literature

Ascension Chapter 4

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Chapter 4: Varying Intensities of Light

Cotter-Lynn sat at the long table on the stage amazed that Harrison Villert was able to find the damn podium with the dozens of flashbulbs igniting in succession. Villert was his secondary sponsor in the campaign to retrieve the Edge of Sin. Owner and CEO of the Villert-Avalle' Corporation, Harrison held the corner market on a variety of textile and scientific research industries, as well as a few other small companies which he quietly oversaw. We say quietly because in the aftermath of the Age of Machismo, it would be an impediment to public image if a man such as Villert was widely known to have firm ties in weapons production and armaments instead of working solely on terraforming and medical advancements.

The climate was insufferable for Cotter, standing in ovation for the aging CEO. He tried to sneak up to his top shirt button to undo it as he applauded, but his father next to him was just as smooth and served him an elbow meant to blend in with his clapping motion. Everyone seated themselves with courtesy as Villert cleared his throat and leaned toward the microphone joking, "I'd try to break the ice with a joke, but it melted. Seems like someone turned the heat up too high even for a New York winter." The crowd gobbled it up and humored him with laughter. Cotter and Dmitri both purposefully overdid their chuckling with sarcasm, given the shared hatred for poor humor.

Villert stood grinning for a second, as he absorbed the aftermath of his badly improvised, dry wit. Clearing his throat once more, he began his speech, "Many of you know that I'm not a man of great social tact or a man of many words, so I'll be brief. Hard times fell upon all of us during the third war, and some might say even harder ones during the years that followed. Our so-called Machismo Age has always been viewed as a sad consequence that was borne from a necessity to take things with the utmost seriousness. Scholars mostly agree that it was not a time of great benefaction, and the public seems to embrace this sorrowful ideal."

Harrison inserted the obligatory pause for dramatic affect, as the crowd nodded. Some of them proud, some of them reflective. He continued, "I disagree. Those were times that I feel were necessary for another reason. To produce men and women who would be able to handle and manage the brave new world we live in, and the difficulties which will no doubt come later on. Brave young people who understand the value of sacrifice and responsibility, and the necessity of passing these things down to their offspring, We are a prouder culture because of it, and it is with good reason."

Taking this point in the speech as his cue, Cotter-Lynn readied up what he called his "bullshit mentality". Time to speak and act like a person who the public would like for his social abilities, not only his value to the campaign. What Villert was saying was true for the better part, but the fact was that if the public didn't like the way you talked to them, you needn't bother at all. Villert kept on the line about the great new generations, "And I can think of no young man - nay, no young person of either gender - who better fits the aforementioned qualities, than the son of the great commander Dmitri Zakarevski, Cotter-Lynn Zakarevski!"

The crowd applauded, but it wasn't Cotter's turn to speak yet. First he had to be further venerated, of course. "Truly an inspiration to all people in this world, Cotter-Lynn has devoted himself to sacrifice and responsibility since he was just a child. Volunteering for the now famous soldier gene-therapy program that my company pioneered, and then for early miltary training at the age of only 6, I have seen this young man to my right truly evolve and blossom. He has followed the example set by men as long passed as Alexander the Great and as contemporarily famed as his own father. So as we sit on the dawn of what will surely be a new age of greater prosperity than ever imagined, I can think of no one who deserves our backing in this great endeavor more than, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Cotter-Lynn Zakarevski."

A compliment and an introduction in one sentence, how quaint. With nothing but the question of why he was personally doing this than other to please the public and to quell a boring life, Cotter nodded in thanks and took the podium. "I don't see anyone in this room, this world worth saving," he thought and smiled at the crowd. A better part of what Harrison Villert had pawned off to this crowd in his speech was either false or a reasonable facsimile of a lie. Cotter had never volunteered for gene-therapy or military training, or for that matter, the years of testing and correction applied to his mental, martial, and moral persona. He was the image of what his father wanted in a son, and more unfortunate than the state of his own pliability in the first place, was the fact that he was proud to be as such.

He was the world champion of martial arts forms the two times he competed in the tournament. He was a marksman to challenge any other man in the military with any weapon of their choice; even his father became gun-shy on visits to the shooting ranges later in life. He was a brilliant tactician who had absolutely dominated his opposing forces in every war game scenario since he was a young adolescent. Drip-fed on enhancing chemicals (since long before age six; think more like from the womb) that were so expensive that heroin addicts laughed at the prospect while the military desk dogs widened their eyes, sighed, and signed away approval; Cotter-Lynn Zakarevski, in all of his blonde haired, blue eyed, and well toned glory, was truly the uber soldat of a much older and more hostile empire's forgotten dreams.

Of course, no one was ever privileged of finding out exactly what and how much of it he was capable of. People claiming friendship to him had been heard to brag around that their "stalwart companion Cotter-Lynn had once set his hand on fire by some sort of self-controllec spontaneous combustion because someone said he couldn't. And he had thrown a man through a wall without ever coming within an inch of him, too!"

It seemed to be a trend among his acquaintances to either drastically exaggerate or fabricate his life on the whole. The greater absurdity was that the public had heard this sort of thing in one form or another the entire span of Cotter's memories. People were so damn hungry for power that if a bell rang, you'd be half likely to see people like Harrison Villert and his debutante of the week come bolting into the room on all fours asking, "Who mentioned a stranglehold on the entire planet?!" in a crazed and cartoonish manner. Meanwhile, the all-knowing salival palette let their mouths over-flow with wasted water.

Of course, just like Kierkegaarde's proverbial Pressing Shop, these people were fooled and would have to take their laundry elsewhere. There was never the right kind of power waiting for them upon arrival. What is a man with money and influence supposed to do for more power, if that is the case? Quite simply, with no ceremony or debate, you create an entity that is more powerful than you, and somehow within your sphere of control. This is, as naked eyes can plainly see, an age-old practice that goes right in line with dictators, leaders, presidents creating armies to fight for their ideals.

With time, it becomes invariably simple for the stronger creation to become fully self-aware and conscious of its ability to step outside of the bounds dictated by the master. Cotter-Lynn Zakarevski, as you will see, was never the exception to this principle. In fact, you may find him to be the archetype for a case in favor of this concept of overthrow. The problems for him will not be with becoming self-aware and cutting his umbilical from father, the military, and the Campaign Defaming Sin. Rather it becomes a problem of the beast not making sure the master is entirely clear upon the new rules of separation.... or even that the beast is no longer under their control.

Naturally, despite all this metaphorical talk of creature features and whip-cracking, Cotter-Lynn was no beast. This was something also ensured by his upbringing. Perhaps indolent or officious at times of weariness, but never slacked was he in front of the cameras and adoring public. He was brought up with the little room for error in any situation that now enabled him to close bullshitting speeches with lines like, "My sites are lined up true to the vital parts of any enemy I may face and true to the cause which I am so proud to be representing," and still make it sound sincere and awe-inspiring.

Acting could be enjoyable, and Cotter knew this role quite well. Playing into it, "The mistakes of our ancestors, as has always been reiterated in contemporary criticisms, are ones we have lived to regret and also generations before us. Unflinching in the ready spite of our justifiably unforgiving neighbors in the global community, we now are presented with with an opportunity that has only ever been dreamed of."

Taking time to let the weight of his oncoming explanation settle on the crowd (and hoping he had all of his facts straight, having chosen to frequent a seedy downtown gentlemen's club instead of leisurely absorbing necessary information), Cotter rode the feeling of power that command of public linguistics entails. On cue, various artist conceptions and maps moved in on the screen behind him in their respective order. This would be the first time many of the potential supporters in attendance would receive an easily understood and official dissertation on the campaign and the oh-so-mysterious Edge of Sin. Accuracy and professionalism were key.

Looking and speaking as seriously informed as possible, he entertained the curiosity of the audience, "I speak, of course, of the opportunity to change the past, to effectively undo the atrocities of the past. Having endured the aftermath of the worst war this planet has ever seen, we are blessed with the divine accuracy which is hindsight."

"The chance to do so lies first within the incredible advancements made in space-time technologies made by the Villert-Avalle' Corportation," while cut-away diagrams of strange chambers and particle accelerators flashed on the screen behind, "Through the ameliorated sciences of this corporation we are now able for the first time to look into the normally imperceptable highways and byways of space-time which truly govern all events with equality to the past, present, and future. That continuum, when we view it now, is visually represented as you see on the screen."

The ampitheatre darkened as a peculiar image graced the back wall. It carried only the colors of black and white: a black background white varying shapes and sizes of oval white mvoed along their way, occasionally colliding and grazing one another. Cotter returned to speaking, despite the astounded murmurs of the audience, "What you are seeing is the actual space-time continuum in which events are decided and governed in a parallel dimension of sorts which exists outside the contraints of time. Each of the white ovoids you see is representative of an event, action, or entity. You will notice them bump into each other and some you may even see merging. These movements and interactions may appear random, but are quite the opposite."

Silence overtook the audience as they were presented with something that they could scarcely understand even in theory; but the weight of the world was less than the words on the air. Cotter's apt perception did him well in this case and he kept it simple, "That is to say, these movements are influenced entirely by outside forces from parallel dimensions such as our own, and forces that trickle down from a gust of wind to the very words I speak now. The atomic bomb is equivocal to the firecracker, in a manner of speaking, when it comes down to the influence over space and time."

"However, before any event can come to pass, it must first pass through a mighty verifying and cleansing portal of entry that ensures each event exists and occurs independent of other events and outside forces. The portal I speak of is the cause for our noble endeavors and the key to our retroactive success. First identified and fully accredited to the Clerisy of the Angelic Sect and their Fellowship, it has been named the Edge of Sin."

Right in accord with his expectations, Cotter listened to the chittering of the crowd at his mention of the Clerisy; the talk was of rather varying nature. Choosing to show that this was an organization like any other in his mind, he talked right through it.

"Most of us here on this fine evening are people of privilege, businessmen, investors, military representatives and the like. Myself included, we are not, obviously, well versed in the areas of physics, sub-atomics, and the high sciences of time and space. I will not make myself out to be an expert in any of these fields or their sisters. However, the objectives and their details can be easily explained for all of us to understand without the riddling of technical jargon."

Sometimes you can hear a silent sigh of relief.

"The Edge of Sin is not mearly a doorway through which the events of our lives pass before occurring. It has also been assessed to be a tangible, physical object which can in fact be found and obtained. I'll be highly concise from here on out."

He heard another one. A bunch of fucking geniuses. We can only hope they are capable of signing their names off on slips of payment.

"Upon review of the continuum through third party resources, it is agreed by all parties involved in this campaign that the Edge of Sin lies somewhere within the cradle of mankind's civilization. The Campaign Defaming Sin intends to -- no, shall locate and extract this illusive object and harness the power it holds to undo the events of the horrors of the Third War."

There was more to his speech, but it would never be heard. He would have taken the time to move on to the parts regarding the race against time and the Clerisy which sent its own representative after the Edge of Sin, the Black River Man, Chalceus Styx Argentum. It would have been appropriate to mention the ridiculous nature of the mission which knew not what the Edge looked like, or where it was within millions of square miles, or if even coming in contact with it could disrupt the entire continuum of space-time. It didn't seem that these people gave a great goddamn in church on Sunday about the fact that they were only sending one man because of this risk of interference, for they were already on their feet applauding and pledging their allegiance, faith, and dollars.

There was so very much more to be heard and understood about this divine undertaking, but the bandwagon was in motion with a quickness. Cotter-Lynn had hoped that the enthusiasm would lack and he would be off the hook, however irrational a dream that was, but that was not his fate. The fate of Cotter-Lynn Zakarevski (not to mention several other closely-tied individuals of various and sordid backgrounds) was already a white ovoid event soaring on the black jetstreams of time and space.

Having failed to think this far into the future, Cotter later asked his father that night, in broken German-English, as they loosened their ties and themselves over a couple of drinks, "What am I supposed to do now, father? I mean, I know what I'm meant to do--"

Swallowing an ungodly amount of Kalishnikov Vodka easily, the elder Dmitri Zakarevski interrupted with a stern look and somber voice that came from military duty, "Junge.... sometimes, knowing is enough."
Fucking right. Back on the ball and producing. THIS summer, I swear it, THIS summer I'll finish the manuscipt!

Enjoy, I know I am.
© 2005 - 2024 leggy
Comments3
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necrowing's avatar
Oooh, such a perfect ending. I want more! You bring them all to life.

(why does anyone bother commenting when they haven't actually read it? This bothers me.)