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Subject: {ASSM} Vector, ch.15 {MichaelD}
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AUTHOR'S NOTE AND LEGAL STUFF
I did not e-mail you this story. If you unexpectedly found it in your mailbox,
it's because your kid and/or your spouse is subscribing to adult newsgroups
without your knowledge. Flame them, not me.
This story contains explicit sex. If you're a minor, you've obviously gotten
past whatever paltry filters your parents tried to put on your computer, so
hell, you might as well read it. No one ever died from reading about sex.
This story is mine. Free reposting and archiving is okay; commercial use is
not (that includes using it on some slimeball banner farm). Contact me if you
have any questions; cross me and I'll have you fed to rabid weasels.
***YET ANOTHER NOTE: Like previous chapters, this one contains elements that
may offend people, though for entirely different reasons than before. That
said, please keep in mind that this story is entirely fictional and is not
intended as commentary on any particular religion. What I'm doing here, I do
solely for plot purposes, although this particular interpretation has certain
scholarly support. Also, there's no sex in this chapter. Sorry.***
My stories, including this one, are archived at:
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www (all the work of my alter ego)
www.storiesonline.net (complete but not always up)
---
VECTOR
Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com. No commercial use without prior
authorization.
<->
"His was an impenetrable darkness. I looked at him as you peer down at a man
who is lying at the bottom of a precipice where the sun never shines. . . .
"Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen
before, and hope to never see again. Oh, I wasn't touched. I was fascinated.
It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression
of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror--of an intense and
hopeless despair. Did he live his life over again in every detail of desire,
temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He
cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision--he cried out twice, a cry
that was no more than a breath:
"'The horror! The horror!'"
--Joseph Conrad, "The Heart of Darkness"
<->
Chapter 15.
[Jerusalem]
[April 12, 30 A.D.]
Yehushuah ben Josef, the most dangerous man in Palestine, fought the urge to
smile as he watched Judas' reaction.
"Master! You cannot be serious!"
"But I am, Judas. It is the fate of madmen and prophets to be martyred. It is
simply my time."
"Then let us flee! Why must I turn you over to the Pharisees myself?"
"They will find us. Even now they huddle in the Temple plotting my arrest.
The longer we wait, the bolder they will become, and soon they will gain the
fortitude to arrest all of you, and that I cannot allow. The rest of you must
survive to carry on my work and my message. If you go to them as I ask and
offer to betray me, they should be surprised and eager enough to be satisfied
with merely me."
"But I will be reviled as your betrayer! All the disciples and all your
followers will hunt me down for this crime. Can I tell no one the truth?"
"The Lord knows the truth. That is enough."
"But will the Lord protect me from their vengeance?"
Yehushuah smiled this time.
"You know what the Lord has to say about vengeance, Judas. Fear not."
Judas sagged before him.
"All our work. All our suffering. I am to be remembered only as your
betrayer."
Yehushuah put his hand on Judas' shoulder.
"The Lord knows, Judas. I do not ask this of you lightly. It is a measure of
my trust in you that I place this burden in your hands."
Judas sighed heavily.
"I will do it. Because you ask this of me, I will do it."
Yehushuah nodded.
"Return to me when it is done. We will speak of this further afterward."
---
Judas trudged down the hill into the city. When Yehushuah was out of sight,
his step lightened, and an enigmatic grin creased his face. He had not
expected this. The outcome, certainly, that much was inevitable, but this
wrinkle was simply too delicious.
He made his way to the Temple and presented himself to the guards.
"I am one of the disciples of Yehushuah ben Josef. I would speak with the
Pharisees."
In short order, the Temple officials came scurrying out to meet him. When
Judas refused to speak to them in the open, they led him to a side room and
shut the door.
"I know that you are plotting to arrest my teacher," Judas began. "I am
prepared to betray him to you if I may profit by it."
Caiaphas, the Head Pharisee, looked him up and down sternly.
"Why do you come to us now after everything that has occurred?"
"I am convinced he no longer walks with the Lord's blessing. He is a false
prophet."
The Pharisees whispered among themselves for a moment.
"What do you want from us?"
"I have needs. I may have to leave the city for some time."
"We would offer you twenty pieces of silver in exchange for your betrayal."
"Insufficient."
"Thirty, then."
Judas pretended to contemplate the offer for as long as seemed appropriate.
"Agreed. And I want the money now."
Caiaphas whispered to one of his underlings, who left the room. He returned a
few minutes later with a bulging sack, which he handed to Caiaphas. The Head
Pharisee tossed the bag to Judas, and Judas pretended to count the money.
"What do you want me to do?"
"We cannot arrest him now," one of the Pharisees whispered. "The Feast is but
a day away."
Caiaphas nodded.
"There would be a riot. Wait for our signal," he said to Judas. "Someone will
contact you."
---
Judas returned to Yehushuah and told him what he had done, and Yehushuah was
pleased. The next day began the Feast of Unleavened Bread, and Yehushuah led
his followers to the home of a man he knew in Jerusalem. Judas' mind wandered
as Yehushuah broke the bread and passed the wine amongst the guests, and his
attention only returned, with a start, as Yehushuah announced that one of the
disciples would shortly betray him.
The shocked guests immediately protested their innocence and demanded to know
who it would be, but Yehushuah simply repeated that it was one of them. Then,
one by one, each disciple asked if he would be the one to betray Yehushuah.
Intrigued, Judas followed suit with the others, doing his best to look
anguished.
After the Feast, Yehushuah called Judas aside.
"The Pharisees will have you betray me tomorrow. There is one more thing I
must ask of you."
"What is it, Master?"
"I cannot go to the Lord until I surrender his power to another. To die as a
mortal man, I must _be_ a mortal man. I ask you to be the vessel of this
power."
Doing his best to look amazed, Judas simply stared at Yehushuah.
"As I trust you to betray me, I must trust you with this. I considered Peter,
but he is weak. He would deny his very allegiance to me under duress. There
is no telling what he might do with this power."
Judas nodded.
"I will do whatever you ask of me, Master."
Yehushuah put his hands on Judas' shoulders and bent forward, pressing his
forehead against that of Judas. Judas felt nothing, though he knew what was
happening.
"It is done," Yehushuah said finally.
"Thank you, Master."
"The Lord will guide your hand. Be well."
---
The next day, Yehushuah took his disciples to the place known as Gethsemane,
where the local farmers grew olives. On the way, a messenger boy approached
Judas, whispering in his ear that the Pharisees were following and wished him
to identify Yehushuah for them. Judas fell away from the group and waited for
the Pharisees.
Caiaphas soon appeared at the head of a large group of guards and priests.
"So many for so few," Judas mused.
"The time has come," Caiaphas said. "You must point him out to us."
"They are praying at the top of the hill. Follow me. The one I kiss is
Yehushuah."
Judas led them up through the groves of olive trees. Near the top of the hill
Yehushuah sat, surrounded by his followers. Yehushuah stood as they approached.
Caiaphas and his men paused at the edge of the clearing, watching to see what
Judas would do. Judas put on his best look of anguish and approached
Yehushuah.
Yehushuah smiled as Judas pretended to waver.
"Friend, do what you came for."
Judas embraced him. Behind them, Caiaphas called out, "That is him! Arrest
him!"
The guards swarmed around them, seizing Yehushuah roughly. Some of the
disciples tried to block the guards, but Yehushuah told them to be still. "It
must be this way," he said. "Save yourselves." And Yehushuah's followers and
disciples thereupon deserted him.
---
Judas watched the proceedings in secret as Yehushuah was tried and convicted.
By the time the Pharisees dragged Yehushuah across the city to the Roman
governor, demanding his execution, word of Judas' "betrayal" had spread through
Yehushuah's followers, and angry mobs of them were roaming the streets seeking
revenge. Judas did not want to leave Jerusalem yet, so instead he went back to
the Pharisees and made a show of returning the blood money they had paid him.
When they refused to take it, he cast it on the floor before them--he hardly
needed it now--and left. That taken care of, he went out of the city and found
a suitable tree from which to hang himself.
Creating a duplicate body took but a moment, and he hung it from a tree limb
with a thought. Then he altered his appearance enough to erase "Judas
Iscariot" from existence, and went back into the city to watch Yehushuah's
crucifixion.
---
Judas thought he had done all this unseen. He had not. A boy named Yosif, one
of the urchins who had been following Yehushuah about the city, had been
shadowing Judas since he left the Temple. He remembered what he saw, though he
would not understand it for many years.
In time, he would tell others.
---
[Las Vegas, Nevada]
[7:15 a.m., Present Day]
At the sound of the knock on the door, Victor froze. Reaching out before he
could stop himself, he saw three men outside the door, one older, bearded, the
other two much younger. He peered into their minds and was at once confused
and strangely calmed.
These were the men Hemingway had warned him about. Yet what he saw in their
minds intrigued rather than frightened him. They knew about him, and were
indeed deeply worried about this confrontation, yet they were just as committed
to finding him.
They carried no weapons and nothing beyond mundane personal possessions. The
older man carried a briefcase, but it held only a collection of documents.
Not sure why, Victor found his pants and pulled them on. Then he went to the
door and opened it.
The older man looked up at him, awed, yet fulfilled.
"Dr. Hayes, my name is Eoghan O'Braonain. These are my colleagues, Stefan
Radichev and Giancarlo Pazzi. We represent the Order of Saint Joseph."
O'Braonain paused for a moment. "We mean you no harm. I merely ask that you
listen to what I have to say."
Victor looked into the man's head again. What he saw staggered him. Then he
nodded.
"All right. Give me a second to get dressed."
After creating a wall of nulled sound so the girls would not hear anything,
Victor pulled on a shirt and shut the doors to the bedroom. Then he let the
three men into the room. O'Braonain and Radichev man sat on the couch; Pazzi
sat on the chair adjacent.
"Can I offer you something to drink?" Victor asked, not sure why he was doing
it.
"No, thank you," O'Braonain said. The other two men were silent.
Victor sat in the remaining chair, uneasy despite the knowledge that he could
kill the three of three of them in an instant.
O'Braonain set his attache case on the table in front of him, unlocking it but
not opening it.
"You said you represented the Order of . . . what was it?"
"Saint Joseph," O'Braonain said, "though not one of the ones you may be
familiar with."
"I'm not Catholic."
"Neither are we."
Victor blinked. He could pull all of this knowledge from O'Braonain's head,
but he was suddenly afraid to.
"You're not?"
"No. We follow the teachings of St. Joseph of Jerusalem, who was one of Jesus'
followers during his final years, though not a disciple. The things he
witnessed form the basis for what we do."
"Which is?"
"Dr. Hayes, we know what you can do, and why. We know you were given this
Power by Guiliano da Vinci quite recently. Whatever he may have told you about
the Power is irrelevant. What I am about to tell you is the real truth."
"It's been my experience," Victor said calmly, "that those claiming to purvey
'the real truth' are usually just offering their version of it."
O'Braonain stared at him for a moment.
"It is not my version, Dr. Hayes, but that of God."
"Go on."
"The Power you possess once belonged to Jesus Christ Himself. It was passed to
Judas so that Jesus might be crucified as the Scriptures demanded. He could
not have died on the Cross without giving it up. He gave it to Judas, asking
that Judas continue His works. But Judas promptly betrayed Jesus and used the
Power for his own aggrandizement and enjoyment. Thus it has been for nearly
two thousand years, one man passing the Power on to the next, each one using
this God-given gift for selfish purposes instead of benefiting mankind as Jesus
intended."
Somehow, Victor was not surprised at this speech. Were da Vinci correct about
the history of the power, it was hardly beyond conception that certain
mythology might have grown up around it.
"Da Vinci told me some of this. But he said the power went back far before
Jesus."
O'Braonain shook his head.
"That is false. It began with Jesus. Da Vinci could not have known that in
any case, since he was born some time in the late fifteenth century."
Victor shifted in his chair.
"Where do you come into this?"
"Saint Joseph saw Judas pretending to hang himself and followed him for years
afterward. He ultimately founded our order that we might one day recover the
Power to the service of God. We have followed the men who possessed it ever
since."
"And you're trying to recruit me into your order?"
"No. I am asking that you give up this Power that you were never meant to
have."
Victor's eyebrows rose.
"To you?"
"Yes."
Victor stared at O'Braonain incredulously--not merely from surprise at this
request but that O'Braonain would deliver it so blithely. Then O'Braonain
exhaled and leaned back against the couch.
"Dr. Hayes, I'm not asking you this simply out of religious zealotry. There
are good reasons why I am so concerned about your possessing the Power.
Throughout history, the men who have possessed it have been responsible for
untold human suffering. Millions have died in the wars these men have started.
How much did da Vinci tell you about who he was?"
"He told me he was Abraham Lincoln."
"Indeed he was. He was largely responsible for starting a war that killed six
hundred thousand of your countrymen."
Victor scoffed.
"You can't blame the entire Civil War on Lincoln."
"He could have averted it."
"That's a matter of serious debate. Very, very, serious debate."
"Perhaps. But what is not open to debate is da Vinci's culpability for
starting World War I."
"What?"
O'Braonain smiled.
"Didn't tell you that, did he? Well, he was also Gavrilo Princip. He was
witnessed shooting Archduke Ferdinand by a member of the Order."
"How do you know it was him?"
"The evidence is convincing."
Victor leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
"And now I suppose you'll tell me he was also Adolph Hitler."
"No. But do you know who Godfrey of Boullion was?"
Victor looked back at O'Braonain.
"He led the First Crusade. But that occurred far before da Vinci."
"Yes. But Godfrey also possessed the Power. With it, he was responsible for
perhaps the worst single atrocity in all of Western history."
O'Braonain opened his briefcase and extracted a stapled bundle of papers. He
handed it to Victor.
"That is a translation of the report of Father Robert of Boullion, a member of
our order who accompanied Godfrey. He witnessed many of the atrocities the
Crusaders were responsible for, particularly the sack of Jerusalem."
Victor flipped through the document. He was somewhat familiar with these
events, having dated a medievalist at UCLA a couple of years before. The
woman had done her dissertation on the First Crusade, and she had Victor
proofread several of her drafts. But something about this story suddenly
struck him as out of order.
"Wait--what you're saying makes no sense. Godfrey possessed this power?"
"Yes. That fact is not open to question. He used it to capture Jerusalem and
be installed at its ruler."
"But Godfrey _died_ less than a year after the fall of the city. He . . . he
was poisoned. How could that have happened if he possessed the power?"
O'Braonain shifted uncomfortably.
"He gave it up."
"Why? Why go to all that trouble and then give up the power a year later?"
"That is a mystery we have never unraveled. It's also possible that he faked
his death."
"And I'll ask you again, why? Why would he do that after achieving his dream?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry. There are many things we don't know about the
history of the Power."
"But you think you know enough to ask me to give it up."
O'Braonain sighed.
"I'm not trying to issue some sort of papal bull here, Dr. Hayes. I'm trying
to get you to see what awaits you if you hold onto this thing. You know, I'm
sure, the aphorism about absolute power--"
"--corrupting absolutely. Yes, I know."
"Well, Dr. Hayes, what you possess is as close to absolute power as can be
imagined. It has corrupted every man before you who possessed it. What makes
you think you will be immune?"
Victor closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.
"You sit here in this casino less than a week after gaining the Power,"
O'Braonain went on. "One of the hotel staff told me that you have been seen in
the company of two very attractive young women and that you have won a great
deal of money since you arrived. It's fairly clear to me what you have been
doing."
"Yes," Victor said softly.
"How long will it be before you grow bored with manipulating roulette wheels
and gathering a harem? You possess the power of a god. How long will it be
before you want to start acting like one?"
"What makes you think this power won't corrupt you as well if I give it up?"
"Because we have been chosen by God as its stewards."
"And I am to believe this on your word alone?"
"I ask you to look into your heart and your soul to see the truth."
"I could destroy the three of you. I could erase all this knowledge from your
minds."
O'Braonain looked back at him, unfazed.
"You could. But there are others. We have ways of finding you regardless."
"I could take care of them as well."
"The Usurpers before you have tried. Da Vinci tried repeatedly. The Order has
always survived, because we act at God's behest. I am not concerned with what
you might do to me. I would not be here if I were. You might set us back a
few years, but others would one day seek you out as we have done. In the
meantime, your self-indulgences with the Power might have killed thousands."
"I have no interest in being a dictator or a warlord."
"Today. Tomorrow, who knows? Godfrey told the Order the same thing at a
meeting much like this one. I will tell you again, every man since Jesus who
has possessed the Power has abused it."
"Leonardo da Vinci started a war?"
"As Leonardo da Vinci, no. As Ghengis Khan, yes."
Victor rolled his eyes.
"This is too convenient for my taste."
"The historical record is clear. If you would like to review the necessary
documents, I can make them available to you."
"All of which could be falsified."
"Look into my mind, Victor. Am I lying? Am I acting with ulterior motives
here?"
Victor did. He saw that O'Braonain was speaking the truth, or at least the
truth as he saw it. The dream from the previous morning suddenly came back to
him. He got up from his chair and went to the window, looking out on the
Nevada morning dawning across the Strip.
"You expect me to simply give this up to you today?"
"I am willing to give you some time to consider my request."
Victor laughed weakly to himself.
"'Willing.'"
"Just remember what I said, Dr. Hayes. You can run, but you cannot hide from
us. Not forever. Others will find you if you flee from us."
"All right. I'll consider what you've told me."
"Consider it well, Dr., Hayes."
"I shall. Good night."
The three men left. Victor did not watch them go.
---
Going to sleep was pointless, however exhausted Victor was. He ordered
breakfast from room service along with a large pot of coffee. He sat before
the window picking pensively at the food and forcing down several cups of
excellent Italian roast.
One image kept returning to his mind, an image he had been alternately trying
to forget and remember for thirty-two years: Charly Foster's ruptured cranium,
the blood and brains filling his helmet after being scrambled like so many eggs
by a piece of shrapnel.
It seemed like too much of a coincidence that Victor would dream of that
long-ago night the very morning before being confronted about his new-found
powers. Was it a message from God? His subconscious? The quantum rhythm of
the universe?
The thought of orchestrating a war, of putting other young men through the
horrors he had experienced, repulsed him fundamentally. Yet the things
O'Braonain had said rang true.
How much of O'Braonain's story was correct? He reached out with his mind,
finding the man, peering into his brain for the evidence he referred to. The
Order's archives were in Vienna, watched over by the Revered Elder, a
high-ranking member of the Austrian government. Many of the things Victor saw
there were truly ancient, dating back to the death of Christ and beyond. Most
of them were documents prepared by members of the Order, things they had seen
or heard.
Victor skimmed through the archives, looking for answers. Judas had supposedly
possessed the Power until the sixth century, when he passed it to the man who
would become Mohammed. Victor realized as he read the angry screeds discussing
this event that it was this "crime" above all others that led the Order to so
despise Judas and his exploits. Mohammed held the Power for only a few hundred
years before passing it to one of his followers, ironically the man who later
stole Godfrey of Boullion's identity and led the First Crusade. After that,
the records became sketchy, and there was endless speculation about why Godfrey
died so soon after taking Jerusalem. The Power was lost to the Order until
Ghengis Khan began his invasions of Europe. From there, Victor knew where it
went.
Again and again, members of the Order approached the one known as the Usurper,
sometimes openly, sometimes covertly, trying through various forms of
persuasion and subterfuge to recover the "stolen Power of God." Most of them
did not survive these missions. The Order had tracked Guiliano da Vinci off
and on (mostly off) during the twentieth century, until Eoghan O'Braonain had
perfected his method of finding him only last year.
The juxtaposition of these events--the Order finally gaining the tools to track
their quarry, and da Vinci giving up his power to Victor--seemed far too
convenient. Had da Vinci grown tired of evading the Order and decided to let
Victor deal with them? The documents he saw in Vienna left no doubt in his
mind that da Vinci knew about the Order. Yet he had said nothing at all to
Victor about them, an omission that Victor did not doubt was deliberate.
Why?
Victor did not know.
---
Victor was still staring out the window when Meredith appeared, wearing his
dress shirt from the previous night. She knelt down at his feet and laid her
head on his lap.
"Babe? How long have you been out here?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"What's wrong? I could tell something was bothering you last night."
"It's hard to explain."
He looked down at the woman at his feet, a woman he had created out of whole
cloth the previous week solely to amuse himself. He ran his fingers through
her thick red hair.
"It's not me, is it?" she asked.
"No. Nothing like that."
"What, then? This weekend? Leslie? Does it bother you that we've gotten so
close?"
"No. Not at all."
He wanted to tell her, to tell her something at least, but what could he say?
You didn't exist five days ago? You're a clone I brainwashed into being my sex
toy? He didn't want to think how she would react to that.
"It's nothing bad," he said finally. "This is all just happening so fast."
She smiled.
"Because it's meant to be. Leslie and I were talking about that. We both
think that we're all meant to be together. Things have just fallen together
too neatly for this just to be a fling."
Indeed they have, Victor thought sadly. Indeed they have.
She snuggled closer to him, taking his hand.
"I love you," she said softly.
Victor swallowed hard, though he fought to conceal the guilty twinge in his
gut.
"I love you, too."
---
Leslie appeared a bit later, and the girls ordered breakfast as Victor took a
shower. He was feeling strung-out and lightheaded after a night without sleep
and a morning of one momentous revelation after another.
What to do? He was alternately disgusted with himself and reassured for
feeling disgusted. _I have morals_, he kept thinking. _Don't I? I'm not
going to turn into Ghengis Khan._ But he knew that the only thing stopping
that development was his conscience, which had taken a serious beating over the
last week. Today Meredith, tomorrow the world? It was a slippery slope
indeed.
He emerged from the shower without any useful insights. The three of them
began packing up in preparation for the trip home, and Victor called downstairs
for a bellman. He wondered if O'Braonain and his two cohorts would follow him,
then decided that, since they apparently knew where he lived, it wasn't
necessary for him to remain in Las Vegas while he pondered their request. He
cashed out his winnings from the casino, and they were back on the Interstate
by one.
---
Meredith slept in the back seat most of the way. Leslie sat beside Victor
listening to the radio. Victor had it tuned to a classic rock station out of
Vegas, and Mick Jagger was wailing a song Victor had listened to more than once
in Vietnam.
_. . . I've been around for a long, long year, stolen many man's soul and faith
. . ._
"It's going to be tough going back to class this week," Leslie said.
"Yeah. But I'm sure it will be all right."
_. . . I was around when Jesus Christ had His moment of doubt and pain . . ._
"I wouldn't trade this weekend for anything . . . but I don't want to get you
in trouble."
"You won't. I'm not worried about that."
_. . . Made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands and sealed His fate . . ._
She reached over and took his hand.
"It's going to be weird, though. Going back to being just teacher and
student."
Victor squeezed her hand, and she pulled it, with his, into her lap.
"I'm sure we'll manage."
Leslie giggled, grinning at him.
"You taught me a lot this weekend, anyway."
And you me, Victor thought. Although I learned a lot about myself, too. A lot
of things I wish I didn't know.
On the radio, the bridge ended, and Jagger began the next stanza.
_. . . I watched in glee while your kings and queens fought for ten decades for
the Gods they made . . ._
Victor saw Charly's face again, then that of General William Westmoreland, who
had pinned Victor's Silver Star on his chest after the siege of Khe Sahn was
finally over. In all his life, before or since, Victor could not remember
despising anyone more than he had despised Westmoreland at that moment.
Ghengis Khan.
Godfrey of Boullion.
Judas Iscariot.
Victor Hayes?
_. . . So if you meet me, have some courtesy, have some sympathy and some
taste. Use all your well-learned politesse, or I'll lay your soul to waste . .
._
Victor stared out at the wasteland of the Mojave speeding past them. _I won't
do it_, he thought. _That won't be me. I won't do it. I won't become a
monster_.
_I won't._
_Will I?_
---
<To be concluded--Next week!>
---
Vector
Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com
Free redistribution permitted; no commercial use without authorization
Lyrics from "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones copyright by someone
other than me, probably the Stones' record company (I looked all over and
couldn't figure it out). Excerpted use here should not constitute
infringement.
Michael
~Story Archives~
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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