Calan - The Immortality Paradox

Chapter Three - The Leonian Calanite, Part One

Date: 169, OA19,654

Location: Crin, E'blanche, Canol System

Dark clouds hovered low in the Crin valley tonight. The upper halves of the mountain range were obscured from view, and the result looked as though the valley's inhabitants were trapped in an ivory bowl. Trillions of snow particles peppered the northern constituency of the capital city, and the stubborn temperature lingered around 270K, below average for the planet of E'blanche. The only consolation provided by the weather was that any noise dissipated almost immediately in the blizzard. It was deathly silent, allowing Professor Kalet Steale and Sir Elis Newman to converse in private.

Kalet owned a modest apartment on the twelfth floor of Napoleon Heights. Situated in North Crin, it was alluringly surrounded by the tallest peaks the planet had to offer and disconnected from the pandemonium of the inner city. Most importantly, on milder days, the apartment provided an excellent view of the E'blanche Astronomy Base, located at the summit of Crin Peak and the premises where Kalet worked daily. Rarely was the weather so fierce that the Base was utterly imperceptible. It was a little disconcerting for Kalet as he knew most of his employees were still inside, working conscientiously. Trying to fathom the recent satellite malfunction.

The Professor leant on the balustrade of the glass-frame balcony as an unsettling breeze washed over him. Flashes of pink and purple penetrated the snowstorm from across the way. An advertisement for L'eau de Nord's new Ville-jardin berry-flavoured flask. It coloured the street in sickly amaranth. Sir Elis, a close friend and the Mayor of Crin, returned from inside with a replenished beverage of pineapple-flavoured, carbonated soda. Kalet had improvised with thermal cups; the contents were liable to freeze in the wintry environment. The Mayor was a young man with an incredibly youthful complexion; undulating, brown hair, incandescent, green eyes and chiselled cheeks. At six-foot-five, with broad, curving shoulders and a clearly-defined chest, he was quite the imposing figure. But, he was also blessed with a rapturous grin and a welcoming spirit, such that few shunned his company, and few coudl possibly dislike him. He also gave the envious impression of a wise man living inside an adolescent body. Strangers might question his competency to hold the office of Mayor, but the Professor knew no more deserving character.

'Surely you can do something about this cold?' The Mayor was commenting that they were both whimsically swaddled in their tightest, multi-layered clothing. They resembled black bodysuits and clung to every surface area of skin. For Sir Elis, he needn't worry about the pronounced curves, but Kalet felt comparatively conspicuous and found himself subconsciously flattening any wrinkles in the fabric.

'I'm an astronomer, not a meteorologist, I'm afraid,' Kalet replied. 'Somewhat different occupations.'

'Haven't we invented a weather controller yet? Something simple but effective that can change the weather pattern slightly - give us a minute more sunshine, just for our sanity. And our fingers.' He made a point of adjusting his grasp on the drink.

'You ask too much.' Kalet chuckled. 'Only Gods can control the weather. I'm sure the Calan have managed to devise a machine.' Usually, whenever Kalet mentioned the Calan, anyone listening would either start debating their true motives or at least ignore him entirely. For disparate and insubstantial reasons, much of the Leonis Chapter was ill-acquainted with the horned and purple-skinned giants - an animosity that ran too deep to change. However, Sir Elis was one of the few who never flinched. Kalet guessed it was his open-mindedness to everything. If his parents had ever indoctrinated him with biased stories of Calan corruption and nefariousness, he had shrugged them off soon into his adulthood. A trait that many loved about him.

'I have never properly asked you about the Calan.' Sir Elis spoke seriously. No doubt he had taken notice of the Professor's central decorative piece; a coeden offshoot growing inside a bubble of transparent acrylic. 'You call them Gods? Not to judge or anything, Professor, but are you a practicing Calanite?'