No notes. No Teleprompter.
His head turned slowly from right to left, and back to center. He stepped closer to the front of the stage. Closer to the audience. Closer to the table with its gifts and honorariums. Closer to the chest.
As he did, a subtle change began to come over him. Some thought it was theatrics, others, stagecraft. Certainly there was no denying the effect. As if there was a fan beneath him, his hair began to become slightly tousled. As he looked out on the audience, his eyes glowed with passion, a fiery redness that, even if staged, was extremely effective. He seemed to actually grow in size, though this was, of course, impossible. But the effect - oh, the effect.
He could feel it himself. The power coursing through his veins, the clarity of thought, of purpose, the very being of his existence trying to escape this mortal body. This was the power he was meant for. This was why he was the Proclaimer. Now was his time. Now people would listen.
Behind him, the semicircle of twelve looked on first curiously, then nervously at each other. From their position and proximity, they could see the changes were not theatrics.
Something was happening. Something unexplainable. They began watching in wonderment at the transformation, even if the curiosity was beginning to be tinged with some fear of what actually was happening. Several slowly edged their chairs back, allowing a little more space for this man, this -
Hans laughed. Loudly. He unbuttoned his jacket, which had become very tight. The power emanating was not just psychologic, it was literal energy. The hair continued blowing as if in wind. The eyes, deeper, darker, but glowing brightly. It looked as if heat was coming off his suit and body, almost a lycothantric transformation, minus hair and claws.
He found his voice. Sweeping his notes off the podium, he stepped around it and faced the audience, all sitting, stunned, at the spectacle. Cameras were glued. The cameras, originally on the twelve, as well as on the audience, were all now focused on one individual.
Above the stage, two large screens, both with his changing visage, and above those two screens, twelve more, all of the same.
"And this is just the beginning," he started out. "For it is not I, but Him," turning toward Zarin, "That we are here for. This is the man who will lead you, lead us, all of us, out of these terrible times. He is the Chosen One."
Toward the center and rear of the auditorium, concerned people were slowly rising, with a few making their way to the rear. This was not what they were wanting to hear.
"SIT DOWN!" he roared from the front, "and hear him speak. If you choose to leave after he has spoken, after you have heard the words of the one who will finally lead this world out of the chaos that you, all of you have created, feel free. Once you know the truth, you will either be part of the solution or part of the problem. There will be no time for anyone else."
His bluntness shocked the audience. They didn't know how to respond to direct statements, direct force. They had always dealt with the wishy-washy communications between people who felt there was no right or wrong, just variations in opinion. A direct response to his order was unimaginable to them.
They sat down.
Turning to his left, looking to the other man, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the man who will lead us out of chaos. The man who will lead us into prosperity. A leader who will bring peace from all this turmoil. The man who will create a rebirth of this planet, rising like the Phoenix from the contaminated, polluted, war-torn mess we have today.
Our new leader, the Chosen One, Assad Zarin."
From a number of quarters, an enthusiastic standing applause. From others, polite clapping. Others, still stunned by what was happening, silence. As both men looked around the room, those that were standing and cheering began nudging those nearby. Wakened from their trance, being diplomats, knowing they were on international television, and not knowing what else to do, they also stood and clapped. The cheering slowly built to a roar, until no one wanted to be left out. This went on for several minutes before Zarin raised both his hands to quiet the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you. Thank you. Please, please be seated. Thank you. Thank you very much. Please, Thank you. Thank you, enough."
But it wasn't enough, and it went on. Fueled by the surrounding crowd, the nervous energy from the previous few minutes, and the frustrations of a world gone mad, the sound went on.
Finally, it began to drop off, slowly, then more quickly, then completely. All sat down, save Hans Richter and Zarin.
Gerhard Richter couldn't stop staring at his son. The transformation. What? How? He hardly heard Zarin start.
"... and gentlemen. Thank you for coming. You will find it to have been well worth your while. You will be able to tell your grandchildren that you were here on this day, that you were here at the beginning, that you were part of the beginning."
Zarin stepped around the podium, standing a couple of arm's lengths away from Hans. And now he, too, began to feel it. Not like Hans, but he, too could feel it. Was this the thrill of power, or something more? He, too, felt the energy. This is the time. I am the One!
Thunderous applause. The cameramen looked at other across the room, shrugged their shoulders, and kept transmitting. Around the world, as in this room, people were transfixed. Wondering if it was real, if it was a show, or if indeed, the world was about to change.
"This has been a difficult time in the world. Conflict throughout the planet. Nation against nation. Pollution, oil spills, and garbage. Corruption at every level. Unemployment. Terrorists. Out of control budgets and cuts leading right back to unrest and rioting in the streets. And so it goes, in full circle. It is time to change all that."
People sat back down. He was sounding reasonable. In fact, you couldn't argue with what he was saying. In bars and living rooms around the world, heads were nodding in agreement. He opened up and then removed his jacket as well. The audience assumed it was part of the common-man look, the roll up our sleeves and go to work look, but it wasn't. Like Hans' suit, it too had become too small, too tight.
"There must be accountability. People must know that those who cause problems will be dealt with. This is true on every level. It's what makes civilization tick, and keeps it on an even keel."
More nods of agreement. He was speaking to them. What he said was coming through.
"The time has come not for a helpless United Nations, itself filled with bureaucracies that sap efficiency and corruption that saps the very soul, but for a single source, a leader, a strong leader, with a vision. A vision of peace, worldwide peace.
"Imagine a world where nation is not fighting nation. The lives that could be saved, the wounded that need not return home minus limbs, the waste of lives and equipment blown up.
"Imagine if all that energy, expense, and passion was turned instead to positive tasks, rebuilding infrastructure, restoring our schools and colleges, reeducating our work force.
"Imagine not only the peace, but the prosperity."
People were getting excited now. No one had spoken like this in a long, long time. He was speaking for them, not to them. He spoke energetically. He, too, had developed a glow, an energy. He had found his place. He was turning into someone people wanted to get behind.
The spectacle of Hans, having served its purpose, was now slipping to the back burner. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be. It had brought the attention of people to this moment, as he was supposed to.
"Of course, to have peace, you must have the strength, and the will to use it. It serves no purpose to create police and armies for good if they stand by idly when trouble occurs. And need I speak to the corruption and ineffective court systems world-wide?
"Why does a trial for a criminal take months or even years just to start? The appeals systems? Years more? Is that justice? Can anyone call that justice?"
He had locked himself in with everyone world-wide. Not just nods of agreement now, but verbal agreements - "Yes!", and "That's right!" It was getting to be time. H
e had everyone with him now, committed.
The massive doors behind the stage slowly began to open as he continued.
"It is time for those who do right to prosper, time for those who violate the laws of God and Man to pay the price."
Cheers were starting to be heard from around this room as well.
"No longer will rogue countries and leaders hold the world hostage."
Up in his AWACS, Colonel Rothstein was also tuned in, listening in amazement as this man, unheard of mere moments ago had put the world into the palm of his hand. It had, it seemed, already had a calming effect. Rather than putting bricks through store windows, people were tuned in to what was on. Temporary, but better than nothing.
"There have been those in the past that despite their evil deeds, have escaped punishment. That time is at an end."
The doors were open wide now. In the background, standing tall in launch positions, were the missiles on their launch vehicles; sentinels, standing guard, reinforcing his statements. A dramatic stage prop for his speech.
"We will start at one end of the world, and work our way through one despotic regime after another, starting with perhaps the most despicable and treacherous. One that has caused much discord, not only in its region, but worldwide. It is time to deal with that, once and for all, for the peace of the entire world."
Cheers continued. Many now stood on the chairs they previously sat in to get a better view. They were now one with him. He had it right. Deal with the rogues, the despots, the terrorist dictators; whoever, and wherever. Do it now. No courts, no appeals, simple justice.
It was about time.
He was speaking their language.
He turned toward the missiles. "Join me in the countdown to end tyranny, would you all?"
He paused, locking in their attention, then continued. "10 - 9 - 8 –"
The crowd, thinking it a rhetorical countdown toward the change, joined in. "- 7 - 6 - 5-"
And now, everyone joined in, not just there, but in front of televisions everywhere. " - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - BLASTOFF"
Huge flames and smoke billowed from below the missiles, as the sound, delayed by the distance, eventually caught up to them.
Stunned into silence, everyone, everywhere, watched the missiles slowly launch. Everyone watched, silently, as they lifted off. Diplomats and politicians alike looked at one another, ashen faced. What had just happened?
"There, we have begun. The first to go. The scourge of the Middle East, and drain of the world's resources. In fifty seven minutes, they will no longer exist. The warheads we have launched together will divide, then burst over Tel Aviv, Haifa, Rishon-Lezion, and Ashdod. We have just solved the problems of the region. Simply, Permanently.
"There will now be peace throughout the region."
Silence. Everyone froze. Was he serious? Everyone began looking at each other, then back at the screens up front that were following the trail as the missiles, still gathering speed were rising above Tehran.
Col Rothstein sat up, "Anybody got a screen on this news?"
"Here, Colonel, it's on my screen. My God, he actually launched!"
"Get me a satellite confirmation, and hook me up with command, quick!"
* * *
The tables, with gifts, decorations, honorariums, and tokens of appreciation, all which served to enhance the impression that a king had taken his throne began rising. Zarin and Hans were both waiting expectantly for the chest.
None of the rest mattered, but the chest - it was time to complete the transformation, to finalize the taking of command. It continued rising, slowly.
Hans was feeling the change more strongly now. He could feel his blood pressure rising, his temperature rising, his sensation of power increasing. Looking down, he thought he could actually see the changes in his body, occurring as watched. Zarin now, also, was beginning to experience the flow of energy, far more strongly than before. Not having had the experience earlier, the feeling of raw power flowing into him was shocking, a sharp flow of heat, seeming to enter through every pore of his being. At first, it was painful, intensely painful, frightening, but almost immediately it settled back. He looked at Hans, then he, also, looked down, thinking that the intense flow of energy would have to manifest itself in changes to his body as well. And he thought he might be right.
Was it in his mind, or could he actually see the musculature of his already well-toned body increasing in size? Rather than pain, now, he felt the energy entering his very being, not only physically, but mentally. He felt sharper, more in control, more alive than ever before. He felt as if he could do anything, literally anything. He could feel the heat, not only pouring in, but emanating out.
* * *
"Yessir, we have confirmed launch. Multiple missile launches, possible multiple warheads on each. With airbursts, there is nothing we can do. There are too many. Israeli interception missiles will probably take out some, but..." He didn't need to finish. It didn't require a huge number of warheads to get through.
Rothstein slumped down in his chair. The rest of his people had turned and were staring expectantly at him.
"What now, sir?"
He slowly looked up. He looked at each one. Mostly kids. Some single, others with young families. Shit, there was Markeson sitting there, with a photo of his new baby taped to the monitor.
"We do our job. There's nothing else we can do. There's no way to land and get into cover - not in the next fifty minutes or so. We still have a job to do – we still need to coordinate the responses and all the aircraft still in the area. Passenger airliners of all nations. Military. They depend on us. And when we do finish, we won't be able to get far enough away in time.
"Besides, we don't run. Not from anyone. We will do what we've trained to do. Direct aircraft and response craft for as long as we can.
"Each of you, say a prayer, however you wish, as you need. Then, we go back to work.
"One other thing. Just in case, I wanted you to know that I am proud to have worked with each of you. It has been an honor."
He could see tears forming in some eyes. Some were losing focus, but it didn't really matter. Not that much. Not now. There wasn't a lot more they could do other than monitor the events. My God, out of the blue. What just happened? He turned back to his console.
He heard someone crying.
* * *
As the tables continued rising, both men were correct - the changes were not only in their minds. Their bodies were both being physically transformed. For both, the musculature had increased to the point that the arms of their jackets were snug, the tailored shirts suddenly way too tight, bulging across the chest, around the arms. Their skin color, heat radiating from each from the intense amounts of energy being absorbed, had turned a deep, ruddy, red. The changes were becoming noticeable to those near the front, and obvious to those watching close-ups on camera.
The energy radiating from each, being broad spectrum, was being radiated not only as heat, but as light, infrared, ultraviolet, and into both higher and lower frequency ranges. As a result, not only was heat radiated, but they both began to literally glow, first in a healthy, deep red color, then more so, to the point that it seemed light was literally leaking from their bodies.
The higher radiation frequency began to interfere with the nearby electronics, causing the pictures being transmitted to begin wavering, losing their clarity. The physical changes taking place in both, not as obvious on the now-static filled cameras, was obvious, and frightening to those in the first several rows, and on stage.
The tables were up, and both men stepped toward the chest, opening it. Gerhard, remembering the initial exposure to the small amount of material in the emblem realized what was in there, and the potential effects of the sudden release, and began to move forward.
"Wait!"
Too late. The chest was open, with both men standing immediately in front.
The energy struck suddenly. The force that had taken Hans with but a couple of o
unces from the podium in Zarin's office now slammed into him with the full strength of multiple pounds of concentrated star material. He felt a heat burning deeply, hotly within him, far worse, far more strongly than before, to the point of pain, pain that was unrelenting, building, insufferable. He felt the force building, much faster than before. He looked over at Zarin. He saw the changes happening to him, and realized the pain he was in as well by the excruciating look on his face. The same forces as before, only hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times stronger.
The hair, earlier tousled with the energy escaping, now was extending from the strong electric currents being created within, a frightening distortion of an electric Don King look, with the hair literally being forced from his head, a head becoming more swollen, discolored, the body growing as well. The eyes, fiery red, bulged from skulls glowing from escaping energy, filled with a brain made more powerful than any on earth, filled with an unholy energy.
Both men looked at each other, energy feeding not only from the lockbox, but now feeding on each other. Arcs of electricity now bridged between the two and between each and the chest, sputtering, crackling, launching a blue light, flashing throughout the room. The bodies of each had expanded to contain the growing energy, and the clothing, first tight, began to split and tear, then burst into flames.
From the front of the audience, the men were hard to watch, and those nearby began to shield their eyes. Again, looking at each other, then themselves, the two began to glow, waves of heat washing over each. No, not glowing, those were waves or flames of energy emanating from their entire bodies. The clothes were literally burning off both of them.
It didn't matter, they were becoming gods. Both raised their arms in a spontaneous roar, an exclamation of victory. The audience gasped. Many headed for the door, tripping over chairs and one another. Others crossed themselves and dropped to their knees. Some wept. Dozens were trampled. Who were these men? What were these men? What had they done?
SUMMATION Page 22