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Guyron
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 Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 7:05 pm Post subject: Just Like You Imagined |
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WARNING: This story may contain hard language, gore, ideas or theories that may contradict personal beliefs. If by any means you consider it might be offensive, please don't read.
PROLOGUE
He looked outside the window, though there was nothing he wanted, or needed to see. The night air was cold, judging by the ice crystals forming on the exterior of the translucent crystal they used to replace the ordinary glass. He sighed, stepped back from the window, and looked around the room full of various devices.
"Machines... Cold, soulless... I hope we would never have to entrust our entire existence to them."
A loud knock on the door drew his attention.
"Enter!"
The door slid in its frame, and into the wall. A man, dressed in what appears to be a military uniform, stepped in, and saluted.
"The cargo is secure, Sire. The captain has sent me to inform you that the attackers set fire to the Library, taking advantage of the fact that the Roman leader set fire to his ships. Most likely the blame will fall on him, and since he cannot be held responsible, it seems they will get away with it."
"Indeed. At least the most precious items are safe. The ship is impervious to outside attacks, that is if they can catch up to us. Thank you, sailor. Inform the good captain that I will be fine."
The man in uniform saluted and stepped out.
The room's occupant sat in a nearby chair, and looked at the light coming from above. The red tint reminded him of fireflies, fireflies he used to watch as a child, in his father's garden. And then he pictured the fire devouring the Library at this very moment. All their work destroyed, abandoned to the rapacious incandescence of the flames. No, not all their work. Luckily, the attackers were not familiar with the Library's secrets, unaware of its vast network of underground tunnels and galleries that led to various parts of the city. His most trusted librarians used them to transport their most important work onto this ship, a ship thought impossible to build a year ago. It took them one year to secretly gather the most skilled craftsmen in the entire empire, and build this ship. Around six hundred and thirty mh long, about one hundred and forty-five wide, capable of a speed equal to twenty-one thousand mh in the passing of an hour, and a load of approximately one million, four hundred thirty thousand and five hundred fifty khar-s, the ship was a true marvel of its time. Built for the only purpose of safeguarding the most important knowledge in the world, knowledge for which he gave up his normal life, knowledge that his enemies were more and more set out to destroy. But he was always one step ahead of them. He smiled, and reached for a nearby tablet. He touched a symbol on the strange rectangular tablet, and a strange white light began to draw numerous symbols, as from within the tablet. He quickly touched a few of them in a rapid succession, and a strange bluish rectangle materialized itself from thin air in front of him. The rectangle seemed to be made of vapors, floating at about four rmn above the floor. He touched more symbols on the tablet, and more symbols appeared on the floating rectangle. He stood there, absorbed in his work, for about an hour, when a strident noise filled the air in the room, breaking his concentration. Another rectangle, a smaller one, appeared above the door, with a face on it.
"What is it, captain?"
"Sire, we have been betrayed! The ones that attacked the Library are on board."
"They caught up with us? That's impossible!"
"It appears that they were on board from the start, that's why I am sure of betrayal. Although I don't know why they chose to attack only now. What shall we do? My men are no match for them."
He rubbed his chin, reflecting at the situation. It was absolutely sure that the attackers were here to either retrieve or destroy the cargo.
"Since we cannot stop them, I won't allow the cargo to be taken or destroyed, so we only have one chance. We shall take them with us. There is a good chance that the cargo will remain unharmed. Captain, your men have five minutes to override the door locks and flood the ship. We will die, but so shall they. I'd rather bury the whole ship, then letting them gain control of it. Good bye, captain."
"May the Gods keep you safe, Sire!"
The small rectangle disappeared, along with the captain's face.
"Gods... The Gods waste too many good lives...", the man thought, and turned towards a strange looking object in the back of the room. It was some sort of urn, not of clay, but of some sort of crystal, almost the same consistence as the window. He placed it on a strange pedestal-looking device, and reached for his symbol tablet.
A strange noise filled his ears, as he felt the ship leaning forward. He realized the flooding has started, and soon the ship would go deeper into the abyssal darkness below. He leaned on one of the room's pillars, and touched a few symbols on his tablet, facing the strange urn-like object. The object began glowing, the glow gaining in intensity with each passing second, until it reached the desired intensity. He took a deep breath, and pressed a symbol on the tablet. Bolts of energy arced from the urn and surrounded his body, holding him for a few moments, then quickly retreating inside the urn, which reduced its glowing intensity to a regular pulsating light. The man's lifeless body fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut off, his left hand still gripping the symbol tablet.
A strange object was slicing the ocean's dark depths, depths never reached by any living man before. And now, the ocean received one more of man's great constructions into its abyss.
_________________
"Congressman, you haven't lived until you've had white tiger pate on a private island where the children call you God!"
Last edited by Guyron on Tue Dec 08, 2009 2:09 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Guyron
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| Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 1:55 pm Post subject: |
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Debates and reflections
"The activity of our esteemed colleague is at least... likely of being dangerous", Prof. Morbato finally agreed. "We mustn't forget that the most inhuman attitudes, almost unimaginable atrocities, committed by extremism, have started with apparently innocent and even imperiously necessary experiments, exercised on human beings or groups of human beings. The use of various methods of initiation and education, in parallel classes of the same age, with the sole purpose of finding the most efficient method, is inadmissible! It's just a lesser form of vivisection, for God's sake!"
"I don't agree", Prof. Testanera protested. "The witness or witness group method is used on a larger scale in zootechnic science. Why couldn't it be used in pedagogics? Or religion?"
" Because it empowers the idea that human experiments are admissible."
"And why wouldn't they be admissible?"
"Because man is the only rational being", Prof. Delacroix intervened. "So is given, that man uses his reason to formally protest, of course, against others' tendencies of turning him into a subject of experiment. Same as no lab rat would allow another lab rat to submit it to experiments. It only permits this right to man, which is a superior animal."
"I consider our colleague's protest unnecessary. Actually... to comfort her, I must say that the experiment only lasted for less than a third of a semester."
"In what way are your experiments related to the matter we are discussing here?" the Director asked.
Damien, witnessing, not for the first time, a vivid discussion like this one, smiled. He knew the Director approved Prof. Reid's attitude and theories. If he was now simulating perplexity, it was just to allow the Professor to present them again.
"They are", Prof. Reid responded. "I'm not presenting you the so-called experiments. It will suffice to know that the methods and procedures that I used were applied to four parallel classes. The conclusions we got..."
"Well, yes, the conclusions", the Director asked.
"Well, they are not comforting, at least from one point of view. If, indeed, knowledge can fixate itself without limiting the temper, the time and difficulty of assimilation, so, if instruction is possible and only our deficiencies restrict and turn it into illusion in most cases, education, meaning the knack for a social behavior according to life standards established in a certain social moment, is not always successful within the act of organizing education. To put it this way, we can guarantee the work efficiency of a specialist that we trained, but we cannot guarantee the use of his work in agreement with law and morale. So we come to the matter that concerns us. Doesn't surprise me at all that the delinquents identified by the police are terminal students, and even straight A students on top of that."
"To spit on the clothes of elderly is a gross and useless act..."
"No, it is not gross, nor useless. No animal finds its own secretions gross. Many of them use it as means of attack or defense. This outbreak has a purpose, more or less conscious. An attitude of rebellion, of bravado, of unchaining. My colleague said it well "to spit on the clothes of elderly". For our delinquents age represents a quality that they lack and which confines their personality. So they devalue it. Let's get it clear: they don't despise it, they DEVALUE it."
"We're treading on philosophical concepts..."
"You noticed well, the delinquents didn't spat on any child."
"But they spat on two girls of their age."
"This act comes only to support my statement. For this type of teenagers, sexual attraction is paralyzed on a larger scale than even age."
"So what do you propose, esteemed colleague? To award them some medals?"
"No, but we need to search and find an educational punishment."
"Mr. Rainheart, what do you propose?"
Damien smiled to his own perspicacity. He foresaw the Director coming to this point.
"I don't have the quality, nor the right to involve in your attributions", he replied. "However I must warn you that, no matter how accurate the explanations are", he smiled, noticing Prof. Reid's frown, "delinquency is severely punished."
There was a brief moment of silence. Satisfied, Damien continued.
"Thus, I think it would be wise to give them a chance. Consider it as a minor enforcing of Bėranger's Law..."
"A severe punishment, suspended until the commission of a new delinquent act", someone felt appropriate to explain.
"Exactly. In this case, the police will entrust the boys to you..."
"I understand", the Director nodded.
"You are most generous, Mr. Rainheart!", the Headmaster exclaimed.
Damien asked for permission to light a cigarette, promptly granted by the auditorium.
"You see, students and graduates are not much of bother to me. Others are my worries, worries I wouldn't wish to burden you with."
"And you consider this statement as a compliment?", the Director asked.
"Not quite... I agree with many of Prof. Reid's apparent paradoxes."
"So you agree that we instruct, rather than educate."
"The truth is somewhere in the middle. I meant to say something else. But this... some other time."
The Council was disappointed, and rather resentful. Fortunately, Damien had won a long time ago a certain originality in his ideas.
"So, we understand each other. I'm not generous, we are just giving them one more chance..."
He saluted, and took his leave. He decided to wait for Harod outside. He needed fresh air. He was still thinking of the strange dream he had the past night. It has passed quite some time since he last dreamt of that man and his strange ship. But this time, he decided to share it with Harod too. The damned dream couldn't have picked a better moment, now with the Vatican job he was entrusted with.
The University's inner courtyard was almost empty, as most students already finished their classes for the day. Nearby, sitting on Main Hall's steps, a group of young girls were smoking, talking and laughing. Seeing him lighting a cigarette, one of the girls stood up, and approached him.
"Excuse me mister, do you have a light?"
As the girl's hands formed a scoop around the lighter's flame, Damien took a quick glance at her, more than enough for his analytic mind to observe the most important details. The girl was quite young, long dark hair with purple reflections. Her face was round, big black eyes shaded by generous black eye lashes, nicely rounded eyebrows, a small "Samanthine" nose, and a small mouth hidden by a generous layer of black lipstick, with a small piercing under the left corner. Decently beautiful, even under all that mascara and lipstick. Dressed in a black trench-coat, a black top with an innocent cleavage, black jeans, black boots, lots of key chains hanging in various pieces of her clothing. His mind immediately classified her as "goth". What drew his attention though, was the small silver crucifix resting on her skin, right where the cleavage was getting less innocent.
"Thank you", the girl said, and returned to her group, greeted by her friends' giggles.
Damien Rainheart's atheism was an extension of his own egoism, combined with his mind's necessity of analyzing itself and always being accurate; a life between the two millstones of his family - his mother's passion and his father's indifference - turned him into a loner, perfected him as an analyst.
"God?", he wondered sometimes, jeeringly looking at the crucifixes around people's necks, people like that girl, or seeing the sign of crucifixion, sketched by some of the bus's passengers, each time a church tower would appear in their line of sight. "I never sought him. At first I kept God in the bullpen, then, as he wasn't able to play, I cast him away. I understood though his inability to exist. A fragment of an infinite circle is a straight line that denies the circle. God doesn't exist, because he wants to be infinite."
He wasn't interested in others, especially in youth, though he didn't lack the sense of observation and he wanted to know. He started asking, to the left and to the right, on the steps of faith's constructions, on the streets or in the bars. He soon realized that youth couldn't understand or explain in what or why they believe. The elderly were more sophists. Occasionally, when Damien managed to corner one with his questions, that one sought refuge in the agnostic commandment: Believe and seek not!
"You're a liar!", Damien used to think, "by lying you want to seem interesting. Not seeking means dying, there is no absolute void, which means there is no faith, same as there is no absolute mistrust. If we don't know more, it's because we don't wish to know. We claim about us many things, because we know they're true or not... doesn't matter. We all believe we are entitled to what we've obtained, no matter the means. Even criminals make love! Besides... we all seek, when or if we seek, a smaller God, one that would fit our needs. I can't have a God, because it would have to be a God that thinks and such a thing doesn't exist, it would be the denial of his own omnipotence. One's God is the same as one's self. For a few, he is the light of the torch they carry themselves, for most he is the darkness they fear to enter, afraid of losing their support. We'd like to see him in facts, we're superstitious, and when facts disappoint us, we make him infinite, because we wouldn't want to deny him all at once. Why would I believe in him and admire him? I noticed that my God, no matter how much he hides behind words, expects me to need him only to have him gloating when he's not helping at all. He is mistaking though. By not helping me, he forces me to help myself. I don't want God. If he would exist, what would I do for myself?"
Not egoism, but his oppressed atmosphere made him reluctant to love. "What is love, shiver of sentiments and not of senses?", he used to ask himself. "Concentrated sympathy", he answered. "The only one I sympathize enough to tolerate, is me. It's obvious why I only love myself!
He didn't hate anyone, not because of moral scrutiny, but because of convenience. Same as due to the same convenience and not following some special processes of research and meditation he acquired his reality building materialism. He was an eminent student, but only for himself, and not for grades. He had knowledge of, and liked to juggle with the sophistic of idealism. It wasn't satisfying, being to easy to find too many flaws in it.
"I prefer materialism", he used to say, "because it doesn't stimulate me to find means of removing some objections, which, once removed, would give birth to even more objections. And if I built myself like this, I did it for myself, and if other people or other forces have built me, it isn't my fault!"
He wasn't excusing himself, he was ascertaining. And above all, he wasn't revolting. He found it too easy to break the law, not because of oppression, but because of vanity.
"The law is everything I'm not!"
But soon he found this to be child's play. Though not wishing to completely ignore all laws, he soon abandoned them, like old toys left in a dark corner of his room. He wandered for a while in the capital's underworld, doing small jobs. He didn't give up, more like he pulled himself from it, sensing himself choking in that world. He'd never been sick, not even for a few hours in his entire life. He hadn't even been introduced to this limitation. Me and the others, this was Damien's existence ratio in the Universe. He had to fight, and not against ordinary adversaries. Maybe if he would've flowed his mind and energy into something less soliciting than his current occupation, his egoism would've been the lever to boost him to the top, or take him down through his being's necessity. Necessity of denying everything that wasn't him, or his. He assimilated Nietzsche and Rosenberg, he didn't agree with them and didn't allow any tangency between their theories and his behavior. He was just like that, necessary and reflex, like an accident, like a mutation or a genius. He never agreed to surrender neither to society nor to destiny. He had always felt like being born too late or too early.
"Damien!"
His line of thought was abruptly shattered. He didn't noticed when the white Lamborghini Espada had stopped in front of the stairs. Katarina was waving at him from the driver's seat, smiling gracefully.
"Kat! What are you doing here?", he asked.
"Don't tell me you forgot about... You forgot, haven't you?", the young woman replied.
"Ah, damn! Sorry, Kat, the Director requested my opinions in a matter. And I've also promised to Harod to have a chat over a drink. I totally blew it this time, haven't I? I'll tell Harod to postpone our little meeting, and then I'll take you to dinner."
"No need, I'm coming with you. We can still have dinner, since I think Harod will have almost the same thing to talk about."
"What could Kat and Harod possibly have to say to me?", he wondered, as he stepped down towards Katarina's car. And that damned dream that has resurfaced didn't ease his current state of mind.
_________________
"Congressman, you haven't lived until you've had white tiger pate on a private island where the children call you God!"
Last edited by Guyron on Mon Feb 22, 2010 6:46 am; edited 1 time in total
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Guyron
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| Posted: Mon Feb 22, 2010 6:41 am Post subject: |
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Vacation planning
They were an interesting trio. Just take a few moments and try to picture a tall, young Caucasian woman, athletic body, long brown hair, brown cat-like eyes with long eye lashes, arched by a pair of perfect slim eyebrows, a perfect nose shading a perfect mouth, all these gracefully displayed on a perfectly oval face. She was dressed in a short neon-coral Scala Cocktail, fully beaded, with a shiny waistband covered with silvery stones and sequins. The chiffon dress had a vertiginous V neckline, and on the back, the straps fastened at the neck with silver hooks for a perfect fit, revealing a high bare back, traced by an intriguing thin scar that was splitting her left shoulder blade in two. A scar that most women would hide, but Katarina von Adelheid was not like most women. The scar was a symbol for her, but not of pride, as she considered pride to be one of the most consuming vanities of men. All her friends knew she wore it as proof of her own humanity. Her dress, giving both elegant and sexy hints of what was hidden underneath it, it was more than enough for all the men, regardless of age, to turn their heads even if accompanied by their girlfriends, fiancėes or wives. Katarina hated jewelry since childhood, as she had witnessed her mother being fascinated by "stars of the earth" as she called diamond and any precious stones, and spending all her money on such useless trinkets, as Katarina considered them. A delicate silver and moonstone necklace, a gift from Damien, surrounded her beautiful neck, and that was all jewelry she liked.
Now, try and picture a tall, young Caucasian man, short brown hair, dark eyes shaded by thick aquiline eyebrows, a straight nose over an average mouth, an average yet attractive man altogether. Average stopped about him, however, with his ears. Slightly bigger than average, he hated it when children made fun of them: "Hey, Damien, I heard you can talk to aliens using nothing but your ears!" This however stopped, when in high school he noticed that girls were rather attracted to him, and maybe because of his ears or something else, he gained the reputation of quite a good listener, and joke or not, that put an end to the mockery. And that, he thought, was what girls really liked. But soon he lost interest when he realized girls were the most dangerous animals ever to have set foot on Earth. Damien was wearing the exact same clothes he wore at the meeting, since he didn't have time to change, as both Katarina and Harod were in a little hurry. Black leather shoes, black silk socks, black silk trousers, black silk shirt, black silk vest. His black silk coat was now resting on the chair's back. Black silk. Damien liked black, and silk. So he found it very simple to dress really fast and really elegant for most occasions. Damien's wardrobe was focused on nice clothes, not necessarily famous brand outfits. He liked resistant tasteful materials, and if he felt good wearing them, it didn't matter what famous or unknown designer had created them. However, he never wore ties, he hated them, normal or bow ties, he always thought of them as some sort of restrain. He liked old wrist watches, Russian ones mostly, like the 1980 Raketa he was wearing now, a gift from an old friend.
The third member of this trio was a Caucasian man in his mid fifties, short and stout, with a slight baldness, aquiline nose over a really slim mouth, small eyes of uncertain color, which you would found them to be blue when looked upon closely, thick eyebrows almost in a continuous frown. His clothes were similar to Damien's, except the color and material. He was wearing a brown cotton vest over a white lavender shirt, brown cotton pants, brown leather shoes. But, unlike Damien, he liked designer clothes, no matter how expensive. An old chain watch was resting in his vest's left pocket, an expensive watch, judging by the platinum chain. Harod Reid was his name, professor of ... No one actually knew Prof. Reid's field of expertise, as he was experienced in many. From arts to history, genetics to physics, chemistry to alchemy, myths to religions, Harod Reid was the ultimate dabbler. He had been teaching at many universities across the world, he had thousands of studies published, he had many admirers and many enemies. About two years ago, he was asked by Damien to become a permanent member of his University, proposal immediately accepted. Professionally he was what people would call an "ultimate winner". Socially, he was quite the opposite. His wife had left him three years ago for someone younger, and richer. Reid was rich too, yet not as rich as she would have liked. He had few friends, amongst which there were Damien and Katarina, and a few professors from the University.
Katarina had chosen the most expensive and most elegant restaurant in Bucharest, the Golden Blitz, the President's favorite restaurant. The menu had been excellent, and now they were enjoying an exquisite 1980 wine. The wine's unique flavor was one of their favorites, a rare wine fit for special occasions.
Damien leaned back in his chair, and looked at Katarina.
"So, what was it that you two wanted to talk about?"
Katarina was tracing the glass' edge with her finger, and looked at Harod. He looked back at her, sighed and turned his eyes to Damien.
"We've been asked to join an expedition in Egypt. Actually, somewhere off the east coast of Egypt. The Egyptian navy discovered a mysterious sunken object, and they were unable to identify it. They called in the US, but no luck from the US part. So, the US has started gathering experts from all over, hoping to find out what the object is. We're supposed to leave tomorrow afternoon, and meet up with the whole crew in Cairo. We have no heads up of what we're supposed to be doing there, but heck, it would be nice to take a vacation. The Council is already reconsidering the ethics of my experiments, so I think I better let things cool off for a while around here."
"And you, Kat? Why would they call you?"
"They said they need an impartial observer."
Damien frowned.
"That's all?"
"That's all."
Damien frowned again.
"Right. They need the best war reporter in the world as an "impartial observer". Observer of what? And why a war reporter? Who's leading the so-called expedition?"
Harod took out a small notebook from his vest's right pocket and opened it.
"Michael Roxxon is the head of operations. Never heard of him, to be honest. I bet he's one of those uber secret agents that are secret even to the most secret agencies", Harod laughed.
"Unfortunately, I know him", Damien replied. "Roxxon isn't military or secret agency material. He's a merc. The best treasure hunting merc. And if the US got him there, and convinced him to turn over to them whatever he finds, it means they suspect some serious shit in the Red Sea and they're paying him so well that he wouldn't even dream to try and pull a fast one. Oh, I would sure like to come along, even if only for Roxxon's look when he sees me. We "bumped" one into the other quite a lot in the past."
"And you will.", a female voice replied from behind Damien.
Damien turned around, only to notice Prof. Testanera, Prof. Morbato and Prof. Delacroix at the table behind them.
"What a pleasant surprised!", Harod exclaimed. "How long have you three been standing there?"
"Quite some time", Prof. Delacroix replied. "But we only noticed you guys a few minutes ago. We had our own discussion, which, fortunately or not, take it as you want, was about the same expedition you're being invited to. An as you probably would have guessed, we got invitations too.", the tall French scientist continued.
Prof. Testanera stood up, and leaned to whisper something into Damien's ear. Damien slightly nodded, and followed the woman to the entrance hallway, while the others were starting a discussion. They stopped somewhere around the middle of the hallway, and the woman looked around, making sure no one was there to listen.
"Damien, we also got invitations to join the expedition in Egypt. This comes in a strange moment, because the Holy Father has received news that whoever stole the Vatican scrolls is involved in that expedition, and he was about to order us to infiltrate by any means necessary. Anyway, since it's an extraordinary opportunity, you will join me as my assistant. I suppose I don't have to tell you that the Holy Father has ordered discretion to the utmost degree. And he sends you his gratitude for accepting to help us."
"I'm doing it because you asked me to. Not for him, or your religion. Just because we've been friends for quite some time, and you have helped me a lot, regardless of my beliefs. And I will do the same for you now, regardless of yours.", Damien smiled.
The young woman smiled, and handed him a small envelope. "Thank you. Here's your plane ticket, along with some instructions, which I know you won't need. See you tomorrow at the airport."
They returned to their tables, and Damien noticed Katarina's inquiring look, as he sat down. He smiled, and intervened in the other's discussion.
Around midnight, the group split, each heading towards their cars, and taking off in different directions. What none of them, or at least most of them, had noticed, was a white car parked across the street. As soon as they left, the man in the white car turned on his station.
"They all left, Sir. Rainheart and Reid with the von Adelheid heiress' Lamborghini, the others with their own transportation. Proceed as planned?"
A ragged voice replied at the other end of the conversation.
"Yes, take care of Rainheart. And then send a proof to the girl."
"Understood, Sir.", the man in the car replied, and turned off the station. He looked around for cops, and as he saw none, he took off in the sound of screeching tires.
_________________
"Congressman, you haven't lived until you've had white tiger pate on a private island where the children call you God!"
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