13'Sao-La
He cast himself free of the carrel. He abandoned the other ollomani to their slow-witted need for
endless repetition. He wandered to a square window and rested a forlorn hand on his kit. Its
well-worn cover comforted him. Deep within, 8'Issaw's heart reassured him.
13'Sao-La squinted past the afternoon suns at Ganj Dareh. The orange-red light hung about the
direvnya like a bastard creme of his dream's rescuing glow. This shroud reminded him how a day of
study and no action could murk a mind tuned to a fit body.
Arena? How could the League use Ganj Dareh as an arena? What kind of New Rules would enable
that? How would the Katas be reshaped?
Framed echoes of maps pulsed in his mind. Other accounts of the direvnya flicked, sepia and
silver, through his pained thoughts. Shifting behind the account, like a background graphic, the
Voiceless long-suffering out there. Over a million of them. They slogged through pathetic
labors. They scrounged morsels of satisfaction. Saddled with neverending impotence, leeched over
and over. Without even trace awareness of their bondage.
He, too, had been Voiceless once. Before his banished mother died of starvation and his tyrant
father died under his hands and Isaac vanished from the eyes of their sect. Then, he was
discovered by the Governors, recruited by them into the League, rescued from Voiceless so-called
justice or even worse, ignored by it to languish forever as Voiceless.
He blinked once, twice more. His line of days as Isaac drained away, leaving only his time as
olloman, as tlaxtli player, as 13'Sao-La. Katas obeyed and worked, Kata-for-Practice,
Kata-for-Tourney. A queue of ulama, going back four years. Insighted, he focused on each game he
had played or watched. He realized its score, remembered the crucial plays, recalled the winners.
He constructed a new list using these ollomani, Pride of the League, who had earned prestige and
respect.
Brimming with names, 13'Sao-La pivoted to eyeball the quiet room. Two-hundred forty-four heads
focused on their studies. 17'Kuna, their Rollkeeper, pondered the foilscreen he shared with
others. 5'Khting-Vor — Ally who had urged caution over righteousness during the past day of
upheaval — picked his teeth, waiting for his handful to catch up. 6'Akhal-Teke — Enemy,
tormentor, arrested by Ruleskeepers, then restored somehow by 17'Kuna — scowled, stole envious
glances of his neighbors, then stubbornly re-engaged the information. The rest, mostly Unknown,
forged on, assuming the New Order like just another batch of gong-she clothing.
13'Sao-La broke from the windows. Hurrying, he sifted this motley jam of ollomani. He matched
faces to his Winners list. That one: no match. His jaw clenched. Next: not a key player.
Next: not listed. Flashes of Ganj Dareh intruded. Five faces in a carrel: no Winner among
them. A glancing impression of a path, dotted with Voiceless, as though he walked among them. His
throat burned with ridges. The constant misses chided him: why are you here?
Halfway, his purpose curled at the edges with the heat of his anger. He slackened his pace while
thinking furiously. He had won games. Why put him here among Losers?
8'Issaw, face slack and pale, heart red and slippery, jutted through his question. She brought
answers.
He had killed her — broken the Rule against Murder — so they were casting him out. He, like the
others here in this room, had failed the League.
But the Governor ... gave me 8'Issaw! A chill reshaped his thoughts: they're casting me
— all of us — out of the League and into Ganj Dareh. They, the League's Losers, shall become
Voiceless again. 17'Kuna would redefine his life all right — right out of existence.
Flames scored his mind. Thick smoke obscured his thoughts. He could barely see as faces turned
warily to him. Vague bodies rose with threat. Distant voices challenged him.
Need for action flashed through him. Befuddle vanished. He burst open into an awareness of the
warm, musty room, its bizarre furniture, its unfamiliar people. Streaking through it all, a
stomach-wrenching freedom. Bonds of League Loyalty dissolved. Brakes of Rules released. Demand
for katas died.
He saw many thrusts in his future and became one: spite.
He whirled, faces flitting past his tunnel of vision. 17'Kuna appeared, but even now, he couldn't
attack a Rollkeeper. More Unknowns, then 6'Akhal-Teke. He strode toward this more-recent
tormentor. Bodies parted before him. The impudent Loser — Timekeeper should have punished him —
Ruleskeepers should have executed him — Rollkeeper should have excluded him — ollomani should
have spurned him — would die first, victim of this newfound anarchy.
Steel fingers seized 13'Sao-La's elbow. He broke the grip. Anvil hands clamped down on his
shoulders, twisted to break his charge. He struck back and down with his pachcab hand, a groin
strike to distract this pest. He missed.
The new, unseen Enemy behind had shifted right, to dodge. 13'Sao-La now shifted left, to attack
again from that side.
13'Sao-La seized the hand clamping his right shoulder, then side-stepped, pulling the Enemy
off-balance. He spun around his grip, drawing out the other's arm, and faced the back of the
extended elbow. He struck, left forearm cracking elbow, driving it down, dragging the Enemy's
upper body with it.
The Enemy looked up: 5'Khting-Vor, no longer Ally, face tense with pain and effort, eyes narrow
and resolute, leaned away from the hold and twisted, grabbing for groin, trying to break
13'Sao-La's control.
Control, Shock, Destroy, the Rules of Close Combat. Regardless of Opponent.
13'Sao-La smashed his right knee into that tense face. He followed Shock with more Control, right
hand still holding the broken arm, left hand grabbing the back of the neck. He twisted left, then
swept one leg right, knocking two feet loose, and drove 5'Khting-Vor to the floor, to his back. As
he raised his right leg high for more power, 13'Sao-La stared down into blue eyes that revealed
acceptance just before his heel splashed them onto flattened cheeks.
The dead lungs, penis, and colon gave up their reserves in feeble retort. 13'Sao-La released the
arm; it flopped to the floor with a dull crack. He whirled toward his original target. Everyone
else cleared the way while heeding tactics and their results.
6'Akhal-Teke shifted into combat stance, left hand taking the lead, right hand protecting his
cheek, legs spread under shoulders, feet cocked to the left.
13'Sao-La charged. He parried a front kick with left palm and twisted into a right-handed grab for
the other's muscle-defined armpit.
6'Akhal-Teke blocked with his lead hand, stepped in close, and tried a reverse forearm strike that
would lead to control of that arm. Instead, 13'Sao-La slipped a little for better leverage and
struck first, cracking another elbow, controlling another arm, hipping to off-balance this Enemy.
He shocked the ribs with a hard elbow. He shifted Control by wrapping his forearm and biceps
around the upper arm. He rotated his hips and upper body, dragged this Enemy off his feet, and
drove him to the floor. 6'Akhal-Teke flailed so this heel stomp caught more mouth than nose,
splattered blood and teeth. 13'Sao-La snapped his leg straight, finishing the Destroy.
Victory wrapped him in quiet, warmth, and pride in a long, isolated moment. Then ...
13'Sao-La hunched over the body, slick with sweat, blood, piss, and shit. Automatically, he
reached behind him, palm open and receptive. He expected a Scorekeeper to slap a ritual knife into
his hand. As it had happened before, the last time he killed and every mano-a-mano practice before
that. Last time, he had carved 8'Issaw's heart from her warm chest. This time, a large hand
gripped his, tugged at him. He deserted his prize and rose, turning.
A Governor towered there. Governor Sigma. One of three sources of authority in the Tlaxtli
League. Clear-eyed and -skinned, slender and fair, strong of body and purpose, who had rescued
13'Sao-La and given him purpose and skills and meaning to his troubled life.
Within 13'Sao-La, sinews of obedience tensed. Shame over breaking Rules pulled them tighter.
The Governor eyed back in cool-blue. He quirked a smile that fled as their hands parted. His
lifted slowly, commanding his gaze. The long, white fingers waggled before watery scrutiny.
Abruptly, he grinned, an odd show whose glow flickered across his mouth, eyes, and forehead like
heat lightning in a long pearl-white cloud. He flashed his palm to 13'Sao-La — crimson spangled
— then flaunted it to the ollomani who stood bolt-silent around them.
"Blood," the Governor whispered, nodding approval. With that, he whirled away to address the whole
room. "Sit!" he boomed. "I must tell you why you are here!"
Fear doused 13'Sao-La. He sank into 6'Akhal-Teke's chair. Around him, ollomani settled also,
their bodies and faces drawn with uncertainty.
The Governor suited himself in form-fitting steel-gray, the two-piece emphasizing his rigid
posture. He studied them with fierce eyes, his mouth fixed in a grim smile. "Look around you," he
began. "Look!" He waited.
13'Sao-La flicked a glance to his left. Like him, the others shied from obeying. The Governor
waited. Compelled by this quiet demand, 13'Sao-La turned his head this time, watched others as
they also begrudged looks. He saw Losers about to be cast out of the League. His lungs seized up,
unworthy of air.
The Governor spoke again: "In this room, you see the finest people on this continent, nay, on this
planet. I chose you. I chose you.
"I chose you for devotion to the League over personal glory. I chose you for knowing the Rules and
when to break them. I chose you for guts and style even if it didn't always win points. I chose
you because I know you can follow me into new territory and still hew to our katas as I change
them.
"You and over a thousand more just like you — chosen out of tens of thousands in our elite League
— spread across Ganj Dareh, concentrated in five ready rooms, just like this.
"Do you recognize each other? I doubt it: gems are scattered thinly through gravel. That's why I
caused you to collect this way, to meet and practice, to let the League's habits draw you
together. You must master the challenge of forced acquaintance before going on to larger ones.
"As you do, believe this: you constitute the select cross-section of the League. Feel good about
yourself, feel at home, feel supported, feel justified, feel empowered — at last!"
13'Sao-La averted his face. Sweet air burst into him. How could he have been so wrong? I used
Old Rules in a New Order. I should have trusted the Governors. From now on, I will. His gloom
vanished as it had in his segmented dream, crystal piercing mud once more. He raised his face to
his Leader.
The Governor broke from his posture and strode up the room. He paused at a carrel and reached out
to the ollomani sitting there. He spoke over their clasping hands, yet his voice filled the room:
"Today, your devotion to Le Coeur pays off. Today, we begin restitution, we begin assertion, we
begin domination. Today, we start a mission to rescue the Voiceless of this continent."
Moving on, the Governor gripped shoulders and gazed down at upraised eyes. "Their silence an
overwhelming roar of despair. Their mundane lives deprived of daily victory or even its nuance,
cheated of autonomy or even its concept, sucked free of accomplishment and its rewards."
With two more steps, he addressed another handful of ollomani. "All the joys of life stolen by the
crooked hands of Har Norma Byukan. All causes of pride siphoned away by Byukan-Hamil's quirky
fibrils of regulation, human and automated. Given to those twisted few who manage the consortium
that strangles our continent. Those self-consumed executives who fabricate baseless decisions and
swizzle the Geld."
Faces swirled through 13'Sao-La's mind. Har Norma. His mother, sweet, worn-down, dead.
Ganj Dareh tacticians. His father, brutal, eyes and tongue bulging, dead. Myriad Voiceless,
Unknown, yet innocent and pitiable. Not yet dead, redeemable.
At the other end of the room, the Governor continued, "We know the suffocation, don't we? We know
the impotence, the silence enforced by rule and habit and fear of going gong-she. We know the
anonymity. God! The namelessness! Unacknowledged, unrecognized, unknown, and unrequited."
Unknown, no longer a distraction. Unknown, now a cause.
"For we were once Voiceless. Until the League rescued us, took us in, taught us the katas that
brought strength and will and the pleasures of skill and achievement and common purpose. Prepared
us for the day when we would burst out and bring that joy to all the Voiceless.
"This day, my friends, this day!"
A cry of joy ripped from 13'Sao-La's throat, lifting him from his chair. His shout blended with
more than two hundred others in a chorus that shook the building's corrugated walls. He drew
breath to shout again, but caught sight of the Governor's gleaming, patient face. Governor Sigma
rested his hands on ollomani shoulders. 13'Sao-La kept the breath inside him with a sudden silence
echoed in every body around him. A companionable silence. An electric silence. A single
silence. He closed his mouth and sat down again.
The Governor lifted his hands, his lean, strong hands, over them all. "We are the First to find
our Voices. We are the First to rescue our continent from Byukan-Hamil's clutches. Even after
victory, we, the League, shall remain The First within the New Order." 13'Sao-La felt a
strengthening wave of blessing pass over him. "The First within the New Order," the Governor
repeated. "The First." He let the word echo in the room, in their minds.
"However!" The Governor moved on, coming down the room toward 13'Sao-La. "Our mission lies ahead
of us. Our cause requires more sacrifice. This is not the end of your march, but it is the
beginning of the end.
"Over the next several days, even tens of days, you will work out of this room. To the Rendezvous
of Futures, you will appear to be studying, learning new ways for a new life, just like all the
other Voiceless flocking to this direvnya." He grinned at the ruse. "Indeed, we will change your
katas, adapting them to our new mission. You will learn them. Your Rollkeeper —" he patted
17'Kuna on the shoulder "— will be your tactician. I will work through him.
"Your missions will take you into the buildings and paths of Ganj Dareh. There, you will confront
people." The Governor struck out through the carrels. His eyes found 13'Sao-La and kindled
flames. "You were once Voiceless, but we, your Governors, have given you Voice." Devotion roared
through 13'Sao-La's mind. "We led you to discover talents and guide them with skills." Sacrifice
ignited his soul. "We gave you independence and from it, you produced initiative." Pride stoked
his heart. "We showed you discipline and with it, you created action." Courage seared his belly.
The Governor stopped an arm's length away. "Now you must carry your success to the Voiceless who
surround you, but ..." He shook his skull-like head slowly, those fascinating blue eyes
glistening. "We do not have time to coax out their Voices. Events chase us toward
Victory. Byukan-Hamil gathers its numerous minions to thwart us. Our opportunity spreads its
wings, but like the schmetterling, our chance lasts but a few precious seconds.
"Ironically, the Voiceless control our joint Destiny. Ignorant, clueless, huddled, and afraid,
they will take no chances, make no changes without being pushed, and pushed hard. Ironic, is it
not, that we must — must, I tell you! — drive them to
their own rescue. Drive them with all our skills, with all our
concentration, with none of our mercy.
"Shock them!" The Governor glanced at his right palm.
"Destroy them!" He lifted its crimson spangle for 13'Sao-La to see.
"Control them!" He again brandished the fresh blood for all ollomani to recognize. "You have no
choice other than this. For you are their only hope, hope that arrives golden and proud and
crystal and ruthless. Emulate this champion, First among The First." He clapped 13'Sao-La on the
shoulder. "And you will not fail. We shall have our ... victory!"
The Governor marched back up through the room, his smile glorious, his eyes bright with unshed
tears, his hands touching, caressing, praising.
At the front, the Governor said, "I love the power in this room. I love the dedication, the
loyalty, the devotion in this room. I love you.
"Carry on, Rollkeeper." And he left.
"Carry on," echoed 17'Kuna.
New mission. New Rules and Kata. It all made Sense. Here and now, yes, but also the past. Why
ollomani practiced and played the way they did. Why they idled among the Voiceless. Why they
deserved to prevail. Why they would conquer and murder.
13'Sao-La found himself burrowing into his kit by the double-suns' dying light. He seized the
stasis box. It kept 8'Issaw's red heart. He dumped it, thick, heavy, cool, into one palm, used
the other to pop open the window. Ganj Dareh's air gushed over him, seeking the ollomani, begging
their help. He answered with the passé heart, flinging it into the gathering night. A sacrifice,
a commitment, a release, a graduation present.
