Metamorphosis

by Sesh Heri

  The highest height is the deepest well; the blackest void is the brightest plenum. There, at the beginning, all circles close; there, at the beginning, all time ceases. The deep, black well at the end of time is the same bright, white point at time’s beginning. No man can unravel this mystery, yet upon this mystery all that man knows is founded. The mystery is the expansion and contraction of the universal spheres to the ultimate convulsion of an unknowable point.

  Upon that unknowable point the ancient NYMZA had been fixed in Majestic Imprisonment by the decree of the gods— the mysterious universal hierarchy who the men of earth have called ‘angels.’

  Untold eons ago, the gods had battled among themselves throughout the universal spheres. From the deepest well and the highest height, the Great Battle raged and reverberated through the universal spheres of reality, down to the spheres of spinning matter— the final level of causation. In the material realms, the material dimensions of space and time, the battle was fought among incarnated beings of flesh formed in all manner of functions. Some of these beings were fish and swam in waters, some were land beings that walked upon two legs, and some could both swim and walk— amphibians. It was these last who led the battle of good and evil, for they were the greatest of all incarnated beings in the material realms, and from among them emerged the greatest evil of the physical universe. It was these evil amphibians who swept through the galaxies, waging war and eating innocent souls. Other amphibians pursued the evil ones, and finally in a great battle the evil ones were slaughtered. This slaughtering was not a mere killing of flesh. The very souls of the evil ones were shorn of their identities, stripped of the deep memory that gives the soul power to reincarnate in flesh. The evil ones were shorn of their names, and were called NYMZA— the Nameless. And the Nameless Ones were cast down through the universal spheres, cast so deeply down that they fell to the highest height— like a mote of dust falling toward the deep, black iris which is upon the height of man’s head— and in the highest height and deepest well— in a place unreachable by men or gods— the NYMZA were imprisoned outside of space and time. There in the black that was so black that it was white, the NYMZA dreamed insane dreams and believed they marched in a triumphal procession. Forever the mad NYMZA marched forward filled with vanity and rage, forever they marched, hungry to feed upon souls— souls of any kind— but especially the souls of men, for they knew that in time men were destined to become greater than they. In time, men were destined to rule the gods themselves.

  And so, throughout the ages, the NYMZA, from their deep pinnacle, have sought to reach out to the minds of men with their own minds— to deceive the minds of men— to induce mankind to turn the Key of Time and open the Door to that deep, black well, which, when opened, bursts forth a crown of the whitest light.

  And for this reason, the NYMZA projected the thought of the Bell to the minds of men throughout the galaxies. And in worlds no one can number, the Bell had been built of matter and had been set spinning— spinning to rend the fabric of the universal spheres— to open the Door of Time— to release the NYMZA. And in every world a battle had been fought between men and the NYMZA, a battle that had to be fought between only men and the NYMZA, since a psychic grip can only be broken by the one upon which it has been placed. In all the other worlds the NYMZA had been defeated, but often not before great destruction had been wrought.

  Now, in the year 1915, this fate had come to our world’s solar system. The NYMZA were trying to reach out to worlds they had once ruled— worlds they had sought to mentally influence throughout the intervening ages since their imprisonment. The Bell of Time had now rung, and worlds were shattering— the worlds of our solar system.

  Like a shining bullet speeding through the skies, the one-man anti-gravity airship had sped across the North American Continent at a speed of 60,000 miles an hour. At its controls sat Nikola Tesla. He had broken all orders, broken all laws both public and secret, to plummet aloft through the sky in this craft. The details of this flight and the events which immediately followed were told to me by Nikola Tesla himself in a secret meeting that I had with him in the summer of 1920.

  Mr. Tesla had been monitoring the Bell from his underground laboratory in New York City. In the morning hours of November 29th, 1915, he had become alarmed at what he was witnessing unfold on the floor of the Pacific. He had immediately called Kolman Czito who was aboard the U.S.S. Cypher.

  “Mr. Czito!” Mr. Tesla blared into the telephone. “Do you realize what’s happening out there?”

  “The strength of the electromagnetic field is rapidly diminishing,” Mr. Czito said.

  “Never mind that!” Mr. Tesla snapped. “Look at the etheric density detectors! Look at them right now!”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Mr. Czito came back on.

  “The etheric field has greatly increased in density,” Mr. Czito replied. “Is that possible?”

  “Possible!” Mr. Tesla shouted. “Of course it’s possible! It’s happening right before your eyes!”

  “How could it happen?” Mr. Czito asked. “What does it mean?”

  “It means,” said Mr. Tesla, “that the device is no longer running on electricity! Whoever is operating it has switched to using a higher order of space fabric energy.”

  “What is that?” Mr. Czito asked.

  “Let us term it a fifth dimensional form of electricity,” Mr. Tesla said, “or simply— pure ether. The device is running on ether.”

  “You mean the drums inside it are still rotating?” Mr. Czito asked.

  “Look for yourself,” Mr. Tesla said. “Take an etheric spectroscope reading of the spatial rotation around the device.”

  Another long pause ensued. Mr. Czito came back on the line.

  “The space around the device is rotating faster than ever,” Mr. Czito said. “What am I to do?”

  “Nothing,” Mr. Tesla said.

  “Nothing?” Mr. Czito asked.

  “Do absolutely nothing,” Mr. Tesla said. “I am coming out there immediately.”

  “Immediately?” Mr. Czito asked. “How?”

  “In one of the emergency craft,” Mr. Tesla said. “I have one down here in the laboratory. I’m going to fly it down the Washington Tube and out to the Virginia Complex. There’s a surface outlet there in the hills.”

  “President Wilson has authorized this?” Mr. Czito asked.

  “No,” Mr. Tesla said. “There is no time for President Wilson to authorize use of the craft. Any further questions?”

  “No,” Mr. Czito said.

  “Inform the crew of the ship that I will be approaching in five minutes,” Mr. Tesla said.

  “All right, Mr. Tesla,” Mr. Czito said.

  Now Mr. Tesla approached the Pacific Ocean in his bullet-shaped one-man craft. Beside him perched on the control board, stood the white pigeon with gray-tipped wings. The pigeon stood in silence, but was sensing all the while.

  At another time under the same circumstances Mr. Tesla would have been filled with trepidation. The unearthly challenge of the NYMZA was far beyond his mortal powers. But now the mysterious pigeon had come to his aide, and he was filled with a certainty and rectitude he had never known before in his life, he was guided by his own unearthly allies, he was invested with the intelligence of supermen of other planets of other suns.

  As the craft moved rapidly over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the pigeon thought: The Bell is about to transform to a higher dimension and then project backward in time.

  “How soon before this happens?” Mr. Tesla asked.

  It will all begin in ten minutes when the landmass of California begins shifting out of phase with the earth’s time frequency, the pigeon thought. It will begin in Sonoma Valley.

  “And California will be destroyed?” Mr. Tesla asked.

  It will be destroyed if the phase shift is not stabilized in a short span of time, the pigeon thought.

  “And what of the earth?” Mr. Tesla thought. “Wil
l only California be destroyed?”

  No, the pigeon thought. The whole earth will be annihilated. The earth will cease to exist in this time dimension. Mars will cease to exist in this time dimension. The sun and all its planets will cease to exist in this time dimension— and this region of the galaxy will implode in space.

  “And what of us?” Mr. Tesla asked. “What of all the people of the earth?”

  We will all be possessed by the Nameless Ones and they will use our souls to enter into Time, the pigeon thought.

  “We are the Key to Time,” Mr. Tesla said.

  The craft streaked over the Central Valley of California, over the Coast Ranges, and reached the Pacific. A light flashed on the control board in front of Mr. Tesla, indicating that the U.S.S. Cypher was directly below. Mr. Tesla pushed a button, and his craft, which was moving at 60,000 miles per hour, came to an instant stop in the sky. He pushed another button, and his craft swiftly plummeted at an angle toward the ocean, then its motion arrested and reversed, plummeting downward in the opposite direction. Down the craft plummeted, describing a line of ‘z’s in the sky, the characteristic falling-leaf motion of all anti-gravity craft descending vertically through the horizontal nodes of a gravity field.

  Then the bullet-shaped craft silently penetrated the ocean’s surface without a splash, submerged completely to a depth of sixty feet, and slowed almost to a stop in front of the U.S.S. Cypher.

  A circular hole opened up in the stern of the Cypher and Mr. Tesla’s craft went through it.

  Mr. Tesla had brought his craft into the Cypher’s giant escape trunk. The doors of the trunk immediately closed behind the craft upon its entry. All the water in the trunk began rapidly draining away. In two minutes, the trunk had drained empty of water. A green light lit up on the wall, and Mr. Tesla opened the top hatch on his craft and stood up. The white pigeon flew up and perched on the prow of the one-man craft.

  A door in the trunk slid open and two sailors stepped through it, followed by Captain Wilson, Lt. Nimitz, and Mr. Czito.

  “Place this man under arrest!” Captain Wilson roared.

  “What is the charge?” Mr. Tesla asked coolly.

  “Treason!” Captain Wilson shouted.

  “Grounds?” Mr. Tesla asked.

  “Unauthorized use of a classified vehicle!” Captain Wilson roared back.

  “Very well,” Mr. Tesla said. “But before you incarcerate me, you should consider the practicality of the arrangement— since— if you do not allow me to act now— in approximately ten minutes we will all be dead.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Captain Wilson said.

  “That’s your belief,” Mr. Tesla said. “Just remember that it’s your own life with which you are gambling.”

  “Arrest him!” Captain Wilson shouted. “Take him to the brig!”

  The two sailors marched toward Mr. Tesla.

  “Stand back!” Mr. Tesla suddenly shouted raising a ray gun he had held hidden in the palm of his hand.

  The sailors froze in their steps.

  “Grab him!” Captain Wilson shouted. “He won’t fire!”

  Mr. Tesla fired off a beam of light from the ray gun that creased Captain Wilson’s cheek. The Captain screamed and grabbed at his face.

  “Get that son of a bitch or I’ll see you all hang!” Captain Wilson roared.

  No one moved.

  “You are no longer in command of this vessel,” Mr. Tesla said. “I am commandeering it.”

  “You’re dead, Tesla!” Captain Wilson screamed. “You’re dead!”

  “Sailor,” Mr. Tesla said. “Take this cloth and rub the Captain’s face with it— the left side— the side without the burn.”

  Mr. Tesla held out a piece of fabric that looked like silvery, flexible metal.

  “Touch me, sailor,” Captain Wilson said, “and you’ll hang with Tesla. Any of you— all of you— any one of you who helps him will hang with him— hang slowly.”

  “Take the cloth and wipe his face,” Mr. Tesla said, holding the fabric out at arms length and out of line of the fire of the ray-gun.

  “Why?” Lt. Nimitz asked. “Why do you want his face wiped?”

  “I think you know why,” Mr. Tesla said. “I think you’ve had your own suspicions, Lieutenant Nimitz. Have you ever asked the Captain why he always wears those kid gloves?”

  “That’s nobody’s business!” Captain Wilson shouted.

  “It is because the makeup he wears on his face would come off if he wore it all day on his hands,” Mr. Tesla said. “However, the makeup on his face is fixed well enough that it won’t come off with casual contact. I suspect that under some pretext you’ve tried to rub makeup off the Captain’s face in the past with an ordinary cloth, but were unable to do so. Am I right?”

  “You’re crazy!” Captain Wilson roared.

  “But this cloth will take the makeup off in one stroke,” Mr. Tesla said.

  “Give me the cloth,” Lt. Nimitz said.

  “Lieutenant!” Captain Wilson shouted.

  Lt. Nimitz stepped toward Mr. Tesla.

  “Nimitz!” Captain Wilson shouted. “Take another step and I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

  Lt. Nimitz took another step.

  Captain Wilson lunged forward.

  “Halt!” Mr. Tesla commanded.

  Captain Wilson rocked backward on his feet.

  Lt. Nimitz took the silvery fabric from Mr. Tesla’s hand and then walked toward Captain Wilson.

  “Stay away from me!” Captain Wilson shouted. “I’m ordering you, Nimitz, you stupid pig! Keep away from me or I’ll see you dead!”

  Lt. Nimitz reached up with the fabric and took a sudden, violent swipe downward at the left side of Captain Wilson’s face. Captain Wilson’s arm shot up to block Lt. Nimitz’s hand, but the force of Lt. Nimitz’s hand was too great, and the fabric made contact with Captain Wilson’s left cheek, leaving a pale spot on the Captain’s skin where the fabric touched. Lt. Nimitz looked down at the fabric.

  “Makeup,” Lt. Nimitz said with disgust. He looked up at Captain Wilson. “He’s wearing makeup after all.”

  “You’re dead, Nimitz,” Captain Wilson said.

  “Take hold of his hair,” Mr. Tesla said. “Take hold of his hair and pull it.”

  Lt. Nimitz nodded to the two sailors. The sailors looked at each other.

  “You’re all dead!” Captain Wilson screamed.

  The two sailors rushed Captain Wilson, grabbing his arms, and before Captain Wilson could fight back, Lt. Nimitz leapt forward, grabbed a fist full of Captain Wilson’s blonde hair, and pulled up.

  It was a remarkable work of craftsmanship that Lt. Nimitz held aloft in his closed fist, a complete blonde wig ventilated upon a fine, gauzy backing that perfectly simulated human skin.

  The top of Captain Wilson’s bald head was as white as marble.

  “He— he’s a Martian!” one of the sailors blurted out.

  Instinctively, Lt. Nimitz’s closed fist holding the blonde wig came down in an arc and landed upon the spot on Captain Wilson’s cheek where the makeup had been rubbed away. Captain Wilson collapsed backward against the two sailors holding him by the arms.

  “Take him to the brig!” Lt. Nimitz ordered.

  “I’m going to kill you, you stupid pig!” Captain Wilson screamed. “I’m going to kill everybody on this ship!”

  “Take him away,” Lt. Nimitz said.

  The two sailors shoved Captain Wilson to the door. Captain Wilson— or the Martian impersonating him— kept screaming: “You’re dead! You’re all dead! I’ll kill all of you!”

  The sailors shoved their prisoner through the door and his screams, which continued to echo in the outside corridor, switched into a dialect of the Martian language.

  “If he’s a Martian,” Lt. Nimitz asked, “what happened to the real Captain Wilson?”

  “I believe he was murdered some time ago and this Martian impersonator took his place,” Mr. Tesla said. “We will get to the bot
tom of all that later. First we must deal with the matter at hand.”

  “What can we do?” Lt. Nimitz asked.

  “There is much we can do,” Mr. Tesla said. “But we must do it immediately.”

  Mr. Tesla climbed out of the craft and walked toward the door of the trunk with Lt. Nimitz and Mr. Czito following him. The white pigeon flew up into the air and followed the men out. They got into the main corridor of the lower deck.

  “I am in command of this vessel now,” Mr. Tesla said, turning to Lt. Nimitz. “I want that understood. Will you serve as my second?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lt. Nimitz said.

  “Make an announcement to the crew that Captain Wilson has been discovered to be an imposter and that I am in command until further notice,” Mr. Tesla said.

  “Aye, aye,” Lt. Nimitz said.

  “We’ll sort out all the military regulations later,” Mr. Tesla said.

  “I see no grounds for mutiny,” Lt. Commander Conroy said. “But you’re not a military officer.”

  “I’m MJ-Seven,” Mr. Tesla said. “That’s better than an officer. At least I’m MJ-Seven for now. I don’t know what I’ll be when this is finished— that is, if we live through this when it’s finished.”

  “I’ve faced court-martial before,” Lt. Nimitz said. “I’m not going to be concerned with it now. I’ll make the announcement.” He turned and went up a ladder to the bridge.

  Mr. Tesla turned to Mr. Czito and asked, “Are those aerials loaded aboard ship as I advised?”

  “They’re right back here in the cargo bay,” Mr. Czito said.

  “Get some sailors down here,” Mr. Tesla said.

  “How many?” Mr. Czito asked.

  “Four,” Mr. Tesla said. “Get four of them that have tried on the new pressure suits. And Mr. Czito— I want you to put on one of the pressure suits yourself. We’re going to have to go down into Sonoma Valley.”

  “In pressure suits?” Mr. Czito asked.

  “We’ll have to go down in pressure suits,” Mr. Tesla said. “The whole valley is about to disintegrate.”