eight hours of solid darkness before he would be anywhere near a security checkpoint and the lights. He listened to the sounds of the tracks, somehow reminding him of the sea he had lived by as a child, and fell asleep. He dreamt of Julia. He believed in love.

14 Observer

RED. Sam awoke with a start. He looked at the graffiti on the wall of the Tran car, though the first sentences were illegible:

the perfect justice of shared memory and communication

At the next gently sloping hill, Sam hopped off the Tran. He did not want to risk sleeping again. The words struck him, “shared memory and communication.” Everything was connected. He thought of The Order of RED. Did they even exist?

15 End

Fire. So much noise. Sam had arrived back at the school to see it in flames. The RED had

intercepted codes that revealed the location, Satellite-Defense-System, and the weak points of Ms. OTE. Death was everywhere. Darkness was everywhere. A deep depression sunk over Sam. He saw someone alive in an alley with drugs, injected himself, and walked on.

Things were pictures now. Pictures and disjointed sounds. He was wandering, directed from within, heart still beating, but all else uncertain.

The pictures turned into lights, and the lights into forms.

He was conversing with the five pillars.

They were speaking to him without words, thoughts, ideas, or knowledge.

All was removed. He observed, learned, and walked on.

A burning horse walked by, and it looked at Sam, and said without speaking, "All is lost, turn around now, you are unwelcome here."

A little girl with a dream and a bear asked Sam, "Why?" but Sam could not talk for his mouth were sewn shut.

And then Sam knew. He had caused the destruction. He was responsible. Somehow he had brought death to the school. Was it the note? Had he leaked out some sensitive information he didn't realize? Yes, he was responsible, but not because of the note. He was dead, but before he died he had set things in motion, he had caused the opportunity for RED to attack. He had betrayed Julia. He had hurt everyone he ever cared about. He had killed. He wept as he walked.

"Oh why?" How could he have known. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. All was lost. The war was lost. His soul, his love's soul, were lost.

16 The Beast

Sam woke up. He was in a ditch, covered in dirt, not sure what was real. Disoriented, confused, his head pounded. He read a partially burned passage, still clinging to the leather cover of some charred diary. ‫ְּב לִַּי֫ עַל‬ ‫ווו‬ ‫ואו‬

Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand. He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith ‫ וכן לחזור בתשובה‬,‫ להיות קנאי לכן‬:‫ אני ועל מגערת ליסר‬,‫ כמה שאני אוהב‬.‫ אל הכנסיות‬The four beasts had each of them six wings about him; four and twenty elders fell down and worshipped ‫ום ראשון ום שש‬.

Part II: Transcending

17 Birth

Samuel was not dead. In fact, he was far from it; he knew what to do. He had to end the war.

OTE was a moniker for a time past, RED was a distant enemy that had long lost its luster. He would have to go to the SD, but it was not The Order of RED, or The Land of OTE, or The Security Division that was the focal point. Another, lesser organization, made its living off of deceit and espionage, had no allegiance to either power, and fed off of both. It was The Axiom, that otherworldly party that seemed to come out of nowhere and go to nowhere that he must

find. For they were the rulers now, and Sam had to make sure that they gained power and dominance over the earth, and that they established a new government, and that finally there would be peace. Sam left the memories and distant ruins behind him. He headed for the SD, that dark and ominous building that he had seen so many times. He headed there to find answers, and to learn where to go.

18 The Security Division

Sam wandered. He knew where he was going, but he didn’t have to be there at any time, so he could take his time. The difficulty was being outside of communication with the inhabited world. He was in a desolate place of death and needed human contact. He meandered to his destination. The Security Division was still intact, and he entered the widening gyre knowing what awaited him. He was bringing peace to a world so devastated, why should he not feel excitement? Those deaths, those countless deaths were but a dark part of his past now, like something imagined and not real. He climbed the spiral stairs, up and up, until he came to a door that was open. He entered, as if he’d been there before, but was entering for the first time.

What a beautiful building. The Security Division was built on an impenetrable infrastructure, with safety standards for earthquakes, bombs, floods, direct projectile attacks, and even the attack of an explosive device. It was now abandoned. The safest building in all of OTE, without a soul left to inhabit it. He walked through the door, light streaming in through the wall and window where giant holes and pieces of the building's skin were entirely missing. He saw a form standing, silhouetted in the light - a female form with a drink, dark and hard to make out, but nonetheless there.

His eyes adjusted and he saw her, and wondered if she knew he was there. She turned to him.

“Hello Sam.” Sam Hesitated. “Hello…” “Mrs. Cunningham. I was foreman here of special operations. A file for you is on the desk.” Sam saw a manila file, opened it and looked at several photos of a memory bank, called the Central Unit Terminal.

“It's the answer you’ve been looking for. The reason this whole thing started,” Mrs. Cunningham said, looking out the bare hole in the building. “It’s as if we caused all this destruction, as if we are responsible.”

“That's not true,” Sam replied, “In fact, how do we even know what we're looking for?”

Mrs. Cunningham sighed. “Because this is our story, and we have to be the ones to share it with the world.”

Sam took the file and left, Mrs. Cunningham stirring her glass. Sam realized the great weight and heavy burden that this file contained. He read it.

19 The File

Sam read and quickly finished. There was only ten or twelve pages. But what it contained was earth shattering. And he knew where he must take it. Directly to The Order of RED. It would destroy them, they would not be able to handle its pressure and would buckle under its weight, the weight of the reason why - why OTE must have its domain, why The Axiom must lead and why RED must follow. It told all, and was correct.

He sat for a moment, paused. He knew where to make his delivery. He headed for The Relay Station, that place that everyone knew of but no one seemed to care about, like it was a tree, a part of the landscape. The Relay Station was a hub for communications abroad, a place where all communications were open, at all times. It was about fourteen miles away, and while Sam walked, he wondered what he would say. He had to get his message out so clear and concise, so vividly apparent that action would be immediately taken and there would be no room for doubt. He found himself running to the building. When he arrived, panting and out of breath, he still didn’t know what to say, or if the building even still had open lines of communication.

It did.

This was the message he sent, to be picked up by the General of WarTech’s staff and intelligence infrastructure, a desperate call for help and information as to how to win the war.

General Dwight I have a file that locates the Central Unit Terminal. It is not destroyed, and I’m going to give it to The Order of RED. This will happen in approximately twenty four hours, at the edge of the front.

They will have the knowledge to rebuild their society as it was, and The Land of OTE will be safe. The Axiom will know what to do then.

Sam encrypted and sent the letter to Julia’s Numerical Identity. If she was still alive, the message would get through. If she was not, then Sam was not alive either. His hopes and dreams went out with this message.

20 The Event

Julia did not know what to do with the information she’d just received. She wondered if Sam was right, and if so, what a tragedy that would be. So much time, wasted. So many lives, lost, all for naught. All because the powers that be could not reconcile themselves with each other.

All because we could not reconcile ourselves. She immediately went to General Dwight.

“What is this?” General Dwight asked, as Julia handed him the file.

“It’s the meaning behind DNA, it’s the solution, sir.” She left immediately.

General Dwight read the manuscript, the transmission sent from Samuel Ford. He took his glasses off, and sighed, feeling a sense of power and finality, finally having arrived at what he knew would come. How many days had he expected this now? He would arrange the meeting in the morning, and he would tell all his colleagues of the equation, they would spit and bark and bite, but they would not chew. He would tell them in the morning, tonight he would have his peace, his moment of tribute.

After a pause, he looked at them as of a father to a wide-eyed child. “Have faith. The End is near.”

“You cannot possibly share this equation, and all that it holds," yelled the Ambassador of Canterbury, the Center of Archival Truth and Religion.

“This equation is untrue!” reiterated the Official from the Mathematics and Code Center.

“You will lose your seat at this table if your plan goes according to the implications you have presented us with,” responded the dignitary from HQ.

21 Sea

Samuel went to the designated location. He had already committed espionage; he had already taken space capsules at blinding speeds up through the outer atmosphere and down into pinhole targets and into tunnels deep within the earth. He had done so, in enemy territory, to meet with one man. This man:

“I am Admiral Tzarpen.”

“I am Samuel Ford.”

“How can I know this is not a ruse.”

“You cannot.”

“Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

“Because that was not the terms of our agreement over communications.”

“You may go.”

Sam’s heart was racing. He had the distinct feeling of his heart actually pounding out of his chest. The Tran that he had now illegally boarded with the help of RED spies would take him to certain imprisonment. He stepped off the Tran, and his biometric information was immediately scanned. Within a minute police, military police, federal police, secret police, and several security forces arrived.

“Hands on your head,” said the leader of the militia.

“I’m ready to surrender,” Samuel replied.

He had come so far and done so much. He sensed everything, the light on the walls, the air drifting in from outside on the sheltered inhabitants of this structure. He put his hands on his head, took to his knees, and was immediately restrained and cuffed. Taken to a deeply secure cell, he had no visitors for days. He wondered who brought him food and water, there was never enough. He felt himself growing weaker, but he did not mind. He knew what would come. In two weeks it did.

He recognized General Dwight, accompanied by Julia. “Julia…” Sam’s voice trailed off.

Silence stirred in the room.

“Sam, you have given RED the location of the Central Unit Terminal. As they sift through the ruins of the location which is in their control, they will have enough. They will have the technology to completely annihilate the entire planet, let alone us. But they will not have the ability to build such an empire, the mineral deposits or ore to complete the task, the people to build for them. They will soon realize this and they will come to The Final Summit, and the Axiom will preside. The Axiom will decide our fate. You are released, your name and file and actions have been demolished, there is no record of you in any system besides your birth and school record. For all the world knows, you were in the Military School of OTE when it was bombed; you are a survivor. I know this is a lot to take in.”

Sam looked at Julia with tired and satisfied love. “I would like you to allow Julia and I to leave here, to go back to the sea, to a place I remember from my childhood."

“It is done,” The General replied.

The End

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the reader. May love light your way, even when your path is dark. The equation described in this book is a metaphor for the equality that should exist for people whose personalities exhibit traits or characteristics that medical science has attributed to some combination of the hormones of oxytocin, testosterone, and estrogen.

Poems

by Samuel Ford

transcendence The circle rises to spiral a shroud A syrinx cons the world into oblivion In all this we ask...

“Where are you God?”

oat Two strings weaving through time Green and beige and in tune