The aurora city
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| Scott, meet me at St. Paul’s
Cathedral in Orlando right away. There’s something important I need to show you. At last, a chance to help the cause. Markman rifled through his clean clothes and pulled on a black sweatshirt. He clipped his phone to his jeans and headed for Core, happy to have a reason to drive. He locked the
front door, took one step in the direction of the car, and heard the engine start as though Core was just as anxious. On the road, both he and the car seemed perfectly content to hold the speed limit. Downtown Orlando was only moderately busy. The city block the cathedral occupied seemed strangely quiet. There was nothing to indicate any activities within the temple itself. A parking attendant stared at the car as Markman pulled a ticket from the machine and parked. The steps leading up to the towering structure gave Markman pause to search the area and wonder exactly what was going on. There were the beginnings of unexplained apprehension. The huge, heavily engraved double doors were unlocked. He pulled the right one open
and stepped inside. It was a magnificent house of worship. The morning sun was still below the high, colored windows of the heavily decorated east wall. The colored glass was beginning to glow in anticipation of its coming. The defused light illuminated the ornate gold and silver covering the monuments placed around the altar. Colorful frescos covered the walls and ceiling. The beauty of the place left Markman awestruck. He stood at the back of the hall, one hand on the last pew. As he took in the beauty of it, he noticed the outline of a dark figure leaning against the pulpit, one arm resting atop it. Markman approached slowing thinking it must be John Paul, though his internal alarm system was telling him that was not so.
Halfway to the pulpit, the dark figure spoke. “Mr. Markman, nice of you to come so quickly.” The voice was not that of John Paul. Markman could not make out the shadowed face. “Who are you?” “Someone you have been hoping to find, and now…here I am!” The figure took one step forward and came into the light. Even from a distance there was no mistaking the face. Dr. Moriana wore the robes of a priest. His black hair looked oily and was swept back from the forehead. His eyes were narrowed, his skin a pale gray. He kept a half-smile as he looked down at Markman. His right hand continued to hang off the pulpit, the nails well- trimmed but much too long. “This is the last place I’d expect to
find you,” said Markman sarcastically. “I’m an angel, Mr. Markman, not a vampire.” Moriana laughed but stopped short.
Out of the corner of his eye, Markman began contemplating possible escapes. His options did not seem good. “I wanted to meet you, Mr. Markman. You are quite the oddity. But then, your entire family unit is so very odd, isn’t it? How you have survived this long surprises even me.” “You sent the email?” “Of course! I sent the one to Ms. Cassell, also. She needed to be elsewhere for our meeting.” “And you know I’m being tracked. Others will be here shortly.” “Why, I’m counting on it, Mr. Markman. You are going to capture me, and bring me to justice, so to speak.”
“I am?” “I would like to know how you got the better of Palermo, however. Would you be willing to tell me?” “It was just luck. You might call it fate.”
Moriana nodded. “That is what I thought. Thank-you for being honest.” “So you are just going to let me capture you and bring you in then?” “Yes, in a manner of speaking. You see, actually it will be me, bringing me in. My associates did not possess the same level of authority that I do. Their ability to take possession of others was limited in several ways. I do not suffer those kinds of limitations.” “But you’re not all powerful, are you. You seem to be having trouble escaping from one dimension to another.”
“Not once the final key equation is complete. From then on the sensesuit computer will provide passage to any where, any time, any place.” “The sensesuit computer? That’s what it’s really for?” “John Paul was getting very close to discovering its real purpose. It is fortunate I went in recently to check on things, otherwise I might not have noticed. Somehow he deciphered the time code within it. That discovery made it necessary to get the Salantians to move up their invasion of Earth. The distraction was needed to slow him down and give me more cover to move around in.” “You are behind the Salantians invasions?” “Of course, Mr. Markman. Haven’t you ever heard the saying that nothing
happens by chance. I understand your surprise, however. So few realize how many events actually happen because of my kind.” “Then you were responsible for the Salantians invading Crillia?” “The Crillian scientists were our first choice in solving the final problems of multiverse travel. The sensesuit computers were appropriated from a laboratory on the astral plane, with great difficulty I might add. That is why it possesses properties beyond that of the physical Earth. The suit uses a morphetic skin to adapt to other realities. Angelic composition is such that some of our own koshas could be made to have that same morphetic adaptability. We had the vortports to move the sensesuit computers to anywhere our research needed to go.
The only other need was some barbaric race that could be manipulated to do our bidding. The Salantians were perfect for that. They had no idea they were working for us. They believed we were helping them. We pointed them to Crillia as a planet perfect for conquest. From there they did all the work for us. They also caused enough confusion to help conceal what we were doing. And, as a bonus, they brought war and destruction to a planet of peace. Unfortunately, the Crillians turned out to be such a…lazy race. The scientists we were using kept putting off the work for the sake of family and friends. Try as we may to coax those stupid Crillian scientists along to solve the final quantum equations, they remained preoccupied with community endeavors. As the battle for Crillia
began and became widespread, we lost their attention completely. It was quite an inconvenience, but a new alternative was needed. Ballard had already learned of Professor Cassell’s work by a report in John Paul’s records. It made Earth seem like our next best very viable option, and it was easy enough to get the Salantians to do an exploratory mission. It’s a shame we had to convince them to begin Earth’s invasion early. It is doubtful they will be able to sustain an assault on both planets at once. Otherwise, they would have gone on decimating planet after planet long after we had bid them farewell. But, that’s of no concern to us. All we need are those final pieces of equation. Quantum entanglement achieved using gluons in a liquid-like wave. It’s more than I can master, but
Cassell has what we need. I’d be willing to bet on it.” Markman continued to secretly consider potential paths of escape. “No, no, Mr. Markman. You cannot escape. Do you really think I would have gone to all this trouble to bring you here if there was any chance you could slip through my fingers?” “Cassell will never cooperate, no matter who you threaten.” “You may be right, Mr. Markman. At least from what we’ve seen. I have no plans to threaten anyone, however.” “Then the game is over. You’re just wasting time.” “Hardly, Mr. Markman, hardly. You see, Professor Cassell won’t tell me what I need to know, but he will tell his daughter.” “I don’t get you.”
“Mr. Markman, my associate’s authority over mortals was limited in many respects. As I’ve said, not so with me. Admittedly possession is quite an annoying thing. It’s like putting on someone else’s dirty laundry. Although the surrogate does not have the will power to exorcize me, there is always a nagging little incentive to do good in place of evil. It is a bit like trying to quit smoking you might say, a persistent, irritating need to resist temptation. Honestly, I would not normally choose such an untidy course of action but your streak of luck, as you call, it has left me no choice.” “I still don’t understand.” “Oh come now, Mr. Markman. It is simple enough even for you. I will occupy you, Mr. Markman. We will be one. The Moriana body will be left
behind but will still possess enough angelic signature to be mistaken for me. Once in possession of your body, I will imitate you quite adequately. After the Moriana body is taken away and all inquiries satisfied, I will return to the Cassell residence and take my rightful place with Ms. Cassell. When the time is right, and I am close enough to her, by that I mean very, very close indeed, I will transfer and occupy her, and your body will have a sudden relapse of your previous head injury. You will remain comatose until death this time. Living as Ms. Cassell, it will be no trouble at all for me to persuade Professor Cassell to reveal all he has discovered about the trans-dimensional physics he had been working on with Ballard and Palermo. From that, I will finally be able to pass through the sensesuit
system into any other dimension I choose. I will have safe haven until my master finally is victorious, and this universe becomes ours.” Markman slowly took a stepped back, but his foot brushed up against something. He looked down and found a priest on the floor between pews. He stooped over and felt for a pulse. There was none. “He offered me salvation,” said Moriana haughtily. “I gave him eternity.” Markman stood and slowly took another step backward. Moriana moved casually to the edge of the stage. “No, no, no, Mr. Markman. No backing out now. Too late for that.” Moriana waved two fingers in front of his face. Markman was instantly hit by an invisible force that knocked him to the
floor. He grabbed the side of the pew, pulled back up and continued to back away. For the first time, he wished for the powers from the Coffer of Dreams, but could feel they were still no longer at his disposal. The only option was to run. A full power sprint got him halfway to the double doors. Suddenly there was not enough traction beneath his feet to make headway. A second later his feet no longer touched the floor. In midair, he was turned in place until he faced Moriana.
As Markman watched, small objects from the stage drifted upward and began hovering around Moriana. Candle holders, books, small statues, cups, dishes raised from their positions. As they rose, the fallen angel seemed to be standing in a brisk wind, though
there was no wind at all. The unearthly face lit up with the look of death. He pointed to a glass goblet hovering beside him and followed up with a throwing motion directed at Markman The goblet shattered in the air and took off as a rain of jagged pieces. The collage of shattered glass flew passed Markman, barely missing him until the base of the cup struck his upper right arm cutting a three-inch slice through his shirt. It glanced off and exploded against a nearby pew. Markman clamped his hand over his arm to slow the bleeding. Moriana suddenly became distressed. The tempest subsided. He placed one hand over his mouth and stared at the wound. “Oh, Mr. Markman, forgive me! That was an accident! I would not wish to inhabit a
damaged body! I would feel the same pain as you. Oh, that is just so irritating. How clumsy of me.” Moriana jumped down the three-foot drop to floor level and approached. He lifted his robe, tore off a section and lowered Markman to the floor. Markman began backing away. “No, no wait. I wish only to wrap it. We can agree on that, can’t we?” Markman continued backing away along the isle. Moriana followed, his torn black robe billowing out behind him.
“Please let me bandage that. It will be so much easier while I still have these two hands.” Moriana’s expression became one of insane concern. Markman looked left and right, still hoping for a path of escape. His searching was rudely interrupted when
he backed into the rear wall of the cathedral. Moriana continued to close the distance. Combat did not seem like an option. Escape seemed unlikely. But, Markman did not believe in no-win situations. His mind searched for a way out. He recalled his master’s teachings that when no options were available, sometimes doing nothing was the wisest choice, though it was important to do nothing the best it could be done. Markman clapped his hands together and touched his fingers to his forehead. He sunk down against the wall until he was seated, then pulled his legs up into the lotus position. He interlaced his fingers in his lap and tilted his chin up to focus on the invisible third eye. Light from the high colored windows of the church was
beginning to brighten. “Alright, we can do it that way just as easily. Your lotus is of no concern,” taunted Moriana. Markman’s last view of Moriana was the image of the devil standing over him. A green mist flowed slowly out of Moriana’s body. As it escaped, the body collapsed to the floor, dead. The green mist hovered in a vague humanoid shape, then slowly advanced. Markman emptied his mind and focused on infinity. His first sensation of the green mist was an acrid smell, a mixture of sulfur and death. A moment later, green mist touched his skin through his clothing. It was a faintly prickly sensation, repulsive in such a way that it made him want to brush it off. Markman held his state of mind. As the prickling spread over his
body, a psychological assault began. The mist was seeping into his pores, entering every square inch of him. It brought a feeling of incestuous invasion, no area immune, no function too private. The infusion became an unwanted embrace of the soul, a shroud of darkness that blocked out all light within. The green vapor surrounded his mind, the last bastion of his consciousness. The belligerent power of it was too great. He began to see eddies flowing down between his eyes, seeping down into the back of his mind. His view of reality grayed to an uncomfortable blur. Bad memories began to take hold. He had lied to a teacher once about a ring. He had engaged others in combat and hurt them. On occasion, he had taken a life.
Other improprieties began to fill his thoughts, but these were not his own. They were someone else’s. Horrible scenes of torture and murder. Mass casualties. Terrible accidents that could have been avoided but were deliberately allowed to happen. And there was something else. An urging. A silent voice imploring him to take pleasure in these things. A dark master trying to demonstrate the satisfaction these things could provide. The visions went deeper. Thousands of suffering people within the fire of regret and hopelessness, the hopelessness that comes from guilt. Markman searched within himself for a way out. He was being pushed down and down and out of the way. He could feel his soul slipping. It was a matter of making space for someone else to take
over reasoning and action. Markman held to a spiritual lotus, suspended in nothingness. He realized he had completely lost control of his body. He could not feel or see what was happening outside. A distant bead of light caught his attention. It slowly grew in size until it became a new vision. It was his Tibetan masters sitting around a carved butter sculpture of Gautama. They were staring at him, pointing and laughing. Why were they laughing? Couldn’t they see he was trapped in hell? Somehow there was an answer within the laughter. To Markman’s amazement he realized they were telling him they had all been here. They were reminding him of a universal answer. The darkness of hell had deformed their appearance into one of
ridicule and condemnation, but the purity of their message remained. It was the most important lesson ever learned.
To make a man, you take a small portion of God and add experience. The man will grow farther and farther from God as he learns. Eventually the man will learn enough that he will return to be one with God, just as he was when a piece of God was first taken to make him.
That was the key. Discard every impure thought, desire, and guilt from a man, and he reverts back to the original pure state of his beginning. And, no force on Earth or in Heaven is greater or stronger than that. Markman refocused his meditation. He purged every evil thought within and around him. As he did, he suddenly
began to grow in size. Beams of light began radiating outward from his ethereal body. A low bellowing groan began to sound from all around. At the same time, there was light. It was light returning from his human eyes, a small circle growing steadily in size. In a bursting flash of vision and awareness, he was back in the cathedral. The great light he had followed out was a beam from the rising sun aligned directly with the high colored window of the cathedral. The green mist hovered in front of him. It floated in a confused state halfway down the center isle, where it came upon the dead priest and disappeared into the body. Markman pushed to his feet and tested his limbs. Everything worked. He looked up in time to see the priest’s body jump up and spin around.
Something shockingly new hanging in the air above the pulpit captured and held Markman’s gaze. There in suspension was the form of a man. He wore only a loincloth and high strap sandals. He had the musculature of an athlete. His skin was a bluish gray. His arms were open and beckoning. Most dramatic of all were the long graceful wings, gray-white, feathered, moving with inflection as though keeping him in place. The body of the priest turned, took one look and screamed a blood curdling scream. It ran down the isle toward Markman yelling, “Don’t let him take me! Don’t let him take me!” He charged forward and slammed into Markman, knocking him back into the wall, grabbing a handful of shirt as he did. “I can make you a rich man. I can make
you powerful beyond your imagination. Just help me get away. I beg you, please.” In that instant, he was gone. Markman looked down at the bunched up cloth in his shirt where a fraction of a second earlier he had been held. The body of Moriana still lay on the floor a few feet away. Markman looked up to find the angel still hovering above the stage, looking back with curiosity. The exchanged seemed to last forever, though it was really only a few seconds. The angel gave a single flap of his wings, turned and disappeared up into the light. Markman, collapsed on his back, staring at the ceiling where a fresco of the archangel Michael and his angles gazed down.
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