Allan Ashinoff - The Vostok Revelation

November 2239, Enki’s Calendar Mozambique

Extending a kilometer beneath Enki’s Calendar, the recomposed entity, aligned to .1 nanometer circumference, reached its destination. It’s tip, far smaller than any particle of soil surrounding it, containing the four bindu, slipped smoothly and perfectly into the slot prepared for it many millennia ago. As prescribed, it expanded, filling the chamber with nanites, pushing each bindu into a conduit engineered to deliver it to its appropriate position within the device. A second later, a slight electrical impulse awoke the slumbering machine initiating its system diagnostic.

Far above, the bulbous tip of the stem began to glow bright orange. Before any scientists could move to study the change the black petals closed over the illuminated tip. Seconds later the ground beneath Enki’s Calendar began to shake.

November 2239, 1.2 kilometers beneath Enki’s Calendar Mozambique

> Diagnostic complete <

Excitement and surprise struck the Johannesburg scientists when the peculiar petals abruptly snapped shut and the reminder of the stem-like wire quickly slipped into the soil. Far below, the nanites fell into alignment to individually file through the microscopic entrance and dropping into a deep dry reservoir. Filled to capacity, small openings manifest at several locations on the reservoir wall. The nanite-liquid poured into the conduits and began to circulate thought the awakening machine. In transit, passing through millions of tiny hair-like projections, the nanite-liquid transferred the majority of its combined energy as well as its complete stored amassed memory into the machine. As long dormant systems revived, information on atmospheric conditions, the geographical layout and topology of Vasunhara’s landmasses and seabed’s, the location and concentration and physiology of the survivors of Anatarnhas, the centers of technology and power generation, and inventory of known survived assets populated the machine’s memory.

>PHASE I COMMENCE<

Energized, metal panels that had not moved in tens of millions of years began to shift. A wide threaded tunnel opened through the center of the machine, soil quickly fell into and filled the ten meter cavity, the tunnel walls began to rotate clockwise forcing the trapped soil downward, lifting the machine toward the surface.

November 2239, Enki’s Calendar Mozambique

Grabbing whatever equipment they could, the science team scrambled away from the calendar. Once on solid footing they collapsed against their vehicles to look on as the entire grounds of the calendar violently roiled. Before any of them could catch their breath the calendar was consumed by a thirty meter sinkhole. Enki’s Calendar, the monolith which stood in mystery for 75,000 years, was no more. Out of the sinkhole rose a black metallic circular column.

Despite his cell being spacious, well-furnished and comfortably temperate, the Warlord could not help but shiver uncontrollably as he lay on his bed. The tremors, an unavoidable consequence of the poison he’d ingested minutes prior his assault on the Crystal Palace, were an uncomfortable reminder that his plan was progressing.

Soon it would not matter if one or all of his former colleagues learned about his plan. But for at least the next two days the purpose of his assault had to remain veiled behind his being mad and consumed by blood lust. The Committee, he knew, often relied on chemical agents to extract information from reticent detainees. Should his resolve falter, his weakness could undermine everything he already accomplished and jeopardize everything he hoped to achieve. It was far better that he alone suffer the agonizing death from envenomed varadA tea than that all humankind stagnate or perish in Anatarnahs.

“What has happened to you, Xi?” a familiar voice, laden with emotion, forced him to suppress his tremors, open his eyes and sit-up to face the entry barrier.

“Life. Life has happened, Sri. I will not let them squander the only opportunity we have to save our species.”

“But the violence, Xi? All the bloodshed? All the destruction? I thought I knew your heart. You had so many ideas to help… You have murdered so many innocent people, caused so much destruction, so much suffering and pain. Why, Xi, why?”

The deep pain in Xi’s chest eclipsed the widespread anger that radiated in his organs and muscles. Not very long ago he would have done anything to avoid hearing Sri’s voice fill with such sadness or to see her brilliant azure eyes well-up with tears because of him. He knew that he had betrayed her. He’d chosen the welfare of entire human race over the welfare of the woman he was prepared to spend his life with. And now, after all the horrendous things he orchestrated and the many egregious acts he’d either done or caused to be done, he had no choice but to shoulder the burden of all he’d wrought and carry it through to fruition — hoping that humanity would not only survive Anatarnahs but thrive because of it.

Xi grimaced as a searing jolt of pain momentarily stiffened his body.

“Have they hurt you?”

Xi read the concern in her eyes. In spite of all that he had done, her Advocate instincts overtook her emotion.

“Regardless of what you may have done, the Council has absolutely no authority to cause you any degree of pain before it convenes to determine your innocence or guilt. If they have harmed you in any way, I’ll…”

“No one has caused me harm, my love. Whatever is to befall me is of my own doing. Do not hold the Council, yourself, or anyone else at fault for my deeds. I have done all that I am accused of. Even if I lacked honor, I would not contest any of the charges.”

“But-”

“No, Sri.” Xi rose from his bed, his face masking the undulating pain coursing throughout his entire body, and walked to the barrier, stopping across from, his one true love.

“Everything that is born must die. Everything that dies is re-created in some form. You shall see, when everything that must transpire has transpired, rest assured my love, we will be together again… forever.”

“LokanAtha, sarvasvAmin, forgive me,” A frightened young woman genuflected at his bedside.

Emperor Bharata’s eyes snapped open. Blankly he stared at the concave ceiling several meters overhead, transfixed by a female tiger standing guard as her three cubs crouched to drink from a deep green lake at the base of a towering waterfall. Only when his movement was impeded by the limbs of one of the women sharing his bed, did he realize who, where and when he was. Using his elbows, he shimmied himself to a sitting position and then studied the dharmadAsa stirring around him.

Each of the duty slaves, a stunning beauty between sixteen and twenty, was given into service by their race. It was profitable to a people for their offering to be chosen for the Emperors harem. Conversely, it was shameful to be sent away after a fortnight, a dishonor which in time often resulted in an honor killing or suicide.

Xi placed a hand on the sleeping woman’s head and ran his fingers through her nappy black hair.

Nightmares and dreams were for lesser beings, those with only a few lifetimes to remember. When he slept, when his mind became idle, a memory from one of his many millions of incarnations would play-out in his subconscious. The sights, the sounds, the tastes, the smells and, worst of all, the emotions were perfectly and painfully precise, as-if that moment he’d lived countless millennia ago were happening now.

Of late, his nights were spent reliving his last moments with his beloved, Sri Bezanjo.

He missed Sri. He wanted her, desperately. And, although he could easily manufacture her, as he had hundreds of thousands of times before, to the exact time when they were deeply in love, he knew that she would, in time, grow repulsed by the existence he’d provided her and she would come to loathe him. As strongly as he felt the need for her, as painful as it was to merely remember, as all-powerful as he was, he could not endure watching her slowly walk to suicide again. It was better to be alone.