by Layton Green
“Where am I? How long have I been here? Where’s Andie?”
“All unimportant concerns. What matters is where you will next awaken.”
“I gotta say I don’t much like the sound of that. Is there a choice involved?”
“Our lives are full of choices. Even in cases where our physical actions are restrained, the mind remains uninhibited. That is, except for those rare instances in which you encounter someone with the ability to overpower your freedom of will and deny the conscious mind its due.”
“Okay, I’ll bite . . . I suppose you’re one of those people?”
“I am indeed.”
There was no boast to the voice, no change in modulation.
It scared the hell out of him.
“Well, this is creepy and all, but I think I’ll walk on out of here and see about some of my other choices.”
As Cal started to rise again, the Archon held out a palm, then slowly inverted it. As the palm turned downward, Cal found himself returning to his seat again. For some reason, the only physical action he wanted to take was to stare at that golden mask. Before he could ponder the absurdity of the situation, the voice spoke again.
“I believe you know who we are, Calvin Miller, just as we know about you.”
“I know that you ruined my life.”
“Have you ever thought that perhaps this life you hold so dear, your old life, was worthy of ruination?”
“I was kind of partial to it.”
“You’re a resourceful man, and one who shares many of our principles: a thirst for knowledge, dissatisfaction with the status quo, reticence about the course of humankind.”
“Now you’re putting words in my mouth. I’m only opposed to people like you, who think they’re better than everyone else.”
“Someone who believes the ends justify the means?”
“Exactly.”
“In the right circumstance, everyone does. Parents fighting for their children. Leaders waging war for their nations.”
“Those are hardly analogous.”
“Aren’t they? Tell me, please, beyond a difference in scale, how they differ. How about a journalist who breaks laws to repair his reputation?”
Cal waved a hand in annoyance. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if you hadn’t destroyed it.”
“A rationalization that suits your own selfish purpose. We wouldn’t have noticed you in the first place if you had not involved yourself in the concerns of others, and which are far above your head. You have no idea what is at stake. You judge so easily, yet we, too, believe our means are justified. That our goal is for the greater good. And I daresay our interests are far less egotistical than your own.”
Cal snorted. “I have my doubts.”
“Our ultimate aim is to preserve the future of humanity, of all our lives on this precious planet.”
“With yourselves at the top of the food chain, of course.”
“That is a necessity of present circumstance. We wish deeply it were not so.”
“Listen, Archon person. If you give a damn about me, or want me to give any credence to anything you’re saying, then let me out of here and give me my life back.”
“This is not about you—though what I have to offer may serve both our goals.”
Cal spread his hands. “I’m listening.”
“Join our organization. I cannot install you as a full member, not yet, but I will set you on the path we have all walked.”
“Join you. Uh-huh.” He started to tick off his fingers. “One—you haven’t told me where Andie is. Or where I am, for that matter. Two—I’m trying to expose you, not join you. Three—I think you’re full of shit.”
“I assure you the offer is genuine. The path to Ascension is a long and arduous task, one with a small likelihood of success. But you will be forever changed by the journey, of that I assure you. And why not learn the answers to those secrets you so desperately seek, help impose order on the chaos that surrounds us, escape the prison of your own unseeing mind?”
“Sure. Just let me discuss it with Andie first.”
“She has her own choice to make.”
“Then let me talk to her about it.”
“My time and patience grow short, Calvin. What is your decision?”
Even if Cal thought the offer was genuine, it held little appeal. The purpose of his career in journalism, and even the conspiracy show, had never been uncovering secrets. That was the short-term aim of both endeavors, sure. But Cal was a simple man. He didn’t need to understand the inner workings of the universe. He just needed a cold beer, a freezer full of bone-in rib eyes, his dog at his side, mild winters, and lower level tickets to the Clips.
Yet there was something which did motivate him in life. Most people would call it a noble trait, but Cal didn’t think of it that way. He thought of it as a mark of basic humanity that everyone should have, a calling magnified by certain events in his own past.
To him, the goal of his professional undertakings had always been clear.
What Cal cared about was justice.
“Say I decide to join you,” he said. “What do you want in return?”
“Leaving this room is dependent on providing us the location of the Star Phone. To leave this place, you must renounce your past life and embark upon the path I set. If that is your choice, further instructions will be given.”
“Is that all? Renounce my past life and do whatever you tell me? Why don’t I just make this easy for all of us: Go to hell. And I have no idea where the Star Phone is.”
The Archon stood in front of him, unmoving, for a long moment. Cal thought about trying to stand again, but to his great annoyance, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. In fact, he couldn’t even seem to turn around to see if there was a door behind him, or stop looking at the vacant eyeholes of that damned golden mask. It was almost as if those two bottomless orbs were an extension of himself, and he could no more look away than he could separate himself from his own optic nerves.
The Archon’s hands swung to the front, revealing a pair of black gloves, then clasped at the waist. “You choose not to join us?”
Cal laughed.
“I’ll ask a final time: Where is the Star Phone?”
“Go. To. Hell.”
“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask another way.”
“Whatever suits you.”
“Stand, Calvin Miller.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but instead of speaking, he found himself sliding out of his chair and standing motionless in front of the robed figure.
The Archon raised a gloved hand in front of Cal’s face. The hand unfurled to reveal a swarm of multicolored lights dancing in the open palm, flickering in and out, a swarm of disembodied fireflies flashing in Cal’s vision. The effect lasted only an instant, but it dazed him, and as the hand disappeared from his line of sight, the eyes of the mask seemed closer than ever, as if Cal were being drawn into a vortex.
“Sleep,” the Archon commanded.
All of a sudden, Cal was wobbly on his feet, his eyelids too heavy to keep open. He let them close and felt his consciousness slipping away, as if a powerful sedative had overcome his mind.
“Open your eyes. Be with me.”
Cal’s lethargy disappeared and he stood rigid, his gaze blank and unseeing, in front of the masked leader of the Ascendants.
“What is your name?”
“Calvin Miller.”
“With whom did you come to Venice?”
“Andie Robertson.”
“Did anyone else come with you?”
“No.”
“Good. Now that we are one, I want you to think very carefully and tell me exactly what I wish to know. We will start with your visit to the house of Elias Holt and work our way to the present. You may begin.”
Without hesitation, Cal started to speak, and over the course of the two hours, pausing only to wet his lips from a bottle of water that somehow appeared in his hands, he found himsel
f doing exactly as the Archon had asked.
When Andie regained consciousness, she found herself in a small room with every available surface painted rich walnut brown. She was sitting in a straight-backed chair and wearing the same clothes as before. The last thing she remembered was someone poking a needle in her neck and dragging her out of the ballroom.
The warmth of the room and the faint scent of an exotic spice, maybe cardamom, invoked a snowy night at a cabin curled up by the fire. In sharp contrast to the cozy vibe of the room was the person dressed neck to toe in long white robes befitting a Greek philosopher, standing five feet from Andie, on the other side of a wooden table.
An eerie, snug golden mask with open eye sockets shielded the figure’s face and head from view. Andie couldn’t even make out the gender. A glass of red wine was on the table between them, and she wondered if she would be made to drink it.
“Hello, Andromeda.”
“My name is Andie. Where the hell am I? Where’s my mother?”
“Samantha won’t be joining you again tonight. Not unless an agreement is reached.”
“An agreement about what?”
“I think you know.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me? You’re this Archon person, I assume.”
“Where did you hide the Star Phone?”
Andie smirked. “Now that’s a good idea. Hold on one second, and think about how stupid it would be for me to give you my only bargaining chip.” She jumped to her feet and pointed a finger at the Archon’s face. “I want to talk to my mother. Now.”
“I’m surprised she inspires such loyalty after giving you up so easily.”
“I don’t know what you have on her, but you people are holding her against her will.”
“I assure you that is not the case.”
“You can assure me of whatever the hell you want.”
“Sit, Andromeda.”
“I think I’ll stand.” Andie turned to find an exit, but saw no doors or windows in the room. She walked to the nearest wall and started probing for a seam. “How do I get out of here? Where’s the secret door?”
After watching her in silence, the Archon said, “Your companion does not know where you hid it. I suspect only you know the location.”
“He wouldn’t tell you if he did.”
“Oh, I believe he would.”
Andie did not like the matter-of-fact tone of the Archon’s answer. Everything about this person creeped her out, from the golden mask to the rigid stance to the oddly neutral voice, as if the entire persona was constructed to embody something less than—or more than—a human being.
“I know what an archon is,” Andie said, continuing to examine the room as the figure circled in place to watch her. “I came across it when I was researching Democritus. It had a couple of meanings in antiquity. One was ‘a lord or ruler in ancient Greece, often the magistrate of a city-state.’ Another—the definition used by the Gnostics—referred to someone who acted as a proxy between humanity and whatever transcendent force created the universe. So which is it? You seem like an ambitious type—maybe it’s both.”
“It’s rude to speak of matters in which you are unversed.”
“So enlighten me. I’m a good student.”
“We wish you no harm, Andromeda.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“As your mother said, we wish for you to join us. The offer is genuine. I believe once you understand the larger picture, you will come to embrace our cause.”
Andie returned to stand in front of her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not much of a joiner.”
“Only someone who has never worn the mantle of responsibility prefers to stand apart.”
“And only narcissistic pricks want to control other people.”
The Archon lifted a gloved hand. “You’re a scientist. An astrophysicist.”
“I’m a PhD student.”
“You understand far better than most what a miracle it is that we exist at all. How fragile our position in the cosmos. A single wayward asteroid could plunge us into another ice age, and eventually our sun will fail. Yet we both know that long before a celestial disaster occurs, the human race will destroy the planet through negligence, or with technology it misuses or does not understand. This fate is imminent unless steps are taken—bold steps—to avoid it.”
“I’m going with the Gnostic definition.”
“We’re devotees of knowledge. Enlightenment. Progress. Imagine a shift in perspective from belief in the individual to belief in the potential of humankind. When the best of us band together to propel the human race forward, stripped of loyalty to country and ethnicity, miracles can be accomplished. In the last century, human achievement has increased at an exponential rate. Yet we are at a crossroads in our evolution. If changes are not implemented, and a shortsighted government or a rogue organization or perhaps even a well-meaning scientist unleashes technology on the world that it is not prepared to handle, then our precarious balance will be destroyed.”
“And you think what? The Enneagon has the potential to unlock forces beyond our control?”
“We do not think it. We know it.”
“How?”
“Join us, and we will share the knowledge.”
“Or you could just tell me.”
“Knowledge without perspective is worse than meaningless: it’s dangerous.”
“So the Star Phone leads to the Enneagon?”
“It does.”
“Where’s Dr. Corwin?”
“We wish we knew. We would talk to him directly.”
“So you didn’t murder him?”
“Of course not.”
“Then who did?”
“We’ve no idea.”
“What is the Enneagon?”
“The distillation of the next frontier in science. A key to the unlocking of human potential. And, above all, a portal.”
“A portal to where?”
“Imagine, child, the millions of lives lost through the wars, disease, poverty, inequality, and greed that has plagued our species. The exploitation of human capital and planetary resources that still occurs on a daily basis, around the world. We are so remarkable and yet so flawed. Is there not a better way?”
“Who gave you the right to make the rules?”
“If you better understood our position, I’m confident your viewpoint would change.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“As soon as we acquire the Star Phone, you’ll be released and an offer will be extended to join us formally. Of this I swear.”
“I want to see my mother. Right goddamn now.”
The Archon’s gloved hands reclasped in front of the white robes. “We know of your visions of the Fold, and how they trouble you.”
Andie stilled. “What are you talking about?”
“Come forward. Peer into the wineglass.”
“Why?”
“To prove that we possess answers to your questions.”
Wary of a trick and keeping an eye on the Archon, who remained motionless, Andie stepped to the edge of the table, leaned over, and glanced into the long-stemmed wineglass.
She looked up. “It’s a glass of red wine.”
“Look again.”
With a frown, Andie lowered her eyes a second time—and gasped. Somehow, impossibly, the ruby-red wine had morphed into a semi-transparent, variegated gray surface that mirrored the room in which they stood. Andie and the Archon were represented as tiny figures standing on either side of a three-dimensional cube-shaped lattice the same height as the table. Chalky ripples in the gloom indicated the floor, walls, and ceiling. Beyond the borders of the room loomed a mass of deepening shadow, which seemed to expand the farther she stared into its depths. There was movement in those nether regions, the same haunting, inchoate forms she had glimpsed at the edges of her visions.
Andie’s head jerked up. “What— How did—”
The Archon passed a hand above
the glass. When Andie looked down once again, the image was gone, the surface of the wine returned to normal.
“You feel as if you’re being watched when it happens,” the Archon said, “and the universe seems infinitely larger than you could imagine. We can help you understand.”
Andie sucked in a breath. “Don’t forget feeling lost, terrified, and horribly alone. Why would I ever want to learn more about such a place?”
“Have you ever considered that you’ve only seen a small portion of the whole? That your vision is flawed? Incomplete? A condition of your unique mind that can be explored and reconstituted?”
“I don’t know how you did that . . . but it’s all in my mind. It always has been.”
“No. The Fold exists.”
Andie started to say something, then grimaced and shook her head.
“It’s a place that appears as beautiful and wondrous to others as it does mysterious and frightening to you,” the Archon said. “A place, perhaps, that encompasses all things. A place glimpsed by seers, mystics, and gifted anomalies like yourself since the beginning of time. I am one like you, Andie. I can manipulate the minds of others and see into places they cannot.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ask your friend. When the time is right, I will teach you these things. Join us. Unravel the secrets of the universe with us by your side. With your mother.”
Andie swallowed, barely able to believe that someone else had seen this place she thought lived only in her mind. Seeing the ink drawings and accounts in old books was one thing, but to see it right in front of her, somehow brought to life in a wineglass, even if it was just a trick of the mind . . .
“All I have to do is tell you where the Star Phone is?”
“We will begin there.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I hope we don’t have to discuss such matters.”
“That’s what I thought. You know, it sounds like such an easy choice. These are things I’ve wanted all my life.”
“I’m pleased to hear this.”
“There’re just a couple of problems.”
“Perhaps we can work through them and come to an under-
standing.”
Andie raised her hands. “Maybe. One issue is that my mom left me high and dry when I was a little kid, while Dr. Corwin has been there for me my entire life. I love my mom, but giving up the Star Phone means I’ll never see Dr. Corwin again. Or if he’s dead, then the people responsible will never be held accountable. An even bigger problem is that despite all this great stuff you’re telling me, I have no reason to trust you.”