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[Fiction] Quanta - Exile


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The Storm unleashed,

The Quantum-fired mind,

I have ripped off the Mask of Creation,

And I know what’s mine.

Quanta rode the Quantum/Telepathic Gestalt. She was the tip of its pyramid, its focus, its lodestone. Beside her, beneath her, she felt her telepath’s weaving the wills of the others to Her one purpose. She felt the heart pulse at the pyramid’s core … sweet Narcosis, filtering out all the fear, pain, and weaknesses from the individuals. Minds united, passions stilled, the power was there for Quanta to actualize … to give birth to something new, better, and very different from the old. They rose up with her, followed her … and followed after him, and through it all, Quanta felt the years of seeking, scheming, plotting and planning finally coming to fruition. She felt … Revenge.

They, the novas of the Teragen, found Divis Mal in the ruins of what had once been The Apostle’s abode. Plasma had scoured the rocks to their foundations. Nothing was alive for hundreds of meters all about. Of the Apostle, the Betrayer, only a few whirling tides of ash remained. Divis Mal knelt in the center of it all, fiery tears scorching down his too perfect cheeks. His face was marked with grief and loss … his personal loss of love … and hope. Quanta knew that look all to well. It had been staring back at her from the mirror for far too long. Today she buried that, the grief and the fear that all hope was lost. Today she buried the Legend of Divis Mal.

Mal looked up into the faces of the nearly fifty terats who had rise up with Quanta. She felt his eye’s look pleadingly upon his children. She felt his eyes scan the members and really see them for the first time in a decade. Almost all the old faces were gone now, gone down to treachery, battle, and betrayal. Quanta felt the whole structure around her tremble at his gaze, but she held fast. The memories of Raoul, Gebbler, Blinker, Iharra … and Sean … dear, sweet, silly Sean, all came to mind. She remembered the darkest days of the Casablancas, when they were less than half a dozen that would stand by her. She remembered Raoul, broken and alone, save for herself and she hadn’t been enough. TeleRhyde had whisked her away at the last moment, but not in time for him.

He stood with her now. TeleRhyde’s Primacy had not long survived her own movement. Epoch had been the first to come to her when she refused to lie down and die, when she decided the Casablancas and the message they brought to the Teragen was still worth fighting for. In the end, even Narcosis had come to her when dreams of seduction and prodigy had been burned away by the Apostle’s all-consuming greed.

Quanta had not wavered, or stumbled, or misstep since her own near-fall into the abyss, and she had been most of all, patient. She had seen the pawns for what they were and she had waited. She had seen through the lesser betrayers, and counseled from the shadows. Above all else, she had studied the dwindling leadership of the Teragen until she knew … until she knew who stood for what … and why. In the end, she knew it had Delorimier, The Apostle, who had played them all. She had not exposed him for two all important reasons. One, the most obvious, was his utter contempt for the young and malformed Quanta … an imperfection in his perfect vision of what novas were to become. The second reason had been slower in coming to realization. It was the lesson of power and its application and what it meant for the most powerful among the Teragen, and the most powerful of all.

With the artistic precision that any cook would have appreciated and understood, she had lain out her meal. Only when all the ingredients were combined, each in their proper amounts and orders, would she judge things as complete, or understood. Too much of any one thing could bring ruin as much as too little of the same. In her self, she had found those ingredients … in the understanding of quantum itself … and her understanding of the underpinnings of Mal’s real power … and she had known. Mal knew. Mal had waited, the elite Father/God above them all, capable of stopping any one of their actions in an instant, if he wished to … and he had not.

Quanta was not the most beautiful, the cleverest, the most powerful, and the smartest, fastest or strongest, but only Mal know more about what lay beneath all that window-dressing than she did. Only Mal understood more about the root nature and power of the Quantum Flow and that only by dent of his superior age.

Let the others have their thunderstorms and flames. Let the other bend minds and bodies to their wills. Quanta knew about the truest power and now she had come to use it if need be.

Divis Mal stood up before his children, dust sweeping away, and his arms beckoning them to him. Quanta herself felt the tug of those bonds. The others did, but they held to her will. In that moment, she felt a renewed pride in her race. They were children no more. They had supped at her table, not his, and grown up by her hand. They were his children no more and she knew that to be true.

Quanta descended out of the sky to stand before him, the Terrible Angel.

“It is time for you to go,” is all she said. It was all she had to say. She pointed up into the sky … to the stars and beyond.

The look on Mal’s face went from one of shock, to anger, to finally one of contempt. He reached out past her, to the others with the absolute assurance of the Undeniable God.

Narcosis came down from the Gestalt, so nearly Mal’s equal in beauty and perfection. A twinge of doubt ate at Quanta’s heart, but Narcosis alighted beside her without saying a word. The muscles on her perfect jaw line tightened. She rose up one arm and joined Quanta in pointing off to the stars. Epoch and TeleRhyde joined her then the others until all that had come stood with her, hands upraised, fingers pointing to the stars. A few had the courage, or anger, to stare into Divis Mal’s face. Most hung their heads in shame, or fear, but they all stood together, united behind Quanta.

“Why?” he whispered. “WHY!?!?” he screamed. For an instant, Quanta feared he had become so unhinged that he would attack them. She was dreadfully unsure of the outcome, but she knew there was absolutely no other alternative she could live with. She stood firm … and so did the others.

Quanta stared steadily into the face of the Once-God.

“Exile,” she stated evenly. “Exile or Death.”

She had been confronted with that choice herself, in another world that seemed so far removed from were she was now … from the person she was now, but the strength of that experience was still with her. It has helped shape. Maybe, just maybe, it could reshape the man she had just broken who stood before her.

Mal screamed, but it ended in a sob and a whimper. In a flash, he thundered off to the heavens. Slowly, as he disappeared, the Gestalt faded and the power seeped back into its individual members. She looked at them, so different in body, spirit, and mind, but also united in vision for what might be. They were small in number now and there was still much work to be done. Utopia and the Directive were still out there. New novas were erupting every day. The world was changing and growing, new ingredients were being added every day … and she had a meal to prepare.

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