CHAPTER 8
Below the Antarctic twilight in frosted desolation lies Mount Erebus, the earth’s southernmost active volcano. Heat and gas from deep within the earth melt cavernous tunnels through the packed snow to the surface, dotting the mountain’s flanks with hundreds of ice caves. Inconspicuous among the others, the bluish, tubular cavern of one cave declined for a mile to a seemingly impervious slab of a blast door, its incongruity veiled by its reflective surface adopting an icy appearance.
Behind the slab, an elevator descends another mile to the entrance of the research compound of physicist, Dr. Francis Hitchkins. In his private chamber, the old man sat in the cockpit of his computerized hover-chair, his torso rising perpendicularly out of the housing of the metallic ovular device. Before him lay the Primordial Concentrator, a flat, circular platform, fifteen feet in diameter with three, vertical, ten-foot prongs evenly spaced around it. The subterranean laboratory was the perfect location to study the mysterious energy waves emanating from the planet’s core—waves that his devices alone were able to pinpoint. It was his intellect, his faculties that led to the discovery of the waves, the energies, the greatest scientific discovery of the twenty-first century: primordial consciousness. The conservative administration was foolish to halt his funding, more concerned with their meaningless wars of imperialism than scientific breakthroughs. Maybe they weren’t fools. Had they realized the true nature of the primordial120 Transcendence consciousness, they surely would have seen it as a threat to the very foundations of their power structure, a threat to the religious mythologies with which they so deceived the masses. The primordial consciousness removed the need for a God, for surely it was the source of life on earth and all self-awareness.
Their loss would be his gain, for he, and he alone, would harness the primordial consciousness and unlock its mysteries. He could proceed without the lab assistants they provided, incompetents who hindered his progress more than anything else—his genetically engineered assistants were a vast improvement. He could proceed without their funding as well, for his discoveries and inventions made him extraordinarily wealthy of his own accord. Their funding was for their benefit, for it made them privy to his work. No more.
The fools would see it as a deity, but to him it was no more than another constituent part of the physical universe—an element to be harnessed like any other, which he dubbed hellium in contempt of the self-righteous fools. His mind alone could comprehend the limitless potential of the primordial consciousness because it was to he alone that it spoke. It was his intellect that the consciousness deemed worthy of its discourse, for it was he who created the primordial concentrator that educed it by concentrating the oscillating primordial waves emanating from the core. The primordial consciousness gave him access to its limitless knowledge, knowledge of the mysteries of life itself. It instructed him in the construction of the Primordial Amalgamator—a device that could imbue a human with the power primordial, granting him superhuman powers, restored youth, the ability to alter matter, near invulnerability, and virtual immortality.
The Consciousness told him that it would initiate the next stage of human evolution, and he would be the patriarch. The Consciousness itself would merge with him, making him the most powerful man on the planet and its rightful ruler. Mankind would be subject to his will, for he would be the fittest to rule. The Consciousness proclaimed a sort of rational oppression that the fools would label as “evil” in its call for the subjugation of the human race. It was quite logical, really, and completely in line with the ideology of natural selection and survival of the fittest. The human race was in disarray with advancement stifled due to ignorance and deception, deception promulgated mainly by the religious looking to control the masses for their own purposes. He would change all of that. By discovering the catalyst for the next stage of human evolution, he had proved himself worthy of the mantle of fittest, worthy to represent the primordial consciousness on earth.
From the console at the end of the right arm of the hover-chair, Hitchkins activated the Primordial Concentrator. The prongs began to spin, slowly at first, increasing in speed until they became a blur. There was an electric crackle from the device, and then, in its midst, slightly higher than the prongs, a golden orb began to manifest, swirling with white-hot energies. The rotating prongs slowed to a halt. The orb, three feet in diameter, floated in place and emanated a low hum.
“Consciousness, the dawn of a new era is at hand—the Primordial Amalgamator is complete,” Hitchkins said to the entity.
The entity spoke with a reverberation as if its voice emanated from a hollow void. “Indeed. You have done well. Ultimate power shall be yours. Prepare to activate the Amalgamator. The world awaits.”
Hitchkins floated his chair down the glossy corridor leading to the chamber housing the Primordial Amalgamator, barely able to restrain himself for anticipation of his imminent godhood. As he neared the entrance to the chamber, its sensors detected his molecular signature, ceasing the infrared force field and raising the blast door. Upon entering, he was greeted by one of the many genetically engineered lab assistants—clones of himself, automatons fashioned in his youthful likeness and unflinchingly loyal.
“Dr. Hitchkins, the Primordial Amalgamator is prepared,” the clone said stoically. Its head was bald, the clones being completely hairless. It wore a white, full-body, formfitting compression suit with connected boots. It filled out the suit with its lean musculature. “We await further instructions.”
“Excellent,” said Hitchkins. “Take your places.”
The clones took their places at the consoles and monitors lining the walls of the circular chamber. The Primordial Amalgamator, a flat, highly polished circular platform, lay in the center of the chamber, with two cloned guards standing on either side of the metal steps in front of it.
Hitchkins landed his chair just before the Amalgamator. The housing of the chair parted to either side and Hitchkins rose slowly and painfully to exit. His white, formfitting suit fit loosely on his scrawny limbs, but tight around his pudgy middle. One of the guards hurried to assist him but he adamantly refused.
“Hold your place!” he commanded. “These are the waning moments of my frailty, and I wish to savor them.”
Hitchkins hobbled up the steps to the center of the level platform, where he stood, hunched over. The circular platform was rather plain looking, flat and metallic, with a ring of a different metal just within its diameter. “Begin the initial sequences.”
Some of the clones began typing at their consoles, others monitored data. A hum emanated from within the Amalgamator platform and the inner ring began to spin.
“Levels?” asked Hitchkins.
“Hellium levels rising at a constant,” said one of the clones.
“Infusers,” said Hitchkins.
The spinning ring started to emit a golden glow and began to rise straight up as it spun. The ring, six inches in height, rose to a level just above Hitchkins’s head, where it remained suspended. Another spinning ring rose from the housing of the platform, suspending itself at Hitchkins’s waist level. The third and final ring rose to just below his knees.
“Initiate molecular saturation,” he ordered.
There came crackling and whirring as the rings increased their velocity and began sparking with golden electricity. The currents intensified and began jumping from ring to ring.
Hitchkins held his arms out to his sides and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes and grinned. The intense currents jumped from the three rings to Hitchkins himself.
“Yes, yes!” he cried. “I can feel it; I can feel the power!”
As the currents licked his body, Hitchkins’s back began to straighten: blonde hair began to sprout from his bald head; his limbs began to fill out the suit; his stomach began to flatten; his bent posture corrected, and he began to grow in stature. The wrinkles in his face and the saggy skin of his neck began to disappear as his muscles and skeleton grew and his skin tightened. He resembled the clones in his youthful appearance, but different—larger in stature, stronger, immeasurably stronger!
His head sprang forward, and his eyes suddenly opened, glowing golden in their sockets. He clenched his fists at his side, reveling in their newfound strength and destructive potential.
“The primordial consciousness is my own—knowledge and power beyond human comprehension! Let those who oppose me tremble, for their day of reckoning is at hand.”