Dark Rising

FORTY-ONE

President Moshaddam was accompanied by the leader of the Islamic Guardian Council, Mostafa Hossein, and four of the largest bodyguards Al Janaddi had ever seen. Each wore a black suit, carried a sports bag and looked to be hewn from a slab of dark granite. They all moved with an extraordinary silence that belied their six-and-half-foot frames. Their eyes seemed totally devoid of any human emotion, like obsidian buttons.

Al Janaddi’s face was flushed as he welcomed the president and his guest. He showed them to the facility’s meeting room, where refreshments were waiting for them, then launched into the update briefing the president had requested beforehand.

‘This is our grandest achievement,’ he began. ‘I have… er, Iran has gone beyond the creation and stabilisation of a Judgment Event – a magnificent feat on its own. We now possess the ability to capture and store the powerful gamma radiation itself. No other country has this technology, my President, not the Germans nor the Russians nor even the Americans. This magnificent and powerful energy source will free Iran from fossil fuels forever.’

He looked at the president, waiting for a response, but the man remained stony-faced. Al Janaddi felt the excitement ebb from his belly. Perhaps he needed to explain in a little more detail what a triumph he had achieved, how he had turned a scientific impossibility into reality. He took a deep breath and continued. ‘My President, let me explain the concept behind this accomplishment. Man has been trying to harvest the sunlight since the time of the Pharaohs – and indeed the Egyptians managed to capture the sun’s rays using polished copper discs to light the corridors deep within their pyramids. Today, we use photovoltaic solar cells to trap and store radiation from the sun and turn it into energy.’

Moshaddam had closed his eyes in an open display of indifference. Al Janaddi decided to get to the point. He reached for a glass of water and raised it shakily to his lips. He swallowed, cleared his throat and continued.

‘My President, where I have achieved the breakthrough is in applying the principles of storing solar radiation to capture the more powerful gamma rays. I have devised a thermoelectric power cube that is fuelled by the particle heat of the gamma radiation created by the Judgment Event. The quarter-inch cube is made of porous copper and covered in micro-thin film arrays of thermocouples mounted on all six faces of the cube, which convert the radiation heat into electricity. These cubes, though tiny, have a retention half-life of eighteen years and potentially can store and release nearly 300 gigawatts of power each.’

The ongoing silence from the president was crushing. Al Janaddi licked his lips and was about to forge ahead when Moshaddam held up his hand.

‘Ahmad Al Janaddi, do you know of the Yawm al-Qiyamah?’

Al Janaddi nodded slowly, though his mind was scrambling to remember the details. Like all Muslims, he had read the Qur’an, but he could not remember the specifics of every individual sura.

‘And do you believe in it?’

The president was watching him like a snake watched a mouse. Al Janaddi hesitated. He knew that Moshaddam believed the Qur’an directed his life and the entire world around him. If a plane fell from the sky, it was written. If a king was toppled, a sandstorm struck, or a car hit your brother, it was all written in the holy book. You just had to interpret it correctly – and it was said that no one could interpret it like the president. To him, the Qur’an was more than just a religious book; it was the key to everything – past, present and future.

The president didn’t wait for a response. His lips curled up slightly in a smile and he spoke slowly and lovingly, as if to a child. ‘The Yawm al-Qiyamah is the Last Judgment and belief in it is fundamental to our faith. The trials associated with it are transcribed in the seventy-fifth sura of our beloved Qur’an. You, me, every Muslim, every non-Muslim, every human being, will be held accountable for their deeds and will be judged by the one and only god, Allah.’

Al Janaddi remembered the sura, but couldn’t understand why the president wanted to discuss it now.

Moshaddam placed his fingertips over his eyes, then his lips, then brought his hands together as if in prayer. He was still smiling as he spoke. ‘Whether you call it the Day of Resurrection, the Day of Judgment, the Day of Reckoning, or even the Day of Distress, it is now upon us, my friend. At a time preordained, and when the people least expect it, Allah will give permission for the Yawm al-Qiyamah to begin. The archangel Israfil will sound his mighty horn, sending out a blast of truth for all mankind and a warning to unbelievers to prepare their souls for judgment. I know this to be true because I heard this horn myself, only a matter of weeks ago. The Last Judgment is here, the day of Allah’s return is upon us, and I have made this happen! Praise be to Allah. Praise be to me.’

Al Janaddi’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. How was the president responsible for this prophecy coming about?

Moshaddam continued speaking, but he was not focused on the scientist anymore. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to anyone else in the room. He closed his eyes and Al Janaddi took the opportunity to look at the others. The bodyguards looked bored, as though they had heard this before. But Mostafa Hossein was watching the president with narrowed eyes, as if he were hearing this for the first time and didn’t approve of it.

The president began to recite his favourite verses of the seventy-fifth sura: ‘All the men and women of the world will fall down unconscious. Those who distorted or ignored the word of Allah will be judged, and if guilty will be engulfed in hellfire. Those who are truly pious will be taken to Jannah, and the rest of the world will be collapsed and destroyed. The Earth, the Sun and the Moon will turn black, and the beast shall rise; healed wounds will reopen, children will become hoary-headed and women will miscarry. Even the angels will be fearful as, on this day, it is said that God will be angrier than ever before and his wrath will be terrible.’ Though he continued to smile, tears were running down the president’s face; he seemed almost rapturous. He tilted his head up to the ceiling, as though bathing his face in sunshine. ‘All will be judged, but so few will be saved, my friend. Allah has asked that from every 1000, take out 999 and cast them to Jahannam, and this is just in the lands of Islam! The West will be made barren and its unholy people tormented for eternity. Oh, Allah be praised.’

The president turned his wet face to Al Janaddi and nodded slowly. ‘The people will beseech Abraham, Moses and Adam to intercede on their behalf, but they will turn their backs. But not I; I will not turn my back on my truly penitent people. I will beseech Allah that he saves all those who repent. But in turn we all must face the Judgment and cross the bridge over the abyss. The flames and torments of Jahannam await those who fall.’

Al Janaddi remembered from his study of the Hadith in school how difficult it was to cross the bridge across the abyss to reach paradise. For sinners, the bridge appeared as a thorny path as thin as a human hair and as sharp as the edge of a sword. But those who were true would see it as a wide stone bridge covered in the softest grass. They would cross safely to Jannah, heaven, while all others would fall to an eternity of torment in Jahannam, hell.

He glanced again at Mostafa Hossein and saw that the old man’s jaw worked in his jowly, bearded face, as though he were grinding his teeth. He took a sip from his own water then replaced the glass on the table so it made a loud thunk. ‘Perhaps that time is not yet here,’ he said. ‘Perhaps the signs are not being read clearly. After all, it is also written that the archangels themselves said, “With Allah alone is the knowledge of the Hour”. We must be careful not to bear false testimony regarding the coming of the hour, for that in itself is a sin before Allah, his glorious name be praised.’

President Moshaddam stood and placed both fists knuckle-down on the table. His arms were shaking, not from strain, but from his sobbing. ‘I am not surprised you do not recognise this day for what it is, or even recognise me, my brother. For some time now I have fought against my destiny. I refused to believe I was worthy, and I tried to ignore it – but no more. The signs are there and more will come. I have been chosen by Allah and told to reveal my true destiny; I have returned to my people to lead not just them but all the faithful peoples of the world. I will lead them to the al-Kawthar, the lake of honeyed milk, and whoever drinks from it will never thirst again. I will lead them all to the river of paradise and beyond. It is I, my brother; I have returned.’

Hossein’s eyes were wide in disbelief and horror as he finally understood what the president was saying. Moshaddam actually believed himself to be the Twelfth Imam, the Returned Prophet whose coming heralded the end of the world.

Hossein stood slowly, shaking his head. The president’s desecration of the Qur’an was clearly too much for him. ‘Blasphemer!’ he cried. ‘You are not the Mahdi! Many have claimed to be He, but were not. Many have deceived and have been judged harshly, as you will be judged harshly, Mahmoud Moshaddam. The Ayatollah will remove you from power and have you locked away for your crimes against the word of Islam and its one true prophet, Allah!’ The old man, head of the most powerful religious body in Iran, was visibly shaking with rage as he finished speaking.

Moshaddam lifted his left arm and drew his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the tears. When his other hand came up it held a small black pistol. He fired point-blank into Hossein’s face. The cleric stood for a few seconds as if in disbelief, his mouth forming an ‘O’. A second hole had appeared above his right eye and he slid silently to the floor.

Al Janaddi fell back in his chair, white-faced, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gulping for air. The other scientists cried out, and some raised their hands up over their faces. The president’s bodyguards didn’t even flinch; they just sat motionless, watching the president.

Al Janaddi looked at them more closely. Each had a star and crescent scar on his temple – the sign of the Urakher, the warrior dead. Trained from the age of six to kill with weapons or bare hands, these soldiers had been specially selected by the president himself to provide an impenetrable and deadly barrier of protection wherever he went. They would follow him into the furnaces of hell if called to. Even the Takavaran knew to avoid any conflict with these giant, indomitable warriors.

‘Someone throw a rug over that garbage,’ the president ordered. ‘If I am wrong, I will be judged harshly; but if I am right, I will have returned the peoples of this world to Allah. None may stand in the way of his word, not even the Ayatollah.’ He turned to Al Janaddi. ‘Please, continue with your briefing.’

Al Janaddi tried to speak but no words would come, just a few squeaks from a throat constricted by fear. All his dreams of a Nobel Prize were disappearing as quickly as early snow on a warm Markazi road.

‘Please go on, Agha-ye, Al Janaddi,’ the president prompted again. ‘You have already talked briefly about controlling the Judgment Event once you have created it, but please explain – how exactly is this done?’

The president glanced over his shoulder at one of his Urakher bodyguards. The man acknowledged the contact with a small nod. Al Janaddi saw the small exchange and it worried him. He licked his dry, nervous lips and finally found his voice.

‘The problems we initially faced, my President, were that the black hole was nanoscopic in size and existed for mere milliseconds before it evaporated and took its energy and immense radiation with it. We needed to find a way to contain the black hole, to hold it and grow it so we could, in effect, milk it.’ Al Janaddi couldn’t help it, he felt that tingling of excitement again – this was his life’s work after all. ‘Increasing its size is easily achieved – we simply feed it what it desires: pure matter, super-concentrated, and in a dosage that we can control.

‘We feed the condensed matter to the black hole via an electrically charged ionised beam of pure plasma. The more concentrated the beam, the larger the black hole grows.’ Janaddi took a few deep breaths; he could feel his heart galloping in his chest.

‘But how does one contain something with the power of a million suns? Impossible for mortals, you may think.’ Al Janaddi didn’t wait for a response; he was too hyped up now. ‘We discovered we could contain the black hole between magnetic domains, using electromagnetic solenoids with a ferromagnetic core. We could slow the particle oscillations by generating Foucault eddy currents to exhibit electron braking – we can imprison them; chain them within super magnetic bonds.

‘Once the black hole was frozen, there was one final problem to be solved. The power required here is phenomenal. Increasing the dark matter in size by even one-millionth of a micron would take a quantum amount of energy – and the larger the black hole, the more energy required. If we weren’t careful, we could blackout all of Tehran with our energy needs and still not satisfy the entity’s hunger.’

Al Janaddi felt he had finally gained the president’s full attention. Now he understands, he thought proudly. Now he will appreciate my talent. Encouraged, the scientist babbled on.

‘Then I realised that the solution to my problem was already available – I had already imagined, designed and created it. Using my thermoelectric cubes, we are able to trap the power from the black hole! Each of the cubes can contain hundreds of gigawatts of power, and we now have thousands of them built into the lead-lined casement walls of the sphere room. In fact, the energy source is self-sustaining – the larger the event, the more power is generated and the more energy is absorbed for storage. And, of course, that means more energy is available for us to use.’

The president interrupted him. ‘Is there no limit to the size of the Judgment Event you could create here, my friend? What would happen if you gave it more… plasma?’

Al Janaddi grew serious. ‘This is all theoretical, my President. These phenomena are the most powerful entities that exist in our universe. They eat whole star systems, and we are attempting to control them. There is a danger that if we “overfeed” the black hole it will exceed our ability to control it. Once it escapes the magnetic domain fields, it will surely absorb us – and, if it continues to grow, everything else on the planet.’

Al Janaddi expected the president to display horror or at least concern, but instead he clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent work, my most dear friend. You are as brilliant as you are modest. Surely Allah will reward you. In fact, I will see to it personally.’

The president came around the table and lifted Al Janaddi out of his seat and hugged him. ‘Now, I want you to show me this magical sphere of yours, and then together we will make history by creating Judgment Day on Earth.’

Al Janaddi couldn’t help feeling some disquiet about Moshaddam’s last remark. He’d made a mistake, surely? He meant Judgment Event not Judgment Day? Also he still hadn’t said who would be entering the lead capsule for this event initiation.

Al Janaddi felt his stomach flip greasily inside him. Something wasn’t right.