Reformation

by Henrikson, Mark

  Hastelloy managed to piece his composure back together and sat back in his chair again to answer. “Goron was far too clever to do something that predictable. A formless entity does not avoid my crew’s tireless searching for fifteen hundred years by hiding in obvious places with the most likely people.”

  “Occasionally it was the Pope, other times it was a lowly priest or even a peasant girl in France who prompted a revolution,” Hastelloy instructed. “Usually he liked to hover somewhere in between. Goron operated wherever he found the optimal mixture of influence, protection, and corruptible personalities.”

  “Joan of Arc?” Dr. Holmes asked for confirmation of the French peasant girl’s identity. Hastelloy obliged with a slight nod which drew a laugh. “Guess I should have seen that one coming. So that’s it? The degradation of mankind into the doldrums of medieval times was all because of the Church, which you promoted as a solution to the anarchy you saw coming with the fall of Rome?”

  “If bringing down Rome and corrupting church leaders would have been Goron’s only disruption, then things would have worked out fine. Unfortunately, his ruthless nature had far more damaging activities in mind that plunged mankind into a dark age it was powerless to resist despite our best efforts.”

  “I’m all ears,” Jeffrey said while turning his notepad back to the current page.

  **********

  Goron felt the unmistakably pompous presence of Archbishop Leonhard von Keutschach approaching. The man was obsessed to the point of madness with expanding his wealth, power and influence. It was an amusing contradiction for Goron to observe a religious figure, supposedly charged with the divine care of others, greedily scooping up everything within reach. All the while his esteemed title provided the freedom to condemn those who got in his way to die in the name of organized religion.

  The man’s thoroughly selfish nature was revolting, but also extremely useful to Goron. Like a carrot hanging from a string prompting a mule forward, Goron dangled the prospect of riches and power in front of the Archbishop to easily move him to serve Goron’s interests.

  Archbishop Leonhard shuffled into the hidden chapel Goron ordered built to house his relic. The modest sized chamber was constructed in the heart of a fortress and had only one well disguised point of entry. What the meager chapel lacked in size it made up for in opulence. A hand carved oak door, marble tiled floor and a richly ornamented star vaulted ceiling gave the chamber the proper feel to house Goron’s divine presence.

  “How kind of you to visit the guiding light behind your prosperity Herr Keutschach,” Goron declared in the native German. He felt right at home speaking the local tongue considering he had a heavy hand in crafting the language and its harsh separation of words and phrasing to mimic that of his beloved Alpha language.

  The Archbishop visibly cringed upon not hearing the title he so coveted precede his name. One of the few sources of amusement for Goron these days was tormenting the simple man in such ways and this occasion was no exception.

  “Tending to your flock in your physical absence my Lord is most time consuming,” Leonhard offered while descending to his knees before Goron’s stone alter.

  Who does this man think he’s fooling? Goron thought, but let it slide. “I have determined the fortifications of this castle are still inadequate.”

  Archbishop Leonhard looked up in confusion. “This fortress is perched on a perilously steep hillside my Lord. What’s more, I just finished constructing an outer ring of walls and towers. I respectfully submit the devil himself could not penetrate these walls, let alone mere mortals.”

  “You will construct another ring of walls and run a rail line down the cliff face to the Nonnberg Abbey below,” Goron went on as though the Archbishop had not spoken at all. “This will provide a means to easily resupply the fortress and an escape route during times of siege.”

  “More walls?” Leonhard asked in disbelief. “As it is, this proposed rail line will have to pass through four sets of stone walls to reach the abbey. You propose I add a fifth?”

  “I propose nothing, I demand it,” Goron corrected and allowed his flame to flood the room in a deep crimson hue. “To maintain the power and influence you wield you must, above all else, retain control over the salt mines of Salzburg immediately down the hillside from this fortress.”

  “But the expense,” the Archbishop protested from his knees.

  “It is a necessity that is more than covered by the annual income of the salt mines these improvements are meant to safeguard.”

  In an uncharacteristic display of actually having a backbone, the Archbishop protested further. “Why do we need such protection from your dedicated followers?”

  “Because I gave mankind the gift of free will which leaves them susceptible to the devils that I told you about. The ones who cannot die,” Goron said as a reminder.

  Leonhard offered one last protest, “In my entire lifetime I have never felt their evil draw near.”

  “When did I instruct Noah to build his ark?” Goron rhetorically asked. “Before the flood, not after; now do as you are told.”

  Without another word, the Archbishop rose to his feet, bowed at the waist and left the chapel. A deep thud from the heavy oak door shutting let Goron know he had his privacy once more and the oppressive loneliness of his solitude returned. Manipulating the local inhabitants to do his bidding provided some measure of amusement, but the simpletons made it entirely too easy to be even remotely satisfying.

  Elohim’s relic, despite his many faults, had at least provided a shared consciousness that allowed Goron to practice fortifying his mental defenses, and hone his ability to pierce the barriers of others. Now as the two planets drew closer once more, Goron could only hope his mental defenses and weapons were still sharp enough to dominate the Mars collective.

  Goron further lamented the loss of Elohim because his former engineer was a passable sounding board to run plans past for a second opinion. His input was usually worthless, but there were enough occasions of genius for him to be useful. That all ended a thousand years ago when his adversary’s masterful strategic vision managed to penetrate Elohim’s robust defenses and extinguish his existence.

  Shortly thereafter, the pesky little Novi captain nearly got his hands on Goron’s relic. A lot of advanced planning and even a little luck were all that saved him. Goron had no intentions of pressing his luck any farther. The fortress overlooking Salzburg would be made impenetrable, no matter the cost.

  A flicker of chaos graced the edges of Goron’s mind. A hundred thousand minds, each with thoughts and ambitions of their own, shined in like a horseman carrying a lantern approaching at night from a forest. The illumination was there one moment, then shrouded once more by the ever shifting leaf covered branches. The intermittent contact gave Goron ample time to practice his mental discipline. That way when the collective consciousness was fully present without interruption, Goron was in complete command of the situation.

  The first moments of sustained contact were always the most taxing. Each life force was busy probing for signs of weakness in the newcomer. An outsider who’s leadership only showed up for a few weeks every seven hundred days.

  Making the task even more difficult was Kuanti. The frustrating twerp of unremarkable ability or intellect had somehow managed to set himself up as the revered Founding Leader of the Mars colony. Every life force in the collective naturally gravitated toward him for leadership and wresting that control away grew more and more difficult with every passing year.

  Goron immediately went on the offensive once continuous contact was established. “Report.”

  That single word was all Goron needed. Kuanti’s naked annoyance at the not so subtle leadership challenge opened the barriers of the simpleton’s mind for Goron to get what he needed. Goron instantly knew the situation, the successes, and more importantly the failures on which to scrutinize. The fool was so busy fretting over his leadership vulnerability that his open mind provided the very
ammunition Goron needed to undermine that leadership; quite a useful paradox.

  “Our last twelve solid fuel rocket launches have all been successful. We have perfected a habitable environment that can be maintained in outer space. What’s more, our launch vehicles are powerful enough now to leave orbit to reach the third planet,” Kuanti confidently reported.

  Goron already knew it was not all roses over there and was not about to let Kuanti only detail the successes. “What about the fusion reactor? All this progress toward solid fuel rocketry is nice for a backup plan, but the flight time of several years between planets is unacceptable. That is too much to ask even the most disciplined of our Alpha warriors to endure.”

  “Computer models gave us a proof of concept on our design. Construction will commence once enough building materials have been refined.”

  “Well, that’s something I suppose,” Goron stated with underwhelming conviction to avoid giving the compliment any undue weight. “That leaves me fending for myself for at least another century. All the while our Novi friends make impressive inroads at repairing the disruptions that I’ve caused. The unifying force behind humanity’s technological and cultural advancement is slowly getting pieced back together.”

  “It is a race against time,” Goron went on. “If they advance these natives enough to construct a transmission device to reach Novus they win. If we get your physical forces from Mars to Earth and destroy the jamming signal that disrupts your communicator, we win. It’s that simple.”

  “The advantage is ours,” Kuanti jumped in. “The Novi don’t know about our colony, and they are bound by the noninterference mandate of their directive. Our victory is inevitable, no matter how competent the Novi captain may be.”

  “You have fewer than fifty thousand Alpha in the colony working on technology to reach Earth.”

  “And the Novi only have five active crewmembers there,” Kuanti interrupted. “By weight of numbers we will win the technology race.”

  Goron’s mood brightened with the naiveté of Kuanti’s statement. “Do you have any idea how many beings inhabit this planet? Nearly a billion, so if the Novi ever succeed in uniting these creatures in a common goal again, our advantaged position evaporates in the blink of an eye.”

  “That is on you, Goron. We are all forty million miles away on another planet at the moment; it is on you to disrupt their efforts.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing the last three thousand years? No matter how many humans I can manipulate through their blind obedience to faith or riches, it’s not enough. More drastic measures are now required.”

  “What do you have in mind,” Kuanti asked.

  “Tell me, did you have the forethought to preserve the biological specimens housed in the weapons hold?” Goron knew the affirmative answer already and felt a strong flicker of recognition from the collective as he continued. “Of even more importance, can you manage the math to deliver one of those solid fuel rockets of yours to Earth?”

  “Before being banned, the weapon rendered entire planets lifeless,” Kuanti cautioned. “You sure you want to sniff down that path?”

  Goron let his sinister side shine through the collective in all its glory. “These humans are stronger than most. Enough will survive to still be useful to us in the future. Yet enough will die to stop the Novi from accomplishing much of anything before you finally get your tails over here.”

  Chapter 16: Black Mark

  Poe looked ahead and saw his cart was falling behind the rest of the caravan. To correct the matter, he gave his horses a quick crack of the whip which sped the team of nags along. Traveling west and east between the Mediterranean and Far East was dangerous enough. He didn’t need to add the peril of making the journey alone rather than among the safety of numbers a caravan provided from bandits.

  The pair of horses had served Poe well for the last two years, but nonstop travel to the Mediterranean and back was starting to show in their pace. He resolved at that moment to fetch what price he could for them once he reached Dunhuang and buy a new pair using some of the proceeds from selling his cargo.

  He looked ahead of the lead wagon and spotted the familiar square gate house of the Yumen Pass. With the great wall extending hundreds of miles in either direction, this was the place all travelers heading east or west met. Over the years it had become known as the Jade Gate. Not because the doors were made of the highly valued material, but because so much of it passed through the gate for trade. It served as the ideal choke point for the Chinese Emperor to extract taxes from the immensely rich trade route.

  The taxes were high, but not quite oppressive. Even with the fees, Poe figured another three or four years spent on the Silk Road and he could retire. He wouldn’t quite live like a prince, but at this point anything beat sleeping on the ground, eating mystery stew and feeling the gritty dirt and dung kicked up by horses pulling the wagons between his teeth. Ah yes, retirement would be grand.

  Out of nowhere an explosion high overhead shook the very ground and sent an ear piercing shockwave through the air. Poe covered his ears and careened his neck to the side for a look. He nearly wet himself at the sight of a broad streak of fire scorching the sky overhead. The devilish trail traveled from west to east at blinding speed. In a matter of seconds the flaming center passed overhead and nearly out of view over the eastern horizon.

  Before any of the travelers could even think, let alone ask ‘what in blazes was that,’ a blinding white light lit up the western skyline like a second sun. When the light finally dimmed and Poe’s vision returned, he saw a towering pillar of smoke rising towards the heavens with a top like a mushroom fanning out on high.

  Moments later a terrorizing roar and hot wind laced with green smoke rushed over the landscape and past the travelers. It was as if the gates of hell opened up to release its most fearsome demon upon the earth. Poe felt his wagon teeter up on two wheels as the fierce winds billowed past. He dove onto the tarp covering the back and flung his entire body over the side to provide as much counterweight as possible to keep the wagon from tipping.

  After a few harrowing minutes the hot winds died down, and stillness settled over the landscape once more. When the tipping wagon finally settled back onto four wheels, Poe let go and had a look around. Only a handful of carts out of hundreds remained upright. Those that were toppled had their valuable contents spilled across the open grasslands. The lucky ones could simply set their carts upright, reload and continue. Most toppled carts would need repairs to broken wheels and axles. The truly unlucky ones were traders who carried fine powdery spices instead of heavy jade. These now impoverished traders had their cargo spread to the four winds never to be seen or tasted again.

  Poe’s heart went out to the poor bastards, but he had his own interests to look after. Soon as word got out that a trade caravan was stranded, the bandits would be drawn to the location like flies to dung. He pacified his inner guilt by helping set an undamaged wagon upright, but then was on his way with the two dozen wagons still capable of travel. The city of Dunhuang was only eighty miles away. Poe had no intention of remaining in the open once the flies began buzzing around.

  Twenty hours later, just after sunup, Poe and his miniature caravan reached the gates of Dunhuang. The pressed pace of the journey was hard on his aging horses, but also on him; ever since the hot winds Poe had felt a sore throat and stiffness in his joints. To make matters worse, hard black sacs that were painful to the touch had developed under his armpits.

  As Poe led his wagon through the torch lit streets he heard all the townspeople talking about the pillar of smoke that occurred earlier. Explanations ranged from a piece of the sky falling to some sort of super weapon of a foreign power to god smiting the Earth with his wrath. As the morning sun rose higher into the sky, Poe began hearing screams of lamentations coming from various houses. As the stories went, people who went to sleep feeling sick the night before simply never woke up.

  By the time Poe reached the c
ommerce district he was feeling positively horrible. Amid bouts of cold sweats, he hastily sold his goods for the first price offered and made a straight path to the nearest apothecary to hopefully tend to his illness. Poe’s heart sank when he saw dozens of dead bodies with bulging black sacs under their armpits and on their inner thighs lining the streets. At that moment Poe realized his imminent retirement was close at hand rather than several years off.

  Chapter 17: Underestimating the Enemy

  Hastelloy sat across the table from his opponent under a shaded tree outside his Egyptian home. He watched the youngster’s eyes dart across the chess board taking in all the possibilities. He had the boy’s rook in jeopardy and the youth was so eager to launch his attack that he failed to protect the valuable piece. Hastelloy captured the rook with his knight, but then his eight year old adversary did something entirely unexpected.

  The youngster plowed his queen into a wall of pawns protecting Hastelloy’s king. His only recourse was to capture with the king leaving it exposed. The boy moved his bishop into checking position which drew the king further into the open. Next the youngster moved his remaining rook over to deliver yet another check to bring Hastelloy’s king even closer to peril. With one final stroke of brilliance, the eight year old moved his knight back to deliver checkmate.

  The game was over. For the first time in memory Hastelloy’s king was cornered with nowhere to go. He stared in silence with elbows resting on the table and hands clasped under his chin. His opponent had the strategic vision to sacrifice his rook and queen, the two strongest pieces on the board, to launch a brilliant attack which snapped Hastelloy’s winning streak of well over a million games.

  How could a youth who only learned the game a few years prior have beaten him? Hastelloy sighed softly realizing that his question also delivered an answer. He underestimated his opponent, relaxed his guard ever so slightly and was finally bested by a weaker opponent.