So, I don't know if this'll be a short story or a novella or a novel. We'll see.
The Future History
The project remained a secret, a
secret known only to a select few individuals, the greatest scientists of the
generation. Called forth by the United States Government in a manner
reminiscent of the ancient Manhattan Project, they began to research the smallest
particle known to man—except it was no longer the atom they sought to harness,
it was the quark. Tediously, the work began, calculation after calculation
resulted in nothing until one day, a young scientist by the name of Opperhein
found the answer. He eagerly brought it to his supervisor, thinking only of
Nobel Prize he saw in his imminent future, not of the billions of humans on the
planet soon to be changed by this discovery. He walked into the office and saw
on a placard, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’ An
odd thing for a research scientist to have, he thought.
“Dr. Steinein, I’ve done it.”
“Done what, boy?”
“I found it, the answer. You see,
we were all too focused on mesons because they’re made of only two particles,
its hadrons—protons to be exact—that must be used. Protons! That’s all we—”
“Damnit, man, slow down. You say
know how we can harness the quark? Well let me see you goddamned work, don’t
just stand there blabbering on without a coherent thought.”
Steinein took and read the
electropaper methodically, occasionally grunting or pursing his lips. His meaty
hand gripped the stylus solidly as he pressed it to the scrollbar and read on.
“Have you had this verified?”
Steinein said as he continued to read.
“No, sir, I followed procedure and
brought it to you.”
“Good. This is radical stuff you’ve
got, it views quarks in an entirely different way—hell—it redefines ‘subatomic.’
If you’re right, this could revolutionize all aspects of science, of life, in
ways never thought possible. We could win this damnable war! That is—if you’re
right.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I’m right, I know I’m right.”
“Your reassurance dissuades me. Is
it not the way of science to try to disprove that which is believed to be right?”
Opperhein slowly dropped his gaze;
his expression was sober.
“Then we must test it,” said
Opperhein somberly, “we must find the answer.”
+
The experiment had begun. Right now,
someone in the control room was making the final preparations for the weapon to
be activated on a small island in the Pacific Ocean.
Opperhein sat at his desk in his room. There was a nagging sensation in the
back of his head; it had been there all week as the engineers speedily made the
device from his designs and calculations. Finally, he brought himself to his
room and locked the door, alone with the original copy of his work. He sat
poring over the mathematics methodically, erasing and recalculating with his
stylus. Every time his calculations proved themselves correct. There was
nothing to worry about; the reaction could be controlled. Still, something told
him to look at the work again and recalculate it. Something was missing.
The comlink on his desk blared into
the pressing silence, “60 seconds to activation.”
Opperhein turned the volume down,
he needed to concentrate, he needed to know that nothing would go wrong, and he
had merely a minute.
50 seconds.
The tinny sound of the AI rang in
his head. He scanned through the pages of notes as the plastic-coated sheet of electropaper
became slick in his hand.
40 seconds.
He found a formula he previously skipped
over and he began rewriting it, his mind performed the calculations briskly,
faster than he could type them into a calculator.
30 seconds.
The voice echoed louder and louder,
sweat dripped down his brow and off his nose. His stylus moved faster and
faster. Adrenaline pumped.
20 seconds.
There it was! He knew it! Blind
fear filled his heart. The reaction was uncontrolled, it would fill the air
with so much free energy, the entire atmosphere would ignite and incinerate
everything—no, not just incinerate, erase.
10 seconds.
10 seconds! His office was close to
the control room, but he would never make it! But he had to; the human race relied on him. He took the electropaper
and burst out of his door. He was sprinting down the hallway, pushing people
out of the way. He shouted at them, cursed at them, called upon God and Hades
to make them move. He had to get to the control room. He saw the door just
ahead. Seconds remained. He exploded into the room
“Stop the experiment!” Steinein
screamed, waving his notes in the air, “The reaction is uncontrolled! Stop—!”
“Activation complete,” said the
impassionate AI.
Everyone stared at him, frozen,
fear-struck. Seconds passed. Opperhein closed his eyes as a tear rolled onto
his face and mixed with his sweat. Ignorance
is bliss, he thought. White heat enveloped him, and there was nothing.
Raven and Miikél crept through the woods. Raven noticed that her hearing seemed like an exceedingly hot microphone; every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, sent waves of adrenaline through her veins as her eyes flicked in the direction of the resonance. Her sight seemed to reach farther and she could identify things in detail only a hawk could perceive. As they came closer to the cottage, she felt her right hand begin to smolder and she sensed something, but she couldn’t quite understand what it was. Then it struck her. It was emptiness. It was disparity. She understood his fear.
Raven’s nose picked up the smell of burnt meat as they approached the cottage, but when they reached it, they found it to be completely normal. Miikél entered the cottage and let out an enormous wail. Raven ran inside and was shocked to stillness with what she saw. There, on the middle of the floor was Erôck. His black fur had been scalded and burned away to leave pink, red, and purple flesh in some parts.
“Raven…” Erôck whispered. “Come closer.”
Raven crept toward the burnt body and peered into the marred face.
“Yes, Erôck?” She fought hard to seal the river of tears that rushed against her eyelids.
“Come here, come closer….”
She knelt and came face to face with his now diminished, yellow eyes.
“The stars…” he gasped, “you must… find the stars.”
He wrenched in pain let out a yowl.
“What stars?”
“The three stars of the Creator. Of Awakening. Of Passion. Of Creation. Only”—he grimaced—“then can you… return home.”
“How? How can I do this? I haven’t finished my training.”
“Miikél will guide you. I will give you what you need.”
“But how—”
A blinding yellow light erupted from every pore of Erôck’s body. Instead of the jolt and pain she expected, she felt warmth and peace. She felt wisdom and reassurance, doubts and fears. She then realized that Erôck was giving Miikél and her his existence, his knowledge, his experiences. Suddenly she understood her magick in an unknowable way, it became more than an alien power, it began to define who she was. Her own hand erupted with her purple-white sword and she saw it begin to flicker into a solid form and then vanish. Then memories enveloped her. She saw her—no his—son sparring with a dummy, she saw him as a grown man, being slain by a red-eyed demon. She saw Miikél as a child, orphaned and she saw herself—no him—take him in and raise him as he had his own son. She saw a creature as slender as an elf, but with golden scales that covered its entire body. It had sapphire eyes that gleamed with jeweled intelligence. It sprouted wings and flew off. Then there was nothing. When she looked down to the ground she found nothing but the bare wooden floor. Miikél sat awestruck where he had been holding Erôck. She had no doubt that he had seen just what she had.
<|>
They packed quickly and lightly before the sun rose the next morning. Raven asked Miikél how long of a journey it would be, but he merely said "long." Raven could see Miikél distressed face and knew how he mourned for Erôck. She wanted to comfort him, to console him. She wanted to tell that she knew exactly how he felt, but at the same time, she knew she should not. A little voice in her kept her from approaching him with these feelings. So they kept silent. As they walked out of the cottage, Raven watched in amazement as Miikél summoned two horses from seemingly thin air. Still, she asked no questions, for she knew that she too would learn this skill. Just as she mounted her horse, Miikél knelt toward the cottage and muttered a few words. As he stood, the house erupted in a violet fire. Again, she asked no questions; but this time it was because she knew the reason. It was an ancient rite taught to all warriors. She shivered as the thought descended upon her that she would have to practice this rite as well. She could not bear to lose another loved one. That day, Miikél and Raven turned from the cottage forever and faced the blazing eastern sun. Destiny, she thought, such a strange thing.
<|>
Vithril gazed across the horizon. He is coming.
“What do you gaze upon, lover?”
Vithril turned to see Midriah standing behind him.
“The sun of the Panther has set, and the sun of the Lion has risen. He is coming,” Vithril replied.
Vithril stood and grasped Midriah’s emerald hand. Together, they sprouted their jeweled wings and flew away from the sun. Together, they would prepare His way.
It is said power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely; but this statement, however, is flawed. It should be said that it is the insatiable seeking and lusting of power that deteriorates the moral and ethical fiber of a man. Like a tree whose trunk has grown too large for its roots, a man who lusts power will eventually rot and die from the inside out, leaving merely a hollow façade where there was once a great symbol of life and vitality.
Power is inanimate, intangible. It holds an equal ability to commit atrocities as it does to commit acts of mercy and kindness and is such that it is truly incorruptible. Because of its nature, it is merely the vessel that uses power that can corrupt. Nevertheless, it is seen in history through rulers like Elizabeth of England, Philip of Spain, or Akbar of India that power does not corrupt, power does not destroy, power is not tyranny. These were rulers who did not bring themselves upon their throne, but rather, the throne was brought upon them. The strongest example of this undying honor and integrity is Akbar. Akbar was only twelve years old when his father suffered from a sudden death just after his kingdom had finally been reclaimed. Nevertheless, he proved to be the greatest and most influential ruler of the Mughal Dynasty with his pushes towards equal treatment of men and women and the acceptance of Hindu beliefs, despite being a Muslim. So clearly it is not power that corrupts, for with it, justice has been wrought. However, it is in today’s society that this quote was composed so it is in today’s society that it must be applied. Because of the democratic system of government in use in America, power is only gained by those who seek it. Therefore, to limit the extent of corruption, we must prevent absolute power through a system of checks and balances. So, in this sense, it is power that can corrupt.
So why is it that man can be so easily tainted? The answer is in Sigmund Freud’s tripartite theory. This theory states everyone embodies three pieces of their identity: the id, the ego, and the superego. The id is the animal, the piece that seeks instant gratification and sees no line between morality and amorality. It merely drives one toward one short-term goal after another, seeking ever greater ways to satisfying itself. The id, in tandem with power or leadership ability, is the cause of such terrible acts as the Red Scare in America. During this period, a senator named McCarthy instilled a violent fear of Communism in the majority of America in order to forward his own quest for power. His last straw was claiming that many people in the government were communists themselves. This unrestrained, ravenous quest for ever increasing power brought his downfall. Past the id is the ego, the conscience. It is an unconscious piece of one’s mind in which a man or woman can decide right from wrong, but does not truly understand why. This is the state of the average human being. Finally, there is the superego. The superego is a state in which every decision is made with the conscious knowledge of why it is right or wrong and is what allows one to look at himself objectively, to see his own faults, and to correct them. Men such as Samuel Adams and Thomas Jefferson and George Washington were ruled by their superego and it was this conscious knowledge that made our founding fathers stand for freedom in the face of tyranny and continue to fight until the war was won, despite economic or personal loss. The greatest leaders, the greatest people, are those who have reached the superego and used authority for good.
With great power comes great responsibility. This is a lesson that should be taught before all other lessons on power. One cannot allow their id to rule as it does a child, as it did in the Garden when Man ate the fruit. One must not seek power, but rather embrace it if it is rewarded to them and be content with what has been provided them. In this way, mankind might someday transcend to the heights of pure justice and equality; but it is a long and narrow path, and the end is not yet near in sight.
