03-12-2014, 08:20 PM
Stats
Height: 6'
Weight: 205 lbs
Hair: Dirty Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Build: Solid
Profession: IT Admin
Hobbies: Gym, Running, Reading, Writing, Music, Movies, TV, languages, history, camping, survival training.
In the 6th Age:
He was born as Priam, a solid man with simple needs. The god-wars had been raging for decades, with the people in the large cities bearing the brunt of the wars. Society in those cities was chaotic and stability was breaking down. But the back-waters of the world still had some peace as the war had not yet fully intruded on their lives. Priam was a son with an ancient lineage, the “Remnant”, a once proud and honored people that still maintained their warrior tradition. Not much remained of their memory except for the distant stories of once being the made by the first man Iasan; that they were Drakonodon, “Teeth of the Dragon”; the belief that one day they would be needed again.
Such stories heartened and defined them as they lived simple lives. Priam married Thetis but they remained childless. For 10 years, he and his wife along with father and mother and brothers worked together to survive on their rocky and hilly land, pastoral but for the occasional squabble or raid from the ever wandering nomadic peoples. It was a hard but satisfying life.
And then the god-wars forced their way into their lives. As Titan and Olympian fought and died and killed, one group fled to those same backwaters. Their god-powered transport was damaged and crashed near the home of Priam, killing almost everyone on board. He made his way to the wreckage and discovered an infant, sheltered in the arms of his dead mother. The child had the Olympian thunderbolt marked on the back of his head, indicating he was one of the god-children, born of god-parents and surely destined for god-hood himself. The cries of the child stirred something in Priam. His own wife, Thetis, had finally become pregnant, but had lost the child just a few days ago and was deeply grieved. He took the child home and showed him to her. Nothing could replace their baby. But this child had no mother or father. It would die without them. They opened their hearts to the baby and named him Achilles. He became their son, as much their flesh as any that might have been born of Thetis’ body. As long as his head was never shaved, no one would ever know. Not long afterwards, Thetis again became pregnant and had a second son, Iphicles. This child too was loved and both boys never knew they weren’t fleshly brothers, with all the affection and squabbles that brothers have.
But Priam and Thetis knew that Achilles would especially need them as he grew older. They were ever vigilant to teach their son compassion and justice now, while he was young.
*
Iphicles was crying while Mama comforted him. Achilles had pushed him down and was now looking defiantly at Papa, who had demanded an explanation.
“He broke my soldier! The one you made for me!”
“And?,” Papa said, upset. “Does that mean you can push him down for that?”
“But he broke it! I told him not to touch it. Instead he took it and broke it!” Achilles glared at his brother. “He did it on purpose!”
Papa spoke calmly. “Do you think he really wanted to break your toy?”
Achilles knew that Papa had him there, but he was unwilling to back down. “It doesn’t matter. I can be mad at him for breaking it.”
“Oh? And what about pushing him? Is it ok to hurt someone if they make you mad?”
Achilles thought about that. But then he saw his broken soldier. Papa had made it for him. It was special. He got angrier as he thought about his Papa making it for him and then Iphicles taking it when he told him not to and then breaking it. “Yes! He deserved it!”
Papa quickly stood up to his full height. Suddenly, Achilles felt very, very small. He was big for 7, but next to Papa, he was tiny, with his gigantic muscles and back from working the fields. Papa’s face looked mad and his voice became so quiet it was scary. “And so when I get angry with you for not doing your chores, does that mean I can push you down?” Papa hadn’t moved, but suddenly Achilles felt scared looking up at him.
And then Papa knelt down and gently took Achilles’ shoulders in his big hands. His face wasn’t scary anymore and his voice was nice. It was low and deep, but that made Achilles feel safe. “Son, being bigger or stronger doesn’t mean you get to hurt someone whenever you want.”
Achilles looked down. Papa was bigger than me, but never hurt me, even when he got mad. He wasn’t angry at Iphicles anymore. Instead, he heard his little brother crying and apologizing and it made him sad. He started to cry. Papa took him into his arms, against his chest. Achilles felt warm and safe there. And ashamed. “I’m so sorry Papa.” He looked at his little brother, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to break it, Achilles,” Iphicles was saying through his tears.
He felt bad he had hurt Iphicles. As much as he wanted to stay there, he pulled away from Papa and went to hug him. “I’m sorry Iphicles! I know you didn’t mean it. It was an accident”, he said. He saw how little his brother, only 5, was compared to him. Just like me and Papa. He looked at his Papa and saw him smiling. It made him feel good inside.
Papa came over to them and pulled Mama to them until they were all sitting next to each and hugging or holding hands. “Son, we will always be bigger than some people and smaller than others.” Achilles tried to imagine Papa being smaller than someone else. It was hard. Well, some of his uncles were taller than Papa, but they didn’t actually seem bigger. “It doesn’t matter, though. We protect people, Son. We are protectors.” Papa looked him directly in the eye and his voice was strong, but not mad. “Especially, Achilles, especially we protect those smaller or weaker than us. We are not bullies. So you protect your little brother.” Achilles felt those words go into him. I am a protector. I will protect Iphicles…and all the other kids too.
Papa then smiled at him. Iphicles had stopped crying too. “Remember who we are, my sons. Drakonodon. ‘Teeth of the Dragon.’”
Achilles fought a smile. He loved that story. “Papa, will you tell us about when Iasan made the Drakonodon and killed the serpent Ydra?”
Papa smiled. “Ok.” Papa let go and sat back, crossing his legs. Mama was next to him. He looked from Achilles to Iphicles and back.
“Long ago, long before the Titans or the Olympians or any other gods, there was Earth and Sky. Sky was young and the new Light streamed from the infant Sun. Mist rose from the earth as the Light touched the water, creating light and dark clouds, pushing and pulling and swirling into each other. Sound was new and fresh and moved like liquid throughout the new-formed Earth. It was perfect.
Then, among the dark clouds, a darkness appeared- the seed of chaos. It was just a pinpoint of darkness, but it sucked in the dark-clouds. The clouds spun as they went into the darkness. The darkness rained black oil and it fell to Earth, burning her. She groaned and heaved as the oil cut her.
But the white clouds spun about themselves too, sucking in the Light of the Sun. Those clouds became one brightly shining ball of Light. And then the ball became a crystal egg- blazing with the light- and it floated to the ground. Earth opened herself and a mountain in the shape of an open hand emerged from its depths to gently cradle the egg of light.
And the egg cracked and the light within broke free. It took the shape of a man, strong as crystal and bright as the sun. Light shone from his face and chest, and he wore lightning on his belt. In his hands he wielded a great sword with which to fight the Chaos.
At the very same time, the black ball too had become an egg, lighting of black licking about its surface. And then it too cracked- sickly green light oozing from the cracks. It split open, the shell fragments falling slowly like leaves to the ground. Out slithered Ydra, the beast of the darkness. Ydra’s black eyelids opened and green fires blazed behind those eyes. Ydra came forth covered in scales that dripped black oil. Small heads sprouted from Ydra, growing until there were 13, sitting atop long slender scaly necks.
Iasan strode forth, his crystal sword blazing in his hand. He struck at the closest head and the neck sizzled as the sword cut through it. The head dropped to the ground and melted. Three times Iasan ducked the hissing heads and struck, until three heads littered the ground. But as Iasan severed that third one, one of the other heads bit into his side and tore a chunk of his flesh. Ydra seemed to grow from the meat in its teeth. Earth screamed and her mountains were shaken. Sky darkened until the star shapes could be seen, Eagle, Bear, and the Great Dragon. And then a new head burst forth from each severed neck, growing larger and larger.
Iasan cried out in pain and fell back, weakened, as blood and water spilled out from his side and flowed onto the ground forming a pool. Iasan looked up at Sky and saw the Great Dragon’s stars twinkling. Sky, wanting to come to his aid, bent himself down until Iasan could touch the great blackness of the vault. Iasan snatched 12 teeth from the Great Dragon’s mouth. The stars burned and smoked in his hand and he plunged them into the pool of his blood and water. The stars sizzled and then began to grow, becoming men.
Each man was wreathed in dark shadow like leaves, eyes sparkling in the glow of their crystal spears. They stood and helped Iasan up. Looking at them, Iasan smiled grimly, determined, and turned back to Ydra. He lifted his sword and suddenly it was pure light. Iasan ran toward Ydra, cutting off each head in turn. And behind him followed the Teeth of the Dragon made flesh. As soon as each head was lopped off, one of the men shoved his glowing spear into the neck. The spear head blazed and burned and no new heads grew.
Finally, Iasan stood face to face with Ydra. He grabbed Ydra’s tail with his right hand and spun him about. Then he hurled Ydra out away from Earth. Sky cried as Ydra pierced him and passed through him, off into the unknown.
Then, spent, Iasan collapsed, blood continuing to flow from his side. Around him stood the Teeth of the Dragon, the Drakonodon. “Hear me, my people! I die, but you will live. From my body will come the nations and races of men. I charge you Teeth of the Dragon, I charge you to watch over them and protect them.”
Iasan’s head then fell back and he died. The hand that had held the stars had turned black. It melted an opening into Earth. The other hand, white as bone, also melted and burned another opening into Earth. And out of those openings men and women came forth. These were the first gods to walk the earth.
Iasan’s legs melted and there grew from his right leg a large man clad in animal skin, thunderbolt in his hand, its light reflecting in his eyes: Perkwunos the Striker, The Provider. And from his left leg grew another man clad in robes, holding bone dice in his right hand and scales in his left hand: Kmir the judge.
Finally, Iasan’s feet melted, and from each toe came a different man and woman, all the ten nations of mankind.
Thus there came from Iaman all the people of Earth: the gods who took the power of Iaman as their own, the Thunderer under whose rains we shelter and live, the Chooser who gives us what is unknown in life. And finally, my sons, the Drakonodon. We are the last remnant of those people. We are all that is left of the Dragon’s Teeth.
But we remember our charge.”
Thetis, Achilles and Iphicles repeated after him. “We remember our charge.”
*
Achilles took his Father’s instruction to heart. Never again did he lash out in anger. Instead, when he saw injustice, he acted. Together, he and Iphicles his brother became known as the Son’s of Thunder for their fearless exploits. As the god-wars grew in scope, so too did their back-water villages grow. People flocked to their region, running, fleeing, escaping, hoping to find refuge and peace. Other villages and cities sometimes attacked and Achilles and Iphicles joined their father in the defense of the city. Eventually, the god-wars themselves came, causing pain and ruin and devastation. Achilles had seen the misery written in blood that they had caused, and his hatred of them grew.
During one bloody attack, Achilles saw his brother Iphicles struck down by a god as he fought another god, head shaved so the lightning bolt on the back of his skull gleamed in the light. At that moment, in a fit of rage at seeing his brother go down, Achilles channeled for the first time, killing both gods instantly. He was able to help his brother to safety.
Afterwards he confronted his father about what had happened and Priam reluctantly told him the truth of his origins. He told him of the markings on the back of his skill that was hidden by his hair. Achilles was hurt and scared.
*
Achilles felt at the back of his head, trying to sense the markings Mother and Father said were there, trying to see if he felt any difference, something that set him apart. He felt like his was drowning, like the time he had been in the ocean and had been pulled under by a current. He couldn’t breathe. His foundation was his family, his father and mother, his brother. And now, I find out that Father isn’t my….He rejected that thought violently. What am I?
“Son, I know this is so hard.” Priam’s eyes glistened with tears. “But we love you so very much. Nothing has changed for us.”
“Nothing??!!” The thought made him explode. “How can you say that Father? Nothing has changed? Everything has changed!” He felt at the back of his head again. “All my life you told me I was your son.”
“You are my son!,” Priam tried to say, but Achilles went on.
“You taught me how to be a good man. And now I find out…now I learn I’m one of them? I’ve hated them all my life. You taught me that. I’ve seen the refugees, the ones who escaped.” The memories came to him. A woman in tattered and burned clothing, eyes red-rimmed with tears, streaks of white on her soot-stained face. She stumbled along the road, almost ready to collapse. In her arms she carried a child, looking maybe like he was three. He had been burned horribly when a stray fireball from one of the gods struck the house. One of his eyes was milky white, with the skin fissured and red and black all over his face, his ears melted into twisted lumps. He wasn’t moving. They had tried to help him, but the boy was dead. That winter the woman threw herself into the river and drowned. A small girl found in the woods, scared and skittish, bony arms and ribs visible thrown torn clothing, cuts and scrapes on her young body. How long had been hiding? He heard of the disappeared girls, taken from their homes to the houses of the gods, to be used and traded. An ocean of people’s pain that meant nothing to them. And Iphicles, body broken and blood pumping from wounds made by jagged wood fragments jutting from stomach and neck. Fear and revulsion welled up inside him. “And I am one of them?!” He was angry and terrified. “I have this…this power. Will I change too?” He whispered “Is that what I will become?”
Priam took him by his shoulders, squeezing hard with his hands. “You listen to me son. Listen! Look at me!” Reluctantly, Achilles looked him in the eyes. They were hard and clear and his face was as fierce as he had ever seen. “I am your father! I raised you. And I know you better than anyone!”
Achilles felt those words go into him. They pierced his heart. They were something to hold onto. “Son, you are going to be something in this world. I don’t know what. But I believe in you. Your mother believes in you. Iphicles believes you. You are going to inspire goodness and hope in others. That I do know.” He felt his father’s sincerity. He believes in me. It was as simple as that. Father believed in him. Father trusted him. He clung to that anchor.
*
From that point on, after surviving the sickness, Achilles used his power and worked surreptitiously to sabotage the gods as they and their wars grew in the area. He and his father and brother organized others to carry on the work underground. At one point, Achilles was discovered and had to flee, eventually making his way to Asia Minor. There he came across another god, Enki, and discovered that he wasn’t alone in not letting his ability to call on the power make him evil. They became close friends. As they traveled and helped people, they eventually met others like them- Prometheus, Tammuz, and Utnapishtim. After enough time had gone by, they returned to Achilles home, only to discover that Priam and Iphicles had been killed by the gods during their underground activity. The death cut Achilles to his heart and he wanted revenge. But his father’s words stayed with him. “You are my son. I believe in you.” He knew he had to find a way to help the people stand against the gods, especially the Drakonodon remnant, to stop them once and for all. And so rebellion continued to spread, as more and more people took up anything they could find. Even gods who had not been evil, or those that sought redemption, such as Hektor, joined their cause, making the rebellions more successful.
They learned of a weapons facility at Troy, run by the eminent god-scientist Helen, and decided to get inside and steal anything the rebellion could use, or failing that, to destroy the place. Using an inverted weave of invisibility, Achilles and many of his companions hid inside a materials shipment and were able to sneak in. Unknown to him, though, Hektor had been a spy for the Olympians and alerted the gods. Achilles was able to kill Hektor, though, and they escaped with losses. Achilles redoubled his efforts and soon conducted successful raids on other facilities. These activities inspired both humans and those gods that chose to help them in other regions of the earth, finally helping to tip the balance in the favor of mankind.
Eventually, though, Achilles was killed when a mortal, Paris, thinking him to be just like the other Olympians gods, shot him from ambush with a weapon.
7th/1st Age
Connor Alexander Kent was born in 1998 in Flagstaff, AZ, USA, the son of Liam Kent. He grew up in northwest New Mexico amid the environmental disasters that affected US coastal cities. The regions further inland began to receive a huge influx of people fleeing, seeking to start over in more stable and less volatile areas. The four corners states, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico, together with the mid-western states of Wyoming, Idaho and the Dakotas had been able to not only survive but also thrive due to the abundant farmland and natural resources, including coal, oil and natural gas, they contained. These mid-west states became economic power-houses and occupied the position California once did, making them largely responsible for helping the US limp through the disasters of the era. Even the entertainment industry followed suit, with Phoenix, AZ becoming the new Hollywood. Now, more than ever, people the world over turned to entertainment to distract or help them get through their lives. Northern New Mexico had a couple large cities and was served by the booming natural gas industry. There was relative affluence but also great poverty.
Connor’s father Liam had been a long distance hauler, while his mother Katerina nee Delov had worked as an airline agent. Connor’s father died in 2012 when he was just 13 years old. His father hadn’t been very involved in his life, so when he died, Connor missed more the idea of having a father than the actual man himself. There was one exception, though, one thing that always made him think of his. Music. During those few times when he got to ride with his father to Nebraska or Texas, the iPod was their constant companion. At those times, his dad would share his love of music. He would discuss specific artists and bands, music trends and influences, or what the context for a style of music was, the revolutionary styles and sounds that came at specific periods of time. He could go on for hours about the cyclical nature of music, the endless push and pull between catchy light-hearted love-themed popular music and music that had an edge, dealt with difficult or depressing subjects, or tried to effect a social change, always using his library to illustrate his points.
When his dad died, Connor got his iPod and in a way, it was like he carried a piece of his father with him. So as the years went by, while loving contemporary music as much as his peers (including the Smoles, Rasputin’s Download, Knee Jerq, Czar Tomorrow, Crutch Rocket and the now elder stateswoman of pop, Katy Perry), he also loved the oldies his father had shared with him: Pink Floyd, The Police, U2, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Beastie Boys, Rage Against the Machine, NWA, Dre, and Wutang . He would go for runs or hang out in his room, and later drive, and they kept him company. His dad kept him company. At yet the same time, without consciously meaning to, he found himself disappointed in his father, that he had not known how to be more a part of his life. He determined that he would try harder to show the affection and direction for his own children that he had desperately wanted from his own father.
Connor grew up and started working as an IT administrator for a middling sized business. At the age of 23, in 2022, he married Jamie Anderson, a nurse. In 2023, their son Hayden was born. The labor had not been without problems, and he ended up being delivered by C-section toward the evening.
*
Connor felt a profound sense of peace and determination as he watched the delivery team wash, weigh and take his newborn son to the NICU. Jaime was sleeping from the anesthesia and was wheeled back into her room. After some time had gone by, he was finally allowed into the NICU in the evening to see his son. They were concerned that his lungs weren’t fully developed and oxygenating fully. So small. 5 pounds 12 ounces. 15 inches in length. He was under an oxygen delivery system of some sort and sleeping. He was so tiny that the container that usually was positioned over a baby’s head with an opening for the neck instead went down to his shoulders. His little hands were clenched into tiny fists- perfectly formed nails white- though he seemed still and at peace. My son, he thought to himself over and over again. My boy, and he tried to imaging this infant crawling or walking or talking or all the other things he’d eventually do. He looked at his head, fine brown hair on his mottled red skin. Hayden’s face crinkled and then he sneezed, his whole body jerking, and then he started crying. He had woken himself up. It was a high-pitched cry, unsure of what it wanted. He laid his hand on Hayden’s chest, his whole hand span- thumb to little finger, encircling it to the blanket. He could feel the tiny quick heartbeat. Skin to skin, soft and warm, he felt a connection with his son. “Shhhh buddy. It’s ok. Shhh,” he whispered. After a moment, Hayden grew still and his breathing became regular in sleep. He wondered at the person behind those closed eyes. Who are you, little one? What will you be bud?
He felt an awesome sense of responsibility. The next few decades of his life had a tight focus now. He felt awe at this trust given to him and prayed in gratitude, in humility, and for guidance. He looked at his hand on his son’s torso, felt that connection. “I swear to you, my son, I swear to you before God himself, that I will be your father for all time. I will be there for you no matter what. I will protect you and teach you. I promise you, my little boy. I promise you I will be the best father to you that I can be.” It came from his soul, the deepest place he could imagine. It was a holy vow, something done only a few times in life, every bit as sacred as the marriage vows he had taken only 12 months before. It was a promise and he would live up to it the best he knew how.
*
Life always starts with the best of intentions. That could be said of Connor and Jaime’s marriage. But people are people. They were never a good match, though they both tried, especially for Hayden’s sake. Eventually, Jaime left him though. Though he was devastated, his primary concern was his son. Now, more than ever, Hayden would need stability. They divided things amicably, determined to work together to meet Hayden’s needs. They would share custody, with one parent taking turns as primary for the year. When Jaime moved to Denver, that necessitated an adjustment to their schedules. Every two weeks, Connor would drive up to some remote town half-way to Denver and either get Hayden for the weekend or leave him with his mom for the weekend, depending on who the primary was. For years, Connor and Jaime worked at making sure both parents got to spend time with their son. The trips were long and at times got old. But they also were perfect times to just enjoy each other’s company.
*
2036
Connor waited in the car while Hayden went into the store to get some snacks. 13 years old, now, Connor could see the man Hayden would become peeking through that face that was still more a kid’s. He still couldn’t believe he was the father of a teenager. He didn’t feel old at all at 37 years of age. He felt the same as he did in his late teens and early 20’s, the same person. Smarter, sure. More experienced, yeah. He’d done a lot more in life and took things in stride that once would have been nerve wracking. But underneath it all, he was still the same person he always had been. And yet now he had a son whose coming adulthood was only a few years away. It was sobering. I still have so much more to do, he thought, overwhelmed. Driving a car. Managing money and paying bills. Getting a job. So much left to do.
Hayden got into the car with a couple bags of chips and almonds, some beef jerky, a sports drink for himself and some water for Connor.
“They didn’t have any pistachios, so I got you almonds.”
“Thanks,” Connor said as they backed out of the parking lot and got back on the road.
For a moment Hayden busied himself opening his drink and chips, then asked “Who’s Tupac?”
Connor was taken a bit by surprise. He hadn’t heard that name is a while. “What?”
Through his chewing Hayden said, “There was this magazine eDisplay that said that someone had seen Tupac. They had this picture of this old bald black guy at astation trying to gas up his vehicle. Like it was important or something.”
Connor couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously?” He laughed out loud again. “Wow. They were saying that when I was kid too.”
“Yeah, but who was he?”
“You’ve never heard him? I guess it has been a while. Hold on,” he said and called up the iNet Music Library on his dash to find a song. The library began listing song titles and he stopped it at one. ‘Changes’. “There we go. That’s a good one. That's Tupac." The song started up and ran for about a minute before Hayden spoke up.
“That’s just old rap, dad. So what’s he doing at a gas station and why would they put that on a magazine?”
Connor faked being hurt. “Hey!! You shut up!,” he said laughing. “That’s some good music right there.” It was funny.
“Whatever,” Hayden said, but he was laughing too.
“So Tupac was killed back a long time ago. Think it was in the 80’s or 90’s or something. Probably 90’s now that I think about it. A gang war I think. My dad mentioned something about it. Rappers from the New York ambushed him or something like that. You know Po Diddly, right?”
“That super old guy in that Old Navy commercial where he’s wearing silk pajamas and lives with all those girls?”
“Yeah, he used to be a rapper. Think he called himself P. Diddy or Puffy or something. He was in on it too I think. Anyway, Tupac died, but then kept coming out with new albums. Like he had recorded a billion songs before his death or something. Kind of became of joke. But some people started saying he had never died and was in hiding. Like Elvis.”
“Who’s Elvis?”
“Are you kidding me?” he said, chuckling. “You’ve never heard of Elvis?”
Hayden took a swig from his bottle and then said, “Nope. But I bet he’s old if you know about him, ” he said before giving him a wide smile.
Connor laughed. “You watch it boy. I’mma havta beatcha when we gets home,” he said in an exaggerated accent. Then he thought of his dad. “Your grandpa would be rolling in his grave to hear you talk. Would tell me I have neglected your education. Never mind. Just funny that people are still saying he’s alive. Makes you wonder if he’s got another new album coming out this year.”
The windows were down and it was a hot day, being the middle of summer. For a while, the song played, the music competing with the sound of the air. Connor was content to let Hayden take over the radio when the song ended and choose what he wanted. Some of it was ok. But some of it…he just didn’t get it. Stanislov? Russian prog-metal just wasn’t his thing at all. But at least it wasn’t Nickelback. Still touring and putting out music in their 70’s- and they still sucked after all these years. At least Foo Fighters were out there, though, still doing good stuff. The truck started climbing as they entered the passes and it got a little chilly, so he rolled up the windows. “So what do you want to do tomorrow? Go out for breakfast?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe that Mexican place? Love some Huevos Rancheros. I’d like to go swimming with Brad and Soren…and maybe we’ll invite some others,” he said nonchalantly.
“Ok.” Connor felt like teasing a bit. “You gonna ask Rachel to go too?,” he said innocently.
Hayden looked at him with an embarrassed smile. “What? I don’t like her.”
“Uh huh. Ok.” He’d seen the way he acted around her. He knew what that looked like. He stopped teasing. “It’s ok if you don’t like her. But I’m just saying that if you do, that’s ok too. It’s normal.”
Hayden was quiet for a while. He put a movie on the dash, some action film starring Jaden Smith he’d seen a thousand times. Like Independence Day had needed to be remade. Connor’s mind drifted and he just followed the road. The mountains were beautiful. After a while, Hayden turned the volume down a bit.
“Dad?”
“What’s up bud?,” he said absent-mindedly.
“So….if you do like a girl, how should you talk to her?”
Connor smiled. Just another reminder his boy was growing up. It felt bittersweet. He was excited to see the person Hayden was becoming. He could even envision the day when Hayden was less of a son and more of a brother, a good friend. The thought warmed his heart. It had begun. “Well….girls are like guys mostly. In some ways. So you have to remember that. Treat her like you’d want to be treated. You know, the Golden Rule.”
Hayden thought about that for a bit. “Ok…but they’re not just like us. They like stuff I don’t care about. Or they get upset about the weirdest things.”
“That’s true. So you have to take that into account. Remember how to be a friend?”
Hayden remembered and repeated back to him, “Be really interested in other people. Show them respect. Treat them with dignity.”
“It’s the same thing. You don’t have to like everything they do, any more than you do with Brad, right? He loves football and basketball and you don’t. Are you still friends?”
“Yeah.” He thought for a moment. “Ok, I get it.”
“Just remember the difference between being a nice guy and being a good guy. A nice guy worries too much whether other people like him. He ends up letting people walk on him. You know people like that?”
“Yeah. Lavon always lets the guys at school tease him and he just laughs nervously. He’s afraid they won’t let him hang out with them.”
“Exactly. But they don’t really like him because he does that, do they?” He took a drink of water. “A good guy wants to be liked too. We all do. It’s natural.” He paused to let this sink in. “But he wants to like himself too. So he doesn’t let people treat him bad. That’s the same with boys and girls.” It had been a hard lesson to learn. But it was one of the most important. Dignity. “Just don’t let yourself be treated badly, bud. Don’t be a doormat to anyone, even a girl you like. And if people try it, you can kindly but firmly let them know it’s unacceptable. If they don’t stop, you don’t need them.” He looked at Hayden and said with all sincerity, “You’re better than that.”
“Ok dad.” Then Hayden turned the movie back up. Maybe he got it and maybe he hadn’t yet. But Connor would make sure to repeat the lesson. Self-respect was important. Following your principles and not deviating from them, even when others might not like you for it, was the path of a good man or woman.
*
Connor watched his son grow into a good and decent man. He had good friends, always moving easily among different groups of people, but always staying to true to himself. Eventually he graduated from High School and began studying architectural engineering. All those years building with Legos or popsicle sticks had made his choice of careers pretty easy. When Hayden was 19, he was attending UNM, loving his classes, and had even found a girl that he really liked and liked him in return. There was no hurry. Connor had made sure that Hayden knew to take the time to really figure out what he wanted in life, to be patient. That if he was careful and ruled his heart, he’d be ok for the long haul.
*
But this time, Connor was wrong. Time was not on their side at all. During the summer of 2042, Hayden had been rock-climbing when he had an accident and fell 40 feet. He was taken to the hospital but miraculously, he wasn’t injured. Connor and Jaime had driven down before the doctor had cleared him and decided to stay a while longer. But just a few days later, Hayden began to complain of head pain and fever. At first, Connor and Jaime thought it was just a head cold and Jaime began to take care of him at home.
But he got worse. Jaime, who by this time as a nurse had seen many cases of the now rapidly spreading “sickness”, became worried. Worried because she knew the course this thing could take. But worried also because she had heard of rumors regarding patients with the sickness: of the CDC, under the influence of WHO, requiring that medical care givers report not just the victims themselves, but their family as well; of patients taken by the CDC and never seen again; of too family members disappearing or coincidently getting into accidents. So far, they were just rumors, but Jaime had seen enough. She was seriously concerned and confided those concerns to Connor. They didn’t take Hayden to the hospital.
Hayden got worse and seemed in agony. Jaime researched anything she could find to help. But Connor felt powerless. He was just a computer guy. He didn’t know medicine, apart from what biology he’d learned in school. He couldn’t do anything for his son. Jaime had to do it. Hayden cried and writhed in pain and Connor prayed and prayed and held his hand. When Hayden slept, Connor looked at him, remembered that day so long ago, when Hayden had lain in the NICU. Remembered his promise.
“Oh my son. Hayden. My beautiful son. Please, please…..,” he repeated over and over again, eyes closed, brows knitted together. He knelt over his son, head bowed on his bed, tears soaking the sheets. “Oh God. Father. Abba! Please.” He breathed in deeply, let it out slowly, putting his soul into his words. “Please Father, please, help him. Help my son. Help my son, please Father, please.” Over and over again, he prayed and pleaded.
At one point, Hayden woke, delirious. “Mom? Dad?”
“I’m here bud. I’m here. Your mom is too.” He felt some relief that he could talk to his son. “We’re here. Hayden. We love you so much.” Jaime was next to him, holding Hayden’s other hand. Tears streamed down her face. She had found that her fears were all too well founded. A trip to the hospital would kill Hayden.
Hayden’s head was burning up, but he stayed awake for a bit. “I hurt. It hurts…it burns.” His pain through gritted teeth made him stop.
“It’s ok, Hayden. We’re here my son,” said Jaime. She looked haggard, bags under her eyes. Her son, the child of her body, was suffering and she could do nothing either.
Connor and Jaime stayed with their son, through the screams, through the wrestless sleep, through the cries and struggle. At times Hayden was more lucid, and at times he was delirious. And Connor and Jaime tried to comfort him as best they could, praying and pleading. Jaime administered pain killers and sedatives, to stop the pain or to help him find some peace in sleep. She gave him nutrients and plenty of water in the hopes of his fever breaking. Connor read to him, the Bible, his favorite books, anything he thought Hayden might like. And while Hayden seemed to suffer less, he didn’t get any better.
Hayden died two days later, having squeezed his parent’s hands one final time. Connor died too that day, in his heart. Dead, he thought numbly. My little boy is dead. He remembered all their times together, remembered Hayden running and playing and reading and watching TV. He remembered driving and seeing his son in the passenger seat, just sitting there listening to music or talking. He remembered when Hayden was little and he sat on his father’s legs to watch TV when Connor took a nap on the couch. He remembered holding his son in his arms, so tiny, so helpless. He looked at this tall young mad, sprawled in the bed, body lifeless, and just broke down and cried. He cried everything. He cried and held his son. Jaime cried and cried, going through her own personal hell.
Connor broke that day. He was done. He didn’t know what else to do with life. He spiraled into heavy drinking, trying to lose himself in the haze of alcohol. He didn’t care anymore about anything. Friends and family tried to comfort him, tried to help him. But he didn’t want help. He wanted his boy. He wanted to die.
And then, sitting in a bar, Connor overheard a conversation between two men. It was about the sickness. It was spreading. But the conversation took a darker turn, as the men talked about what they had heard regarding the rumors of disappearing patients and their families, the very things Jaime had talked about. Connor called her and asked her about what she knew. It wasn’t much, except that it was happening. WHO and maybe others were targeting people with the sickness. It made him angry. If Hayden had been able to go to the hospital, maybe something could have been done. Instead, he’d only had them and it wasn’t enough. Jaime told him, though, that in Moscow, Central Dominance, the sickness was being researched. The Ascendency had set up some kind of facility and had staffed it with the best scientists and equipment.
Connor felt a fire in his heart, a purpose, born of anger. He needed answers. He needed to know what had happened to his son, why he had died. Why he had not been able to go to the hospital. He was going to get answers.
He sold everything he had of value, cashed out the little 401k that he had, contacted his aunt Ivana Delov who lived in Moscow, and arranged to stay with her. He’d find work to support him eventually.
More importantly, he would find answers.
Continued is....Combing the Grid
Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 20 2014, 08:24 AM.
Height: 6'
Weight: 205 lbs
Hair: Dirty Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Build: Solid
Profession: IT Admin
Hobbies: Gym, Running, Reading, Writing, Music, Movies, TV, languages, history, camping, survival training.
In the 6th Age:
He was born as Priam, a solid man with simple needs. The god-wars had been raging for decades, with the people in the large cities bearing the brunt of the wars. Society in those cities was chaotic and stability was breaking down. But the back-waters of the world still had some peace as the war had not yet fully intruded on their lives. Priam was a son with an ancient lineage, the “Remnant”, a once proud and honored people that still maintained their warrior tradition. Not much remained of their memory except for the distant stories of once being the made by the first man Iasan; that they were Drakonodon, “Teeth of the Dragon”; the belief that one day they would be needed again.
Such stories heartened and defined them as they lived simple lives. Priam married Thetis but they remained childless. For 10 years, he and his wife along with father and mother and brothers worked together to survive on their rocky and hilly land, pastoral but for the occasional squabble or raid from the ever wandering nomadic peoples. It was a hard but satisfying life.
And then the god-wars forced their way into their lives. As Titan and Olympian fought and died and killed, one group fled to those same backwaters. Their god-powered transport was damaged and crashed near the home of Priam, killing almost everyone on board. He made his way to the wreckage and discovered an infant, sheltered in the arms of his dead mother. The child had the Olympian thunderbolt marked on the back of his head, indicating he was one of the god-children, born of god-parents and surely destined for god-hood himself. The cries of the child stirred something in Priam. His own wife, Thetis, had finally become pregnant, but had lost the child just a few days ago and was deeply grieved. He took the child home and showed him to her. Nothing could replace their baby. But this child had no mother or father. It would die without them. They opened their hearts to the baby and named him Achilles. He became their son, as much their flesh as any that might have been born of Thetis’ body. As long as his head was never shaved, no one would ever know. Not long afterwards, Thetis again became pregnant and had a second son, Iphicles. This child too was loved and both boys never knew they weren’t fleshly brothers, with all the affection and squabbles that brothers have.
But Priam and Thetis knew that Achilles would especially need them as he grew older. They were ever vigilant to teach their son compassion and justice now, while he was young.
*
Iphicles was crying while Mama comforted him. Achilles had pushed him down and was now looking defiantly at Papa, who had demanded an explanation.
“He broke my soldier! The one you made for me!”
“And?,” Papa said, upset. “Does that mean you can push him down for that?”
“But he broke it! I told him not to touch it. Instead he took it and broke it!” Achilles glared at his brother. “He did it on purpose!”
Papa spoke calmly. “Do you think he really wanted to break your toy?”
Achilles knew that Papa had him there, but he was unwilling to back down. “It doesn’t matter. I can be mad at him for breaking it.”
“Oh? And what about pushing him? Is it ok to hurt someone if they make you mad?”
Achilles thought about that. But then he saw his broken soldier. Papa had made it for him. It was special. He got angrier as he thought about his Papa making it for him and then Iphicles taking it when he told him not to and then breaking it. “Yes! He deserved it!”
Papa quickly stood up to his full height. Suddenly, Achilles felt very, very small. He was big for 7, but next to Papa, he was tiny, with his gigantic muscles and back from working the fields. Papa’s face looked mad and his voice became so quiet it was scary. “And so when I get angry with you for not doing your chores, does that mean I can push you down?” Papa hadn’t moved, but suddenly Achilles felt scared looking up at him.
And then Papa knelt down and gently took Achilles’ shoulders in his big hands. His face wasn’t scary anymore and his voice was nice. It was low and deep, but that made Achilles feel safe. “Son, being bigger or stronger doesn’t mean you get to hurt someone whenever you want.”
Achilles looked down. Papa was bigger than me, but never hurt me, even when he got mad. He wasn’t angry at Iphicles anymore. Instead, he heard his little brother crying and apologizing and it made him sad. He started to cry. Papa took him into his arms, against his chest. Achilles felt warm and safe there. And ashamed. “I’m so sorry Papa.” He looked at his little brother, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to break it, Achilles,” Iphicles was saying through his tears.
He felt bad he had hurt Iphicles. As much as he wanted to stay there, he pulled away from Papa and went to hug him. “I’m sorry Iphicles! I know you didn’t mean it. It was an accident”, he said. He saw how little his brother, only 5, was compared to him. Just like me and Papa. He looked at his Papa and saw him smiling. It made him feel good inside.
Papa came over to them and pulled Mama to them until they were all sitting next to each and hugging or holding hands. “Son, we will always be bigger than some people and smaller than others.” Achilles tried to imagine Papa being smaller than someone else. It was hard. Well, some of his uncles were taller than Papa, but they didn’t actually seem bigger. “It doesn’t matter, though. We protect people, Son. We are protectors.” Papa looked him directly in the eye and his voice was strong, but not mad. “Especially, Achilles, especially we protect those smaller or weaker than us. We are not bullies. So you protect your little brother.” Achilles felt those words go into him. I am a protector. I will protect Iphicles…and all the other kids too.
Papa then smiled at him. Iphicles had stopped crying too. “Remember who we are, my sons. Drakonodon. ‘Teeth of the Dragon.’”
Achilles fought a smile. He loved that story. “Papa, will you tell us about when Iasan made the Drakonodon and killed the serpent Ydra?”
Papa smiled. “Ok.” Papa let go and sat back, crossing his legs. Mama was next to him. He looked from Achilles to Iphicles and back.
“Long ago, long before the Titans or the Olympians or any other gods, there was Earth and Sky. Sky was young and the new Light streamed from the infant Sun. Mist rose from the earth as the Light touched the water, creating light and dark clouds, pushing and pulling and swirling into each other. Sound was new and fresh and moved like liquid throughout the new-formed Earth. It was perfect.
Then, among the dark clouds, a darkness appeared- the seed of chaos. It was just a pinpoint of darkness, but it sucked in the dark-clouds. The clouds spun as they went into the darkness. The darkness rained black oil and it fell to Earth, burning her. She groaned and heaved as the oil cut her.
But the white clouds spun about themselves too, sucking in the Light of the Sun. Those clouds became one brightly shining ball of Light. And then the ball became a crystal egg- blazing with the light- and it floated to the ground. Earth opened herself and a mountain in the shape of an open hand emerged from its depths to gently cradle the egg of light.
And the egg cracked and the light within broke free. It took the shape of a man, strong as crystal and bright as the sun. Light shone from his face and chest, and he wore lightning on his belt. In his hands he wielded a great sword with which to fight the Chaos.
At the very same time, the black ball too had become an egg, lighting of black licking about its surface. And then it too cracked- sickly green light oozing from the cracks. It split open, the shell fragments falling slowly like leaves to the ground. Out slithered Ydra, the beast of the darkness. Ydra’s black eyelids opened and green fires blazed behind those eyes. Ydra came forth covered in scales that dripped black oil. Small heads sprouted from Ydra, growing until there were 13, sitting atop long slender scaly necks.
Iasan strode forth, his crystal sword blazing in his hand. He struck at the closest head and the neck sizzled as the sword cut through it. The head dropped to the ground and melted. Three times Iasan ducked the hissing heads and struck, until three heads littered the ground. But as Iasan severed that third one, one of the other heads bit into his side and tore a chunk of his flesh. Ydra seemed to grow from the meat in its teeth. Earth screamed and her mountains were shaken. Sky darkened until the star shapes could be seen, Eagle, Bear, and the Great Dragon. And then a new head burst forth from each severed neck, growing larger and larger.
Iasan cried out in pain and fell back, weakened, as blood and water spilled out from his side and flowed onto the ground forming a pool. Iasan looked up at Sky and saw the Great Dragon’s stars twinkling. Sky, wanting to come to his aid, bent himself down until Iasan could touch the great blackness of the vault. Iasan snatched 12 teeth from the Great Dragon’s mouth. The stars burned and smoked in his hand and he plunged them into the pool of his blood and water. The stars sizzled and then began to grow, becoming men.
Each man was wreathed in dark shadow like leaves, eyes sparkling in the glow of their crystal spears. They stood and helped Iasan up. Looking at them, Iasan smiled grimly, determined, and turned back to Ydra. He lifted his sword and suddenly it was pure light. Iasan ran toward Ydra, cutting off each head in turn. And behind him followed the Teeth of the Dragon made flesh. As soon as each head was lopped off, one of the men shoved his glowing spear into the neck. The spear head blazed and burned and no new heads grew.
Finally, Iasan stood face to face with Ydra. He grabbed Ydra’s tail with his right hand and spun him about. Then he hurled Ydra out away from Earth. Sky cried as Ydra pierced him and passed through him, off into the unknown.
Then, spent, Iasan collapsed, blood continuing to flow from his side. Around him stood the Teeth of the Dragon, the Drakonodon. “Hear me, my people! I die, but you will live. From my body will come the nations and races of men. I charge you Teeth of the Dragon, I charge you to watch over them and protect them.”
Iasan’s head then fell back and he died. The hand that had held the stars had turned black. It melted an opening into Earth. The other hand, white as bone, also melted and burned another opening into Earth. And out of those openings men and women came forth. These were the first gods to walk the earth.
Iasan’s legs melted and there grew from his right leg a large man clad in animal skin, thunderbolt in his hand, its light reflecting in his eyes: Perkwunos the Striker, The Provider. And from his left leg grew another man clad in robes, holding bone dice in his right hand and scales in his left hand: Kmir the judge.
Finally, Iasan’s feet melted, and from each toe came a different man and woman, all the ten nations of mankind.
Thus there came from Iaman all the people of Earth: the gods who took the power of Iaman as their own, the Thunderer under whose rains we shelter and live, the Chooser who gives us what is unknown in life. And finally, my sons, the Drakonodon. We are the last remnant of those people. We are all that is left of the Dragon’s Teeth.
But we remember our charge.”
Thetis, Achilles and Iphicles repeated after him. “We remember our charge.”
*
Achilles took his Father’s instruction to heart. Never again did he lash out in anger. Instead, when he saw injustice, he acted. Together, he and Iphicles his brother became known as the Son’s of Thunder for their fearless exploits. As the god-wars grew in scope, so too did their back-water villages grow. People flocked to their region, running, fleeing, escaping, hoping to find refuge and peace. Other villages and cities sometimes attacked and Achilles and Iphicles joined their father in the defense of the city. Eventually, the god-wars themselves came, causing pain and ruin and devastation. Achilles had seen the misery written in blood that they had caused, and his hatred of them grew.
During one bloody attack, Achilles saw his brother Iphicles struck down by a god as he fought another god, head shaved so the lightning bolt on the back of his skull gleamed in the light. At that moment, in a fit of rage at seeing his brother go down, Achilles channeled for the first time, killing both gods instantly. He was able to help his brother to safety.
Afterwards he confronted his father about what had happened and Priam reluctantly told him the truth of his origins. He told him of the markings on the back of his skill that was hidden by his hair. Achilles was hurt and scared.
*
Achilles felt at the back of his head, trying to sense the markings Mother and Father said were there, trying to see if he felt any difference, something that set him apart. He felt like his was drowning, like the time he had been in the ocean and had been pulled under by a current. He couldn’t breathe. His foundation was his family, his father and mother, his brother. And now, I find out that Father isn’t my….He rejected that thought violently. What am I?
“Son, I know this is so hard.” Priam’s eyes glistened with tears. “But we love you so very much. Nothing has changed for us.”
“Nothing??!!” The thought made him explode. “How can you say that Father? Nothing has changed? Everything has changed!” He felt at the back of his head again. “All my life you told me I was your son.”
“You are my son!,” Priam tried to say, but Achilles went on.
“You taught me how to be a good man. And now I find out…now I learn I’m one of them? I’ve hated them all my life. You taught me that. I’ve seen the refugees, the ones who escaped.” The memories came to him. A woman in tattered and burned clothing, eyes red-rimmed with tears, streaks of white on her soot-stained face. She stumbled along the road, almost ready to collapse. In her arms she carried a child, looking maybe like he was three. He had been burned horribly when a stray fireball from one of the gods struck the house. One of his eyes was milky white, with the skin fissured and red and black all over his face, his ears melted into twisted lumps. He wasn’t moving. They had tried to help him, but the boy was dead. That winter the woman threw herself into the river and drowned. A small girl found in the woods, scared and skittish, bony arms and ribs visible thrown torn clothing, cuts and scrapes on her young body. How long had been hiding? He heard of the disappeared girls, taken from their homes to the houses of the gods, to be used and traded. An ocean of people’s pain that meant nothing to them. And Iphicles, body broken and blood pumping from wounds made by jagged wood fragments jutting from stomach and neck. Fear and revulsion welled up inside him. “And I am one of them?!” He was angry and terrified. “I have this…this power. Will I change too?” He whispered “Is that what I will become?”
Priam took him by his shoulders, squeezing hard with his hands. “You listen to me son. Listen! Look at me!” Reluctantly, Achilles looked him in the eyes. They were hard and clear and his face was as fierce as he had ever seen. “I am your father! I raised you. And I know you better than anyone!”
Achilles felt those words go into him. They pierced his heart. They were something to hold onto. “Son, you are going to be something in this world. I don’t know what. But I believe in you. Your mother believes in you. Iphicles believes you. You are going to inspire goodness and hope in others. That I do know.” He felt his father’s sincerity. He believes in me. It was as simple as that. Father believed in him. Father trusted him. He clung to that anchor.
*
From that point on, after surviving the sickness, Achilles used his power and worked surreptitiously to sabotage the gods as they and their wars grew in the area. He and his father and brother organized others to carry on the work underground. At one point, Achilles was discovered and had to flee, eventually making his way to Asia Minor. There he came across another god, Enki, and discovered that he wasn’t alone in not letting his ability to call on the power make him evil. They became close friends. As they traveled and helped people, they eventually met others like them- Prometheus, Tammuz, and Utnapishtim. After enough time had gone by, they returned to Achilles home, only to discover that Priam and Iphicles had been killed by the gods during their underground activity. The death cut Achilles to his heart and he wanted revenge. But his father’s words stayed with him. “You are my son. I believe in you.” He knew he had to find a way to help the people stand against the gods, especially the Drakonodon remnant, to stop them once and for all. And so rebellion continued to spread, as more and more people took up anything they could find. Even gods who had not been evil, or those that sought redemption, such as Hektor, joined their cause, making the rebellions more successful.
They learned of a weapons facility at Troy, run by the eminent god-scientist Helen, and decided to get inside and steal anything the rebellion could use, or failing that, to destroy the place. Using an inverted weave of invisibility, Achilles and many of his companions hid inside a materials shipment and were able to sneak in. Unknown to him, though, Hektor had been a spy for the Olympians and alerted the gods. Achilles was able to kill Hektor, though, and they escaped with losses. Achilles redoubled his efforts and soon conducted successful raids on other facilities. These activities inspired both humans and those gods that chose to help them in other regions of the earth, finally helping to tip the balance in the favor of mankind.
Eventually, though, Achilles was killed when a mortal, Paris, thinking him to be just like the other Olympians gods, shot him from ambush with a weapon.
7th/1st Age
Connor Alexander Kent was born in 1998 in Flagstaff, AZ, USA, the son of Liam Kent. He grew up in northwest New Mexico amid the environmental disasters that affected US coastal cities. The regions further inland began to receive a huge influx of people fleeing, seeking to start over in more stable and less volatile areas. The four corners states, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico, together with the mid-western states of Wyoming, Idaho and the Dakotas had been able to not only survive but also thrive due to the abundant farmland and natural resources, including coal, oil and natural gas, they contained. These mid-west states became economic power-houses and occupied the position California once did, making them largely responsible for helping the US limp through the disasters of the era. Even the entertainment industry followed suit, with Phoenix, AZ becoming the new Hollywood. Now, more than ever, people the world over turned to entertainment to distract or help them get through their lives. Northern New Mexico had a couple large cities and was served by the booming natural gas industry. There was relative affluence but also great poverty.
Connor’s father Liam had been a long distance hauler, while his mother Katerina nee Delov had worked as an airline agent. Connor’s father died in 2012 when he was just 13 years old. His father hadn’t been very involved in his life, so when he died, Connor missed more the idea of having a father than the actual man himself. There was one exception, though, one thing that always made him think of his. Music. During those few times when he got to ride with his father to Nebraska or Texas, the iPod was their constant companion. At those times, his dad would share his love of music. He would discuss specific artists and bands, music trends and influences, or what the context for a style of music was, the revolutionary styles and sounds that came at specific periods of time. He could go on for hours about the cyclical nature of music, the endless push and pull between catchy light-hearted love-themed popular music and music that had an edge, dealt with difficult or depressing subjects, or tried to effect a social change, always using his library to illustrate his points.
When his dad died, Connor got his iPod and in a way, it was like he carried a piece of his father with him. So as the years went by, while loving contemporary music as much as his peers (including the Smoles, Rasputin’s Download, Knee Jerq, Czar Tomorrow, Crutch Rocket and the now elder stateswoman of pop, Katy Perry), he also loved the oldies his father had shared with him: Pink Floyd, The Police, U2, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Beastie Boys, Rage Against the Machine, NWA, Dre, and Wutang . He would go for runs or hang out in his room, and later drive, and they kept him company. His dad kept him company. At yet the same time, without consciously meaning to, he found himself disappointed in his father, that he had not known how to be more a part of his life. He determined that he would try harder to show the affection and direction for his own children that he had desperately wanted from his own father.
Connor grew up and started working as an IT administrator for a middling sized business. At the age of 23, in 2022, he married Jamie Anderson, a nurse. In 2023, their son Hayden was born. The labor had not been without problems, and he ended up being delivered by C-section toward the evening.
*
Connor felt a profound sense of peace and determination as he watched the delivery team wash, weigh and take his newborn son to the NICU. Jaime was sleeping from the anesthesia and was wheeled back into her room. After some time had gone by, he was finally allowed into the NICU in the evening to see his son. They were concerned that his lungs weren’t fully developed and oxygenating fully. So small. 5 pounds 12 ounces. 15 inches in length. He was under an oxygen delivery system of some sort and sleeping. He was so tiny that the container that usually was positioned over a baby’s head with an opening for the neck instead went down to his shoulders. His little hands were clenched into tiny fists- perfectly formed nails white- though he seemed still and at peace. My son, he thought to himself over and over again. My boy, and he tried to imaging this infant crawling or walking or talking or all the other things he’d eventually do. He looked at his head, fine brown hair on his mottled red skin. Hayden’s face crinkled and then he sneezed, his whole body jerking, and then he started crying. He had woken himself up. It was a high-pitched cry, unsure of what it wanted. He laid his hand on Hayden’s chest, his whole hand span- thumb to little finger, encircling it to the blanket. He could feel the tiny quick heartbeat. Skin to skin, soft and warm, he felt a connection with his son. “Shhhh buddy. It’s ok. Shhh,” he whispered. After a moment, Hayden grew still and his breathing became regular in sleep. He wondered at the person behind those closed eyes. Who are you, little one? What will you be bud?
He felt an awesome sense of responsibility. The next few decades of his life had a tight focus now. He felt awe at this trust given to him and prayed in gratitude, in humility, and for guidance. He looked at his hand on his son’s torso, felt that connection. “I swear to you, my son, I swear to you before God himself, that I will be your father for all time. I will be there for you no matter what. I will protect you and teach you. I promise you, my little boy. I promise you I will be the best father to you that I can be.” It came from his soul, the deepest place he could imagine. It was a holy vow, something done only a few times in life, every bit as sacred as the marriage vows he had taken only 12 months before. It was a promise and he would live up to it the best he knew how.
*
Life always starts with the best of intentions. That could be said of Connor and Jaime’s marriage. But people are people. They were never a good match, though they both tried, especially for Hayden’s sake. Eventually, Jaime left him though. Though he was devastated, his primary concern was his son. Now, more than ever, Hayden would need stability. They divided things amicably, determined to work together to meet Hayden’s needs. They would share custody, with one parent taking turns as primary for the year. When Jaime moved to Denver, that necessitated an adjustment to their schedules. Every two weeks, Connor would drive up to some remote town half-way to Denver and either get Hayden for the weekend or leave him with his mom for the weekend, depending on who the primary was. For years, Connor and Jaime worked at making sure both parents got to spend time with their son. The trips were long and at times got old. But they also were perfect times to just enjoy each other’s company.
*
2036
Connor waited in the car while Hayden went into the store to get some snacks. 13 years old, now, Connor could see the man Hayden would become peeking through that face that was still more a kid’s. He still couldn’t believe he was the father of a teenager. He didn’t feel old at all at 37 years of age. He felt the same as he did in his late teens and early 20’s, the same person. Smarter, sure. More experienced, yeah. He’d done a lot more in life and took things in stride that once would have been nerve wracking. But underneath it all, he was still the same person he always had been. And yet now he had a son whose coming adulthood was only a few years away. It was sobering. I still have so much more to do, he thought, overwhelmed. Driving a car. Managing money and paying bills. Getting a job. So much left to do.
Hayden got into the car with a couple bags of chips and almonds, some beef jerky, a sports drink for himself and some water for Connor.
“They didn’t have any pistachios, so I got you almonds.”
“Thanks,” Connor said as they backed out of the parking lot and got back on the road.
For a moment Hayden busied himself opening his drink and chips, then asked “Who’s Tupac?”
Connor was taken a bit by surprise. He hadn’t heard that name is a while. “What?”
Through his chewing Hayden said, “There was this magazine eDisplay that said that someone had seen Tupac. They had this picture of this old bald black guy at astation trying to gas up his vehicle. Like it was important or something.”
Connor couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously?” He laughed out loud again. “Wow. They were saying that when I was kid too.”
“Yeah, but who was he?”
“You’ve never heard him? I guess it has been a while. Hold on,” he said and called up the iNet Music Library on his dash to find a song. The library began listing song titles and he stopped it at one. ‘Changes’. “There we go. That’s a good one. That's Tupac." The song started up and ran for about a minute before Hayden spoke up.
“That’s just old rap, dad. So what’s he doing at a gas station and why would they put that on a magazine?”
Connor faked being hurt. “Hey!! You shut up!,” he said laughing. “That’s some good music right there.” It was funny.
“Whatever,” Hayden said, but he was laughing too.
“So Tupac was killed back a long time ago. Think it was in the 80’s or 90’s or something. Probably 90’s now that I think about it. A gang war I think. My dad mentioned something about it. Rappers from the New York ambushed him or something like that. You know Po Diddly, right?”
“That super old guy in that Old Navy commercial where he’s wearing silk pajamas and lives with all those girls?”
“Yeah, he used to be a rapper. Think he called himself P. Diddy or Puffy or something. He was in on it too I think. Anyway, Tupac died, but then kept coming out with new albums. Like he had recorded a billion songs before his death or something. Kind of became of joke. But some people started saying he had never died and was in hiding. Like Elvis.”
“Who’s Elvis?”
“Are you kidding me?” he said, chuckling. “You’ve never heard of Elvis?”
Hayden took a swig from his bottle and then said, “Nope. But I bet he’s old if you know about him, ” he said before giving him a wide smile.
Connor laughed. “You watch it boy. I’mma havta beatcha when we gets home,” he said in an exaggerated accent. Then he thought of his dad. “Your grandpa would be rolling in his grave to hear you talk. Would tell me I have neglected your education. Never mind. Just funny that people are still saying he’s alive. Makes you wonder if he’s got another new album coming out this year.”
The windows were down and it was a hot day, being the middle of summer. For a while, the song played, the music competing with the sound of the air. Connor was content to let Hayden take over the radio when the song ended and choose what he wanted. Some of it was ok. But some of it…he just didn’t get it. Stanislov? Russian prog-metal just wasn’t his thing at all. But at least it wasn’t Nickelback. Still touring and putting out music in their 70’s- and they still sucked after all these years. At least Foo Fighters were out there, though, still doing good stuff. The truck started climbing as they entered the passes and it got a little chilly, so he rolled up the windows. “So what do you want to do tomorrow? Go out for breakfast?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe that Mexican place? Love some Huevos Rancheros. I’d like to go swimming with Brad and Soren…and maybe we’ll invite some others,” he said nonchalantly.
“Ok.” Connor felt like teasing a bit. “You gonna ask Rachel to go too?,” he said innocently.
Hayden looked at him with an embarrassed smile. “What? I don’t like her.”
“Uh huh. Ok.” He’d seen the way he acted around her. He knew what that looked like. He stopped teasing. “It’s ok if you don’t like her. But I’m just saying that if you do, that’s ok too. It’s normal.”
Hayden was quiet for a while. He put a movie on the dash, some action film starring Jaden Smith he’d seen a thousand times. Like Independence Day had needed to be remade. Connor’s mind drifted and he just followed the road. The mountains were beautiful. After a while, Hayden turned the volume down a bit.
“Dad?”
“What’s up bud?,” he said absent-mindedly.
“So….if you do like a girl, how should you talk to her?”
Connor smiled. Just another reminder his boy was growing up. It felt bittersweet. He was excited to see the person Hayden was becoming. He could even envision the day when Hayden was less of a son and more of a brother, a good friend. The thought warmed his heart. It had begun. “Well….girls are like guys mostly. In some ways. So you have to remember that. Treat her like you’d want to be treated. You know, the Golden Rule.”
Hayden thought about that for a bit. “Ok…but they’re not just like us. They like stuff I don’t care about. Or they get upset about the weirdest things.”
“That’s true. So you have to take that into account. Remember how to be a friend?”
Hayden remembered and repeated back to him, “Be really interested in other people. Show them respect. Treat them with dignity.”
“It’s the same thing. You don’t have to like everything they do, any more than you do with Brad, right? He loves football and basketball and you don’t. Are you still friends?”
“Yeah.” He thought for a moment. “Ok, I get it.”
“Just remember the difference between being a nice guy and being a good guy. A nice guy worries too much whether other people like him. He ends up letting people walk on him. You know people like that?”
“Yeah. Lavon always lets the guys at school tease him and he just laughs nervously. He’s afraid they won’t let him hang out with them.”
“Exactly. But they don’t really like him because he does that, do they?” He took a drink of water. “A good guy wants to be liked too. We all do. It’s natural.” He paused to let this sink in. “But he wants to like himself too. So he doesn’t let people treat him bad. That’s the same with boys and girls.” It had been a hard lesson to learn. But it was one of the most important. Dignity. “Just don’t let yourself be treated badly, bud. Don’t be a doormat to anyone, even a girl you like. And if people try it, you can kindly but firmly let them know it’s unacceptable. If they don’t stop, you don’t need them.” He looked at Hayden and said with all sincerity, “You’re better than that.”
“Ok dad.” Then Hayden turned the movie back up. Maybe he got it and maybe he hadn’t yet. But Connor would make sure to repeat the lesson. Self-respect was important. Following your principles and not deviating from them, even when others might not like you for it, was the path of a good man or woman.
*
Connor watched his son grow into a good and decent man. He had good friends, always moving easily among different groups of people, but always staying to true to himself. Eventually he graduated from High School and began studying architectural engineering. All those years building with Legos or popsicle sticks had made his choice of careers pretty easy. When Hayden was 19, he was attending UNM, loving his classes, and had even found a girl that he really liked and liked him in return. There was no hurry. Connor had made sure that Hayden knew to take the time to really figure out what he wanted in life, to be patient. That if he was careful and ruled his heart, he’d be ok for the long haul.
*
But this time, Connor was wrong. Time was not on their side at all. During the summer of 2042, Hayden had been rock-climbing when he had an accident and fell 40 feet. He was taken to the hospital but miraculously, he wasn’t injured. Connor and Jaime had driven down before the doctor had cleared him and decided to stay a while longer. But just a few days later, Hayden began to complain of head pain and fever. At first, Connor and Jaime thought it was just a head cold and Jaime began to take care of him at home.
But he got worse. Jaime, who by this time as a nurse had seen many cases of the now rapidly spreading “sickness”, became worried. Worried because she knew the course this thing could take. But worried also because she had heard of rumors regarding patients with the sickness: of the CDC, under the influence of WHO, requiring that medical care givers report not just the victims themselves, but their family as well; of patients taken by the CDC and never seen again; of too family members disappearing or coincidently getting into accidents. So far, they were just rumors, but Jaime had seen enough. She was seriously concerned and confided those concerns to Connor. They didn’t take Hayden to the hospital.
Hayden got worse and seemed in agony. Jaime researched anything she could find to help. But Connor felt powerless. He was just a computer guy. He didn’t know medicine, apart from what biology he’d learned in school. He couldn’t do anything for his son. Jaime had to do it. Hayden cried and writhed in pain and Connor prayed and prayed and held his hand. When Hayden slept, Connor looked at him, remembered that day so long ago, when Hayden had lain in the NICU. Remembered his promise.
“Oh my son. Hayden. My beautiful son. Please, please…..,” he repeated over and over again, eyes closed, brows knitted together. He knelt over his son, head bowed on his bed, tears soaking the sheets. “Oh God. Father. Abba! Please.” He breathed in deeply, let it out slowly, putting his soul into his words. “Please Father, please, help him. Help my son. Help my son, please Father, please.” Over and over again, he prayed and pleaded.
At one point, Hayden woke, delirious. “Mom? Dad?”
“I’m here bud. I’m here. Your mom is too.” He felt some relief that he could talk to his son. “We’re here. Hayden. We love you so much.” Jaime was next to him, holding Hayden’s other hand. Tears streamed down her face. She had found that her fears were all too well founded. A trip to the hospital would kill Hayden.
Hayden’s head was burning up, but he stayed awake for a bit. “I hurt. It hurts…it burns.” His pain through gritted teeth made him stop.
“It’s ok, Hayden. We’re here my son,” said Jaime. She looked haggard, bags under her eyes. Her son, the child of her body, was suffering and she could do nothing either.
Connor and Jaime stayed with their son, through the screams, through the wrestless sleep, through the cries and struggle. At times Hayden was more lucid, and at times he was delirious. And Connor and Jaime tried to comfort him as best they could, praying and pleading. Jaime administered pain killers and sedatives, to stop the pain or to help him find some peace in sleep. She gave him nutrients and plenty of water in the hopes of his fever breaking. Connor read to him, the Bible, his favorite books, anything he thought Hayden might like. And while Hayden seemed to suffer less, he didn’t get any better.
Hayden died two days later, having squeezed his parent’s hands one final time. Connor died too that day, in his heart. Dead, he thought numbly. My little boy is dead. He remembered all their times together, remembered Hayden running and playing and reading and watching TV. He remembered driving and seeing his son in the passenger seat, just sitting there listening to music or talking. He remembered when Hayden was little and he sat on his father’s legs to watch TV when Connor took a nap on the couch. He remembered holding his son in his arms, so tiny, so helpless. He looked at this tall young mad, sprawled in the bed, body lifeless, and just broke down and cried. He cried everything. He cried and held his son. Jaime cried and cried, going through her own personal hell.
Connor broke that day. He was done. He didn’t know what else to do with life. He spiraled into heavy drinking, trying to lose himself in the haze of alcohol. He didn’t care anymore about anything. Friends and family tried to comfort him, tried to help him. But he didn’t want help. He wanted his boy. He wanted to die.
And then, sitting in a bar, Connor overheard a conversation between two men. It was about the sickness. It was spreading. But the conversation took a darker turn, as the men talked about what they had heard regarding the rumors of disappearing patients and their families, the very things Jaime had talked about. Connor called her and asked her about what she knew. It wasn’t much, except that it was happening. WHO and maybe others were targeting people with the sickness. It made him angry. If Hayden had been able to go to the hospital, maybe something could have been done. Instead, he’d only had them and it wasn’t enough. Jaime told him, though, that in Moscow, Central Dominance, the sickness was being researched. The Ascendency had set up some kind of facility and had staffed it with the best scientists and equipment.
Connor felt a fire in his heart, a purpose, born of anger. He needed answers. He needed to know what had happened to his son, why he had died. Why he had not been able to go to the hospital. He was going to get answers.
He sold everything he had of value, cashed out the little 401k that he had, contacted his aunt Ivana Delov who lived in Moscow, and arranged to stay with her. He’d find work to support him eventually.
More importantly, he would find answers.
Continued is....Combing the Grid
Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 20 2014, 08:24 AM.