10

August 28, 2023.

THE GAME OF DESTINY HAD COMMENCED. The game tapped into past lives by opening and viewing the Akashic Records – from an etheric-realm repository which held every human thought and action in planetary memory. Enlightened spiritual masters and ascended beings have always known how to access the akashic records. In the Game of Destiny, the decision of victory or defeat would be rendered by an impartial ascended being known as the Records Keeper.

For onlookers, reading the akashic records meant watching the story unfold like a movie projected on a screen, with ancient languages intuitively understood as modern equivalents. Rek'iel, Mar'tan and the spokeswoman, Sophus, were more directly pulled in, appearing to be asleep though actually awake on another, transcendent plane, from which they beheld past events as if the events were still present and active.

o - o - o - o - o

ON BOARD THE PLANE TO CYPRUS, Teal'c had a feeling something wasn't right. It was early afternoon and weather conditions outside were clear, but something wasn't right though he didn't know what. The sixty-seat regional jet had two seats on each side, Teal'c on the aisle with the window seat next to him empty while across the aisle was Sam on her laptop, Nikki sitting next to her in the window seat, dozing.

Teal'c: "How do you feel, Dr. Carter?"

"I'm hanging in there."

Sam had her nonlinear device hooked into her laptop. Her memory was foggy and she wasn't feeling well, but playing with the device was simply her way of trying to get her brain moving: hooked-in to her laptop, she could calculate their altitude, speed, distance from Larnaca airport in Cyprus, and do other analysis.

Nikki dozing in the window seat, all quiet on the plane, and eventually Nikki drifted off into unusual dreams, now dreaming there was another plane behind them, chasing them, and because of that they needed her and now she was flying the plane, using zig-zag evasive maneuvers to lose the one behind, pulling hard to the left then careening downward through a spin and now adjusting the trajectory while looking for any kind of escape route. But she didn't feel worried; instead, feeling a serene sense of confidence being in the pilot's seat.

The dream felt brilliantly real.

Sam leaning over, "Nikki, time to wake up."

No response. Sam tapping on Nikki's arm, "Nikki, we're getting close to Larnaca – time to wake up."

Still no response, Sam trying again, "Nikki! Wake up!" while giving her a shake but no response and now Sam getting a little worried as she looked towards Teal'c on the other side of the aisle and got his attention – "Teal'c, she won't wake up!"

Teal'c: "I shall check her responses, Dr. Carter," as he got up and tried waking her and checked her pulse and breathing, then said, "Highly unusual. We can be thankful her vital signs are normal."

Another minute passed but she was still unresponsive, Sam now remembering Nikki had told her about this, that it could happen – but not about what to do. Teal'c tried his best to calm Carter, telling her quietly, "At least Nicole Jackson is stable," as Sam alerted the flight attendant.

o - o - o - o - o

INSIDE THE CELESTIAL DINER, the akashic clock had spun 'round and 'round as centuries and millennia passed, landscapes from the past flashing by with tremendous speed, flashing past lifetimes centuries ago in England and a thousand years ago in Tibet and back to ancient Rome, back further and further until finally settling at a time ten thousand years ago in Eastern Africa, when Rek'iel was known as Namor-Ma.

They were moving at close to one thousand miles per hour in their aircraft and Namor's partner told him, "I'm tryin."

Namor-Ma's partner was a woman, Mokha-Em, the two flying over what would be present-day Kenya, Mokha in the pilot's seat – with two aircraft chasing them.

Mokha-Em: "I'm tryin' but I can't shake 'em."

Namor-Ma: "You will. You always do."

Mokha: "Yeah, maybe, but only for a while."

She was a good pilot with quick reflexes – which was good, because they were fugitives on the run.

Mokha-Em glanced at Namor and said, "Hold on to your seat," as she dropped the aircraft five hundred feet in four seconds then leveled off, the trackers still following her, Mokha coaxing the supersonic aircraft to maximum speed while staying low and dodging mountain peaks. Flying this low this fast was dangerous – but Mokha was supremely confident when she was in the pilot's seat.

A sheet-of-rock mountainside looming ahead, getting closer and closer and Namor thinking they were getting too close, it looked like she was about to fly the jumper straight into it and he finally asked her, "Aren't you going to pull it up?"

Mokha: "Relax, I know what I'm doing."

The trackers still on their tail, Mokha not caring if the way she flew made Namor nervous; she went back up again, a thousand feet or more, leveling off, and then ...

"Get ready," she told Namor, making the aircraft bank hard to the left and pushing their speed to the max before putting it into a steep downward angle and daring their trackers to follow them into a cavernous area she'd gotten to know, a rough terrain full of hundreds of tiny caves where she could make them play hide and seek.

Maneuvering in there was tough but she could do it. She spotted one cave you'd need a shoehorn to get into, but she managed it and they held up inside there, just hanging there and hovering with the sound dampers on, and they soon saw the two tracker aircraft passing by unawares. It was neat work on Mokha's part.

Eventually they emerged from the cavern from the way they'd come in. She put on the speed and got some distance between them until finally Namor said, "You lost them, we can relax."

Mokha: "Yeah, for the moment, but they'll be back."

Namor thinking, she wasn't just a good pilot, she was maybe the best there ever was. Of course, he wasn't completely objective: Namor's precocious pilot was also his fiancée. Like Namor, her jacket had a patch with the seal of Atlantis. Another recognizable feature of Ancient-Lanteans at that time was their slightly blue-ish skin color.

Mokha saw a lightning strike to the east. "See that?"

Namor: "Electrical storm brewing from the northeast ... maybe we'll find some water?" Reflecting about life here on Earth, he said, "We're going to miss the clear calm of Pegasus."

Mokha: "Yeah, I suppose so." Looking down at the dry African bushland, seeing some kind of movement in the trees. "Look, see there," pointing to the southeast.

Namor: "A band of nine, ten," as he looked and counted, "about seventeen human primitives, I'd say."

Mokha saw them too. "They look hungry ... and ragged, seems to me."

Namor: "They're by no means self-sufficient, not yet. They need any bit of civilization we can give them."

Mokha: "They need somethin'."

Namor: "A little push is all they need. Otherwise, at the rate they're going, it'll be another twenty thousand years before they even come close to the idea of an alphabet." Namor watched the band of primitives traveling east towards the savanna. "But they've got a lot of potential, I firmly believe that."

An hour or so passed, they'd been flying their puddle jumper over present-day Kenya in the direction of Ethiopia, on the look-out for any kind of water source; now seeing a herd of giraffes moving north across the dry savanna. Mokha said, "I'm so thirsty."

As if they weren't exhausted enough after three days on the run, thirst also draining what little energy they had.

Namor: "We'll find something." Looking down at the dry country below, wishing it would rain. He said, "Let me know when you want me to take over, so you can get some rest."

Mokha: "I'll let you know."

They had enough food supplies but couldn't provision water so easily. Badly in need of sleep too, taking turns in the pilot's seat so the other could get some rest, since the Leadership jumpers began chasing them relentlessly three days ago. The Leadership was based in Antarctica, but systematically patrolled every sector of the globe. The Leadership was led by a woman named Sophus.

Some time passed as they flew over the vast expanse of savanna, cruising at a high rate of speed when a hard, icy-cold female voice on the radio penetrated the cabin:

"All puddle jumper units still out – you're long past due. Time is running out to come back without repercussions. All units must return immediately or face severe penalties."

There were others, too, out there on the run, Namor and Mokha's friends, thirteen other jumpers with varying numbers of Lanteans, originally forty-eight but now down to thirty-eight Lanteans altogether, singles like Upendra, Mizrak, Rudra and Swara ... but they'd mostly left as couples: Nin-Gal and Triokesh, Kalinda and Tappan, Charak and Sunitra, Prem and Lipanannah and all the rest – all their best friends were also on the run.

Mokha said, "Lipanannah's two months pregnant."

Namor: "I know." He hoped things would remain stable for Lipanannah.

"You heard?

"I heard. Prem told me before we left."

"Oh." Besides Sunitra, Lipanannah was one of Mokha's best friends.

Namor and Mokha's main goal, besides not getting caught, was to contact and meet up with their fellow fugitives. Something unique about Namor and Mokha's jumper: it was the only one with a ZPM on board, taken without permission and that was a major reason the Leadership wanted them all back.

Again, the hard voice of Sophus over the radio:"We are officially notifying all of you that the Leadership lost one of our own jumpers yesterday, in an accident while chasing one of you. We'll all feel the loss, losing the fine pilot and co-pilot who were killed in the crash. Their names were Rakesh and Naval." There were a few moments of silence as the intended effect sank in for all listeners. "We have a good idea of who's responsible."

Mokha telling Namor, "It's not like I shot 'em down. Is it my fault they don't know how to fly?"

"If only they could appreciate your innocent intentions."

"Oh, the hell with them. Three more days and they'll be gone, right?"

The radio transmission continued:"Everyone must return to base at once. We know some of you are under the impression we intend to leave Earth on the planned departure date, in order to make the best of our optimum travel window, and that all you must do is outlast us. But this is not true. Until an accounting is accomplished, we will not be leaving."

Another break in the transmission, some time passed as they reflected on the Leadership message. The two traveling at high speed for a time in relative silence, watching a herd of gazelles running down below on the parched savanna and seeing another lightning strike to the northeast. Then came another radio transmission with some devastating news:

"We have just received some new information." There was a brief pause. "We are sorry to have to deliver some very unfortunate news. It has come to our attention that one of your jumpers was involved in a deadly accident while trying to outrun Leadership trackers and suffered a fatal loss. Yes, it's very unfortunate, but you've now lost two of your own: the jumper with Prem and Lipanannah aboard crashed approximately nineteen hundred kilometers north of base. They did not survive the crash. In all sincerity we extend our deepest sympathies – however, the responsibility is yours, you have no one to blame but yourselves."

Namor sucked in his breath.

Gut-wrenching pain on Mokha's face, she cried out, "Oh no!" Shocked beyond comprehension, "Oh God, no!"

Namor reaching over to comfort her.

Mokha: "No no no no no. This can't be!" She was completely rocked by the news, Namor feeling the devastating sadness too, as tears bean to fill Mokha's eyes, trying to fight them off. Choking up, she managed to say, "I just talked to Lipanannah three days ago ..."

Namor: "I know, and Prem told me everything was fine."

Mokha almost overcome with grief, letting the aircraft dip a bit, close to losing control and Namor took over from the co-pilot's seat and set the jumper down in a dusty, desolate, well-hidden spot as they both got out of the jumper.

Trying to get some control, Mokha taking deep breaths and whispering an ancient mantra, Look within, awaken, rise, repeating it several times until Namor came to her side and held her close.

The shock of their loss was profound. If they were to stay on Earth after the majority of Lanteans left, well, the thirty-something in their group were all each of them had, they had each other and nothing else and now two of them were gone – not to mention that Lipanannah was expecting a child.

Mokha moving from Namor's embrace, pacing and pacing the ground then stopping; she seemed to lose her balance and might have fallen if Namor hadn't run to catch her, both of them now holding each other again, until Mokha looked at Namor and said, through choked-up stops and starts, "Wait. Wait a minute – how do we know it's true?"

Namor: "Well ..." thinking it over, "they know we'd verify it ourselves sooner or later. We can try raising their jumper but ... I suspect they're telling the truth."

Both of them distraught but they began talking about the friends they'd lost, the sadness they felt made a little better by sharing some memories of Lipanannah and Prem from years ago. But after a while, Namor couldn't avoid the reality: "They won't let us go. They're not going to give up."

Mokha: "They want their ZPM."

Namor: "You know there's more to it, it's not just that."

Mokha: "Yeah, I suppose." Not sure she wanted to start on that subject.

Namor thinking for a minute, then said, "When we make the rendezvous, we'll see what the others think. We should leave soon – it's not safe here in daylight."

They talked about cloaking issues and about the route they'd take to get to their rendezvous hideout. They'd leave soon, but first Namor walked a few steps away from their jumper, facing west, scooping some dirt from the ground and tossing it in the air as part of an old Lantean ritual, following the custom when someone they held close had died. Mokha joined him, quietly reciting the words customarily spoken as part of the ritual, which were lines from an old Lantean poem:

When the thread that binds doth break,

And the source of all light beckons,

We bid thee farewell, old friends,

Bid thee fly home, dear ones,

Bright children of the universe, old friends,

Farewell.

Just like Mokha, Namor trying to keep from hitting bottom. He asked, "You alright?"

Mokha didn't answer, both of them quiet for a minute. Her voice raspy, Mokha said, "I meant what I said yesterday. I won't let them take me alive."

Namor: "Don't talk like that." Turning toward her, "I never should've pulled you into this."

Mokha: "You didn't pull me into anything, I knew what I was getting into."

Namor: "They wouldn't have found us at all today, if I hadn't wanted to stop northeast of the silver lake and try to demonstrate making bronze weapons to those human primitives. It's my fault."

Mokha: "No, I wanted to help as much as you did."

Namor dejected but trying to maintain his composure, now walking to the jumper to check the calculation tables for planning their route to the place they'd meet the others in their group.

Some Lantean history: it was ten thousand years ago, in retreat from their war with the Wraith, that Ancient-Lanteans had come in jumpers through the Stargate to Earth. They weren't sure they'd stay, and when they found the planet still very primitive – no agriculture, no towns – they split into three groups: one group, including Merlin and Morgan La Fey, favored ascension and went off on their own to pursue that goal. The largest group, the one controlled by the Leadership, planned to move on through the Stargate to another planet.

The smallest group, comprised of just thirty-six Lanteans, were not ready to ascend but still considered staying, though anyone who stayed would be on their own, and without much technology it wouldn't be what you'd call a comfortable world. Nevertheless, the thirty-six asked for time to explore and make up their minds.

The Leadership, represented by a tough, hard-driven Lantean named Sophus, told them: "If you stay, we insist you keep the technology to a minimum and make every effort to neither disrupt nor impede the natural development of Earth's primitive species."

Non-interference with the development of other species was a standard Lantean world-view. However, the group of thirty-six didn't agree; they planned to help human primitives and saw the Leadership as inflexible.

Sophus had one more thing to add: "If you decide to stay you can keep your jumpers, but no ZPM's."

What?! They were astounded. No ZPM's?

Sophus: "Our ZPM's are limited, and until we are in a position to produce more, we're not about to part with one for every little group that wants to split with us. It's not fair to the majority."

The group of thirty-six decided to stay on Earth, but it wasn't as simple as that: they took a ZPM. When the Leadership found out it was missing, all hell broke loose. Things escalated, neither side would give in; nobody really wanted a war but that's pretty much what it became.

While Namor worked on calculations for their route to the rendezvous point, Mokha drew a packet of old pictures from her pocket. The first was a picture of herself, her best friend Sunitra, Namor, Lipannah and Prem, Jagadish and Minussa, Ryn-dar and his brother Triokesh, Zichron, Aaratrika, Minussa and Nin-Gal. Namor, age eleven, was the oldest, Nin-Gal the youngest, just eight years old.

The next picture showed Namor a couple of years later, up on a stage in front of a group of the above-mentioned children and others, performing a kind of Lantean magic act. On the bottom Namor had written, "The Caged Beasts," a droll reference to Professor Zinn's experiment involving the children. Mokha had crossed out Caged and replaced it with Cagey. Mokha smiled. Cagey Beasts.

She pulled out another picture, this one showing thirty-six teen-age Lanteans in a large group-portrait photograph, Namor again the oldest at seventeen, Nin-Gal again the youngest at fourteen. They were the exact same group who now planned to stay together on Earth and help human primitives evolve a civilization. In the center-front of the portrait picture stood Professor Zinn, their teacher and guide for that group during those years. They'd all been part of an experiment on Lantea, under the direction of Professor Zinn, to study their potential for ascension. Their mantra: Look within, awaken, rise.

Namor joined her and saw the group-portrait picture. "Do you ever think Zinn's experiment did something to us?"

Mokha: "What d'ya mean?"

Namor: "You know. That Zichron's a classic pyromaniac. Ryn-Dar's a pathological liar. Minussa ... well, she always means well. Just the obvious, that we're a group of liars and thieves. Thirty-six discipline cases."

Mokha: "You're exaggerating. Anyway, who are you calling a liar?"

"Siddhran, for one."

"A liar, maybe, but a good marksman."

"Tappan and Druve are ex-prisoners. Ryn-Dar and his brother were probably behind the Alpha Antwi riots. Although Kalinda had nothing to do with it, I'm certain." Giving Mokha a hard gaze. "Shobhana-Ur, teller of tall tales. Shall I go on?"

Mokha: "So some of them have a little trouble with self-control. That doesn't mean anything." Looking away, she asked, "And me?"

Namor, smiling, "You're an idealist. Very dangerous."

"Yeah? What about you?"

"I'm an idealist too."

"Wrong. What you are is the king of exaggerations."

"Hmmm. Am I? Jagadish once pulled a knife on Siddran when his back was turned. If you ever cross him, don't turn your back on him. We're misfits. And why? Because Professor Zinn programmed something into us, all of us, so it's not our fault and we're not bad people but I'm just facing the truth, that we're misfits."

Mokha thinking it was true that the group had a reputation for being off-kilter, it couldn't be denied. But she didn't believe it mattered, because she had faith in each and every one of them. She said, "We have integrity. That's all that matters."

"Well, you're right about that." Namor thinking, Mokha certainly had integrity. He himself, he knew, wasn't beloved by the others, merely respected and tolerated as Mokha's partner, whereas Mokha was beloved by all in the group. Besides, she was right, because each and every one of them were true believers in the odd, revolutionary concept of helping human primitives.

He reached over and took the second picture from her, the one where Mokha had written on the bottom, "Cagey Beasts." The picture showed Namor-Ma in front of some of the thirty-six children from Zinn's group, performing a Lantean version of a magic trick: while apparently levitating a foot off the ground, he pulled an egg from behind the ear of one of the children, who happened to be Zichron.

Namor gave the picture back to Mokha and walked back to the jumper, to continue working on the calculations for their route back to their meeting place. He told Mokha, "I'm setting a conservative course."

Mokha lost in thought, murmuring, "O.K."

Namor the geographic navigator, trying to map a route beyond the reach of Leadership radar – they knew they'd be scouring wide areas, searching for them. He utilized an algorithm which would de-emphasize and disguise their speed and accentuate all factors which would facilitate blending in with their surroundings. Speed and even flight stability had to be sacrificed as he factored in everything that would help evade the Leadership's microwave-based radar technology, and reduce all forms of scanning detection.

His calculations complete, Namor-Ma stood looking out at the vast expanse of what's now known as the Sahara Desert. "O.K., I've got it. We'll end with coordinates 15.17.3. south, 31.21.4. west."

Mokha-Em paying no attention. Namor said, "Let's go find our friends."

o - o - o - o - o

INSIDE THE DINER just then, everything stopped. The game wasn't over, but sometimes there were tiny gaps in the akashic records, interrupting the reading and bringing things to a halt temporarily. With everyone now waiting for the chapter from the past to restart, Rek'iel for the moment came back to modern-day consciousness, though the scene from the past remained fresh in his mind and made him wonder if Mokha might be alive in the world today? It wasn't the first time he'd wondered – if she was alive, where was she now?

What a shock it would have been to learn that the woman he'd known long ago as Mokha-Em had been very close to his headquarters under the Temple Mount just a few days earlier, and that following numerous incarnations, her name now was Nicole Jackson – daughter of the famous Dr. Daniel Jackson.