The road spread over fields, disparate villages left and right, Malinkar ahead.
Multiple realities, transmitted Omiran.
Guide me. Resolute, steady pace.
In the dark of night, two luminous bands appeared over the asphalted road, leading separate ways.
Listen, said Omiran.
Silence. Long moments passed.
I hear nothing.
That's because you're not really listening. Listen.
Still nothing, except his rhythmic stride on the asphalt. Then a faint rustle. Mingled notes. The vibration of the band turning right from him. That's one sound. A different pulsation in the one on the left.
Which one is you?
I'm outside of them.
Are you, really?
He pondered. Both bands spread out as if from him, a steady bifurcation over the road under his feet. His mind went back to the sounds. The one on the left sounded grave, almost like a lament. The one on the right sustained a higher frequency, vibrating steadily. Hard to choose.
If I say I'm both... he began.
Confusion holds one in place. Choose.
He felt burdened, angered, enraged, his soul screaming. That's the left-hand band. They resonate from me.
Choose.
He was also determined, hopeful, finding strength unexpected which he'd yearned for.
I've made my choice.
Affirm it.
Leave behind what no longer serves you, he recalled. I'm the band on the right.
You've made a good choice.
His feet no longer touched the ground as he was running along the white energy band that turned steadily rightwards, ever higher from the ground.
Exert the confidence that disentangles you from your older, burdensome self.
He strode on faster, leaping across the ever-rising band, amid numerous streaks of broad, white energy arcs across the ground: unseen before, now visible; the sky no longer grays and blacks, for a horizontal band, almost nebula-like, in vivid purple shades and indigos, now stretched before him.
I am Time – he leapt faster. A smile in his eyes. I will break free.
Why?
Because I'm freedom.
Behold yourself, boomed Omiran's voice.
A fast-unrolling nexus of energy arcs spread out, memories he'd collected since childhood, each memory an arc, all spreading before him, vivid and complete; perception clear, no heaviness of heart.
When is this?
It's all 'now'. That you are free, it is how you are.
And Tarla?
Silence. He lowered into the band, almost as if there'd been a hole in the arc. Swiftly, clock-brain prevalence had found the cause: a worry pattern.
To worry is to assume only you are a Son of Time.
Must I not save her?
He sensed a broadening inside Omiran and saw many Tarlas overlapped across simultaneous spacetime-bands: distinct instances, the same her, choosing to manifest various self-expressions.
Indeed you must, but don't lose what you've found, nor trade back what you've left behind.
I'll save her, then, and be this new me only.
Good.
He soared back onto the energy-band, somehow knowing he was an instance above his familiar spacetime reality, covering miles in fractions of time and effort – Malinkar was nearby.
The arc lowered. His speed increased. Malinkar spread below: a great city, many lights, some in bulbs, countless more in arcs like this. The space fleet dock. A ship was being readied. It was the one programmed to leave with Tarla and however many others bound for the outer reach. A surge of resentment – and instantly he lowered back into the band, then jumped up, untangling himself from the unwanted feeling. He had work to do and couldn't afford to be dragged back into powerlessness.
With bolting speed, he approached the city buildings and landed upon a high tower.
What now?
Now comes the time to choose, said Omiran. Two pathways: prevent Tarla from fleeing, or allow her.
Misuri looked confused, clock-wheel eyes focused, a breath of wind disarraying his graying, ear-long hair.
What do you mean?
I'll show you.
He was pulled into a reality outside his own, present but unseen. Tarla was being incarcerated in the sulfur mines of Kiaal-kaa. Nasty place.
She was crying.
"Run," she breathed in their home's garden, and he ran away.
Overlapped, confusing images. He was still with her.
"Run!" Firmer tone, harsher eyes. "For both of us."
Misuri was waiting for whatever next when he realized it was his own answer that was missing. "No. I won't run. I ask Omiran's guidance."
Leave behind all that which is not you.
What part of that was still unclear to him, if Omiran kept returning him to this point?
"I'll make the sacrifice, I-"
He stopped. Approached Tarla. "You're beautiful." She seemed not to understand. "And lovely. And free."
To him, the words held the meanings he'd given them. To her, her own.
"We are cross-bands, merging and disentangling realities. We're free to be the reality we choose to acknowledge." He smiled – a soft, unburdened, but not yet happy smile. "I am to give you your freedom, thus wish to see our other option."
Omiran pulled him – Tarla tried to stop him – "Trust me," he said, and was pulled into the second possible reality.
A blond boy, a half-clock child of about five, was sitting in a room. White shirt, beige summer overalls. Smiling. Looked like TedArama, but wasn't him. Had Tarla's gentle expression. A man – a colonist – arrived with another child in arms, a girl of approximately five, too. Then a tall U'bikol came – humanoid, graceful, slender. Female.
"We're all here, right?" she asked.
"Not yet," said the colonist. "Tarla hasn't come."
A worried expression. "I wonder what's keeping her."
Misuri felt bitter. Then the boy turned. Apparently unheard by any other, he said: "She won't come unless you allow it."
Instantly he realized why the boy reminded him of TedArama. This, too, was Tarla's child, but not yet. He nodded, and was pulled back on top of the tower.
Time to state your choice.
He opened his mouth. His throat was dry. He looked at the band, remembering how he'd sunk into it.
I choose to let Tarla live a most beautiful life.
You know what that means.
I'm not in it.
Lightness in his chest. He gave a nod.
I choose to save her of a dreadful, life-long pain.
He was pulled as if through the building and arrived on the street-side.
What must I do?
Turn yourself in.
He walked into the space dock and headed for the waiting hall. Guards immediately intercepted him. He wasn't afraid. In fact, catching the gaze of a guard, he sensed his surprise.
"You must comply with the Unified Law of ClockWorld Races, which states-" someone began to recite with the authority bestowed upon him.
Misuri wasn't listening.
Shortly after being taken in custody, he was alone in a small questioning room. These colonists with their procedures and their walls – don't they know a wall is just another layer of spacetime, and that spacetime isn't subjected to colonists' confinement?
"Misuri Namato." A colonist had entered and came to sit before him. "Found guilty of disobedience, attempted fraud, and resisting standard capture procedures. But since you've turned yourself in, the Judge might listen to your point of view. It all depends on how this meeting goes. Court Officer Belno, rank 5."
Misuri had kept quiet; then, "Guilty of all that."
"Your wife's currently in custody as well, scheduled to board a Nirvon vessel at dawn. Is she the reason you're here?"
Deny.
"No," he lied. "I wanted to flee ClockWorld, and Malinkar had the closest space dock."
"Then why did you turn yourself in?"
"I didn't. I was arrested."
"Clarify."
"The idea was to pretend I was one of the passengers and get on the first ship."
"Well, lucky you, that ship's carrying prisoners. Must be fate."
Misuri nodded. "So what now, Officer?"
"You go to Court to hear your sentence. I still haven't decided whether I let you talk to the Judge or not."
Say you want to.
"I'd like to see him."
"What for?"
"Tell him my story."
Officer Belno gazed around. "Look, we all admire who you've been, but you've got to admit you've sank pretty low."
"Maybe I'll admit it to the Judge."
A grimace. "Think you own the world for being Race Delegate, don't you? What will your Omirions say about you?"
Time's an essence, don't squander it.
Misuri leaned forward. "I'd like, with your permission, sir, to have a chance to defend my case."
"Why should I grant it to you?"
"Because maybe the Judge will consider my story valuable for ClockWorld."
"How?"
"Only he will know."
The Officer reflected, his eyes fixed on Misuri. "Alright, past glory." He stood up. "Follow me. I'm taking you to Court."
Misuri got up. A police 5-20 was waiting. The Judge was still in the grand building, working on an extended case, but agreed to receive him. Sitting at his desk in official meeting, Misuri told him all he'd been through, while the Judge listened carefully. Although a colonist, he didn't look as hardened as he'd envisioned most colonists. He'd been wrong.
Finally the story came to an end.
Leaning on the backrest of his chair, the Judge pondered, then he said, "As Race Delegate, you acknowledge your rights and duties."
"Yes, sir."
"You also know you'll be held accountable for all of your actions."
"I do."
"Thus it's not for your freedom you've come to bargain."
Admit the truth.
"No, sir. It's for my wife's. I think it immoral on my part to let her pay in my stead."
"Your children have paid as well."
Tears filled Misuri's golden clock-wheel eyes mechanism. "That, sir, I cannot take back, but perhaps you'll reflect on Omirion children's right to life and lack of blame for their parents' actions, and decide to do something about it by the means available to you."
A deep, meditative gaze. The sun was rising behind Misuri, beyond the broad windows.
"You are sentenced to life imprisonment in the saline mines of Kuali-Maa, the outer reach. Your wife, Tarla Namato, is blameless, hence acquitted. I cannot bring back the dead, but I can deal with the living and submit a motion for Law revision."
"Thank you, sir."
Tarla's teary eyes watched the Nirvon vessel take off, her husband onboard, their marriage terminated, her freedom restored.
Her wounds will heal, as have yours, said Omiran as Nirvon was leaving the atmosphere.
I am eternal, answered Misuri, fading from that spatial reality and leaving the seat empty.
What did you think about this story?
Would you like to read more stories with half-clock human protagonists? Try "Planet B-17: The Beginnings," a fantasy space opera in multidimensional reality. One of the space crew members is an Omirion as well.
Have a nice day.
Maria