Christopher Hinz - The Paratwa

from The Rigors, by Meridian

It was the time of our emergence. It was the time of the fast coming, when the. Earth was still vital and the Ash Ock were fresh as today's memory; in retrospect, a fragile era, but one where life itself seemed aglow with all manner of possibility, where we Paratwa felt destined to rule the Earth, to rule the stars. It was a time when each of us sizzled under the, spell of our own unique simultaneities, relishing the genetic fates that had cast our souls into two bodies instead of one. It was a time when our binary spirits seemed molded by the essence of some primordial ubiquity, our bodies glazed to perfection, our minds burnished by the hands of an immortal poet.

It was a time of the Ash Ock, the royal Caste-those Jive unique creations whose sphere of influence exploded outward from that secret jungle complex deep in the Brazilian rainforest, enveloping the world, uniting us, directing our disparate Paratwa breeds into a swarm of binary elegance that, for those brief fragile years, seemed unstoppable.

It was a time of innocence. It was a time that could not last.

Some of us began to perceive the underlying dynamics of Ash Ock power, to comprehend their subtle manipulations, to hear the distinctive growls of Jive exquisite motors beneath Jive exquisite hoods. The mirror that the Ash Ock had held before each of us, which had reflected only our virtues, splintered under the roar of those engines; our worship of their godlike prowess yielded to mere admiration, appreciative yet tempered by the knowledge that those of the royal Caste remained mortal, despite their incredible magic. And that magic, partially swollen by our own needs and desires, gave birth to a child swaddled in the robes of scientific superiority. The poet departed, never to return. It was a time of terrible betrayal

As the Star-Edge fleet-under the clandestine guidance of Theophrastus-prepared to escape from an Earth drowning under the fury of the Apocalypse, some of us began to learn the real secrets of the Ash Ock. And that juncture marked the beginning of a cynicism that spread through our ranks with the swiftness of a biological plague. By the time the Star-Edge fleet had cleared the boundaries of the solar system, Sappho and Theophrastus were almost faced with open revolt, for many of the Paratwa had trouble adjusting to the indignity of these ultimate truths.

But Ash Ock patience helped all of us persevere. The crisis passed. An even greater vista of conceptualization was now open to us, and we were invited to perceive the universe from new and dizzying heights. Most of us lost our cynicism. Those few who did not kept their doubts to themTheophrastus proclaimed: "Never forget that you represent the vanguard of the second coming."

"And never forget that you serve the true Paratwa," Sappho added. "Your lives now intertwine with the destiny of the chosen.

History texts were subtly altered; the roles of the other three Ash Ock-Codrus, Aristotle, and Empedocles-were lessened to those of supporting players.

Codrus was really the first of the royal Caste to fall from Ash Ock grace. His tways, like the tways of Empedocles, were of mixed sexes-male and female. Even in those early days, when we were still emerging from tie landscape of humans, when Theophrastus had not yet infiltrated the Star-Edge project, bending it to his own designs, Sappho had begun to suggest-subtly-that dual-gendered Paratwa were inherently flawed. For a while, even I Jell for her elegant craftiness, though eventually I came to see such illogic as a refraction of my own male/male prejudice.

Still, I understood some of Sappho's negativity toward the others of her breed. Codrus often displayed the most blatant weaknesses, misconstruing Ash Ock formulations for precise truths, falling into that intellectual trap of regarding the mind as the ruler of the body. Those facets of reality that Codrus failed to grasp became data to be processed, information that simply remained undigested by his networks. Eventually, Codrus's inability to fathom the depths led Sappho to regard him like the child of her royal family, his tways forever loyal and anxious to please, yet his monarchial consciousness incapable of reaching its destined maturity. He was ultimately precluded from all Ash Ock intricacies, and it was arranged that he be left behind when the Star-Edge fleet departed. Until his death at the hands of the Costeaus, centuries later, Codrus remained blissfully ignorant, a true intellectual pauper.

Aristotle, for a time, also remained unaware of the greater concerns, although Aristotle's ignorance was not of his own making, for in many ways, he was the equal of Sappho: shrewd and cunning, with a natural aptitude for the intricate methodology of politics. Aristotle's male/male interlace seemed to know-instinctively-how to utilize others to amplify his own desires; he played the human race as a preinformation-age grandmaster played chess.

In tile earliest years of Ash Ock ascendancy, I was the servant of Aristotle, and I grew to admire and respect the sophistication of his agile mind. For a time, I actually came to like him, especially after he had introduced me to Empedocles, youngest of the five, male/female tways whose infectious lust for all manner of experience rivaled even my own. In truth, I loved those years that we spent training Empedocles, helping to mold our young warrior into an elegant bastion of Ash Ock authority, ready to assume his place in the sphere of the royal Caste, to become the champion of all of Earth's Paratwa.

And for a time in those early years, I even doubted Sappho's wisdom in keeping Aristotle-and thus Empedocles-ignorant of the greater reality. In Codrus's case, I understood. But I felt that Aristotle and Empedocles should be given full access to Sappho's knowledge-the secret knowledge-which at that time she shared only with Theophrastus and a few trusted lieutenants: Gol-Gosonia, myself, a handful of others.

Eventually, however, I came to see that Sappho was correct in keeping Aristotle in the dark, for that monarch's plans within plans began rivaling the complexity of even her own intrigues. The simple fact was: Aristotle was too much like Sappho. There could be but one ruler, and Sappho-by virtue of birthright alone-would be sole proprietress of our destiny.

Nevertheless, the day when I betrayed Aristotle-and doomed Empedocles in the bargain-remains the most regretted day of my life.

Gillian felt eager for another fight. The darkness of Sirak-Brath seemed an ideal place for one.

He followed Buff and the smuggler through the alley separating a pair of low-tech industries-a nuke breeder and a manufacturer of organic soak-dye-the dank passage cutting between the towering buildings like a thin wafer sliced from a monstrous loaf. From the wet floor of the alley, the dirty vacu-formed walls-slabs of reinforced plastic veneered in ancient brickface-soared over two hundred feet up into the night sky. Shadowy forms interconnected the two buildings: a plethora of structural support shafts, conduits, and soggy flexpipes. There were no windows.

A sliver of pale, yellowish gray light was exposed at the peaks of the artificial canyon, and that illuminated snippet should have revealed the distant slabs of the Colony's cosmishield glass, and beyond, the darkness of space. But the thirty-eight-mile-long orbiting cylinder had managed, over the two and a half centuries of its existence, to acquire one of pre-Apocalyptic Earth's nastier habits: air pollution. During peak manufacturing periods, the smog became so dense that Sirak-Brath's atmospheric circulators could not remove it faster than it was being generated.