The Prometheus Objective

27

Raiden snapped back to himself.

That didn’t go as planned, but again, it didn’t really matter. Maybe if he’d had the complete disassociation that was achievable in the water tank, he might have been sharper and had full control of the host, but it wasn’t to be. These efforts — the pill production and disbursement, the admittedly petty attempt to crash the plane — side quests only, immaterial to the main storyline of this game he and his brethren had been playing for ages.

At this late stage, no one could deny him a little detour to exact some satisfaction.

Taking over that host in Alaska had been fun. A well-conditioned soldier with skills and reflexes to fit the job… it had been an exhilarating, but short-lived excitement.

However, that was twice now he’d been thwarted. He didn’t like it, especially not from the likes of the un-inspired. True, they had other gifts, tracing back to a lineage of powerful mystics; they had the benefit of expanded consciousness and remote viewing, some clairvoyance as well. But he had something far greater in addition to some of those skills.

He had never really explored the psychic side of things. He could have had lifetimes to perfect those gifts, but that was the problem. He knew the brevity and frailty of lifetimes, and the inability to pass on that knowledge, those skills. No, he had always had his priorities.

He had strengthened the ties to the past, had sought out the others in this select group of true Gnostics. The behind-the-scenes warriors of truth and wisdom.

In different times they had warred side by side.

Memories soared, collided and merged into a seamless tapestry of wonder, mayhem and cohesion. They had fought together at the Battle of the Bulge, at Waterloo and Kiev, at Dunkirk and Berlin and Culloden and Cannae.

They were there for the Reign of Terror, the dedication of Solomon’s Temple, the lighting of the Statue of Liberty, even the consecration of Caleb’s precious Pharos. His society was aware of theirs, of the Keepers and the Seers, and it was often debated why the vagaries of the afterlife selection never took hold, one in the other, at least to their knowledge. Granted, the percentage of the population granted these psychic traits were far rarer; so, it could have come down to simple statistics, but Raiden doubted that. Too often he had seen the Hand of Fate involved here in their lives, in their pasts and futures, in the destinies of all sides.

It really was a game: Them and Us. Both sides seeking to understand the Truth, to pry apart the stubborn veil over reality. Their side was still playing catch up though, having to start from square one every lifetime, learning little pieces of the truth along the path of their too-short lives, while his… had eternity to build upon.

The nature of reality for example… the illusion, the ‘maya’ as his ancestors in the Indian continent called it, was well known but not a game-changer by any means. Whether this world, with its myriad dimensions and holographic tendencies, was a construct of some Other Intelligence, or whether it was a sub-atomically verifiable physical world with its own provable rules, it didn’t matter. As long as you understood the rules, played within them or knew how to get around them.

For example, with artifacts of power, objects imbued with energy from outside the system.

He gripped the charm around his neck and thought about enhanced consciousness, training one’s mind to pierce the dimensions, bend the rules and expand one’s powers to thrive outside the rules.

The key was to keep improving the time of recollection. Still too much life wasted, wandering in ignorance until the ability to retrieve one’s memories.

The twins were the outliers. The ones they had been waiting for these long years. A perfect combination of genetics, spirit and… something else.

He stood, stretched and prepared.

Morpheus could have these little victories. The war was all that mattered. The Eternal War of light vs. darkness. Truth vs. ignorance.

Sadly, those who had once fought for knowledge were now the ones holding it back.

It didn’t matter. Nothing would stop him now.

The twins were headed to the South Pole, despite what he had just told their parents. They had never disembarked here. They had a greater destiny, and an urgent introduction with the others at the bottom of the world.

At the Tree.

He shivered just thinking about it. I’ll be there soon.

Walking into the shaft of sunlight, he breathed in the fresh air, soothing after the long walk through the tunnels. He recalled just such another walk, over fifteen thousand years ago… a woman carrying a newborn in her arms, fleeing the warfare above after the cosmic destruction had rained down upon the world.

Nowhere had been truly safe, although the altitude here had offered refuge for centuries.

He smiled. Who needs remote viewing when the brain was built to store the multitude of memories from lives so long past? Gone, but not gone.

Not if you knew where to look. If you had the key, if you could unlock all the doors closed at the time of death.

He moved ahead, climbed the first set of rocks and then found the handholds carved into the wall ages ago. Long since overgrown with vines, but that would only make the climb more efficient. First, he checked his phone for service, then sent a message to the private airstrip three miles distant to send the helicopter.

As he climbed, flexing his arms, moving steadily and with powerful reaches, his necklace throbbed, and pulsed and activated memories from even older still.

So high above the city, where the dome barely held back the winds and the raging waters, and the land tipped, and the world cracked open. And the advisors all urged retaliation and use of the great Tablet of Destiny.

But cooler heads said no, and it passed from mystic to mystic to warrior-priest, all the way down, through the under-regions of the great tower, to a chasm far below, where it was — with great reluctance — tossed into the depths, thousands of feet into the molten core. It may not have been destroyed, but with the flooding to come, those depths and the narrowness of the chasm made it all but unreachable for good.

He kept climbing, and then another memory came. Returning from the chasm, his hands still trembling from the box that held the Tablet. Ascending to a room with twin warrior statues. Around the neck of one, an emerald gem, almost lost among the other charms and gold and jewels.

Hidden in plain sight.

A piece of the Tablet, hewn free ages past.

Another memory: a desolate landscape: the green chunk of space rock. A giant of a man with a hammer of pure dazzling diamond, chiseling the rectangular shapes; not one but two. And there, a piece of the rock, just as smooth and scintillating and otherworldly. Shaped like a tear, glinting in his eye. Boring a hole through it, then feeding a thread of golden fabric, creating a loop, fastening it and letting it settle around his neck.

Back…

Other memories could be accessed, more visions of hands that had touched the gem, necks around which it had been worn, people it had controlled; cities ruled, civilizations created…

His destiny had always been caught up in it, in some way… destined to find it again and again. For what ultimate purpose?

The others knew, and had taught him, showed him the unending connection of his unfinished lives. All working toward a singular outcome.

He climbed, ascended and went over the ridge. Found himself on a rocky plateau. Looked east and saw the distant smoke. He let the anger build a little, then pushed it away. He held the charm and saw through the eyes of the chopper pilot coming his way, as planned. Sought further and sought out anyone in the village, down in Cuzco.

He had a momentary fragment of a dream where one of the F-18 pilot bombers was accessible. A quick fantasy played out: taking over one of the pilots, adjusting the flight plan, coming back around and strafing the runway…

Taking out Orlando, Phoebe and their new plane.

He had a moment of pity for these amnesia-plagued souls that had such a disadvantage. They had barely lived, learned so little, played the game for only a fraction of time’s long, long existence.

It wouldn’t be hard to remove them from the board, but then, where would the fun be in that?

Far better to let them try. Try to beat him to the Pole. To the cavern.

To the twins.

He shook off the temptation to possess another body. Instead, he sat, cross-legged. Breathed in the dry, cool Andean air, and focused on the small dot of the chopper coming his way.

Soon, they would all witness his ascension.

The regaining of Paradise and the bringing of Light.