|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 0:05:23 GMT -5
One hundred million miles away from Brasov is a blue flash. Red dust flies and settles around the two aliens, but there is nothing to witness their strange arrival outside of an enormous and eerie glass structure that no scientist has ever recorded, because it is rather recent, having appeared two days before on the red planet's surface, rising out of the terra firma at the will of something very near a god.
|
|
|
Post by Adrian Veidt on Jan 13, 2010 0:15:50 GMT -5
Adrian had never taken the sensation of being popped from one physical space to another as badly as most of the other people Jon had transported in this way had in the past, and so at first his only reaction was one of vague dizziness and grabbing Jon's arm. As soon as he inhaled- or failed to, rather, given the thin Martian atmosphere- his carriage abruptly changed, and only a harsh choking sound emanated from his throat. He hit Jon's chest and barked out something approximating the word air- with what insufficient breath he had carried in his lungs from Brasov and that remained after his initial exhalation.
|
|
|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 0:23:12 GMT -5
Jon took one step backwards, although gave the impression that it had been done less because he needed to than because the grace of physics was something he aesthetically appreciated.
In a moment Adrian was surrounded by his own atmosphere.
"Forgive me," came the almost airy echo, even more of one on Mars. "Occasionally these things slip my mind."
|
|
|
Post by Adrian Veidt on Jan 13, 2010 0:35:35 GMT -5
Adrian stood up straighter and tossed his hair from his eyes, moving into the same spiel of self-possessed motions he might have used had he been ignominiously knocked into a puddle on Earth.
"Thank you," he said stiffly, and with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. As his vision cleared, he noticed that there was a faint coating of dust on the lenses of his reading glasses; he took them off and slid them into their case before looking around at his surroundings.
One gasp later was suddenly very grateful for the artificial atmosphere after all.
They were on Mars. There was no way of doubting it. Red sand and cliffs stretched around them for miles, barren and lifeless, under a pink-tinged sky studded with a few intruding stars.
One showed a little brighter, a little more blue, and he realized that it wasn't a star at all.
"That's Earth, isn't it?" he asked softly, pointing toward it with one hand and looking at Jon for confirmation.
|
|
|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 0:46:55 GMT -5
It is June, 1962, and Adrian is shaking my hand. His hand is made out of skin, bone, blood, the things anyone's hand is made of; anyone's but my own. He is not even dreaming of a hand half inhuman. He is twenty-three, but I learn this later; he appears to be merely 18, although he doesn't act this age. He is the only one at this summit who is interesting. One can see the reflections of other men in costume, men not like me, in his eyes; he appears to be doubly contemplating them. He is not quite like them, either.
A few things catch his eye, but I believe I am also the most interesting thing here to him. He cannot act very well, although he can suppress what he feels. It is not done quickly enough to disguise his reaction upon meeting me. His fingers twitch, almost as though in excitement, as though the smartest man in the world is only too aware of even the barest stimulation, as our hands meet...
It is November, 1985, and Adrian does not hide his reaction to being on Mars. He barely tries. If he did, I would only be curious.
"Yes," I say to him. "Do you see, perhaps, my perspective any better now, looking on it from here?"
|
|
|
Post by Adrian Veidt on Jan 13, 2010 0:52:50 GMT -5
"There are men on Earth to whom even the disappearance of a single alien star would be seen as regrettable," Adrian said flatly.
|
|
|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 0:55:15 GMT -5
"But why?" asks Jon. "Do you find that to be logical? There are men on Earth to whom the disappearance of a single Thai child goes unnoticed. Depending on the child, possibly all men. Why is an alien star more valuable to them than a Thai child?"
|
|
|
Post by Adrian Veidt on Jan 13, 2010 0:58:41 GMT -5
"I cannot speak for the entire human race... but in honesty, tonight I must."
|
|
|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 0:59:50 GMT -5
"It is ironic," says Jon impassively, "considering how you have, in a way, always been isolated from it."
|
|
|
Post by Adrian Veidt on Jan 13, 2010 1:02:31 GMT -5
"It is. I concede to that."
He had a grim smile as he began approaching the giant glass clockwork in curiosity. He stopped outside of it for a moment, looked impassively at an oversized pink cog, and then glanced back at Jon.
|
|
|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 1:03:31 GMT -5
Jon lifted his hand, extending his arm, in a gesture towards the stairs. It had a grace to it, but no benevolence of any kind, and he seemed to look right through him.
|
|
|
Post by Adrian Veidt on Jan 13, 2010 1:08:36 GMT -5
Adrian began to ascend the stairs.
"I'm not completely devoid of human emotion, Jon. And neither are you, and at this point I have no possible recourse."
|
|
|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 1:13:19 GMT -5
"No?" asked Jon, following behind him almost deferentially. It was more like indifference. "You are limiting yourself, Adrian."
With an echo like that, it could have been coming from anywhere.
|
|
|
Post by Adrian Veidt on Jan 13, 2010 1:20:06 GMT -5
"I had plans for Micaela, of course," he said conversationally, before he paused and his voice darkened.
"You might have like Micaela, I think. She was the only person I've ever encountered to nearly replicate your abilities..."
He turned around to look at Jon, but there was no one there.
|
|
|
Post by Jon Osterman on Jan 13, 2010 1:21:49 GMT -5
Jon stepped out from behind a pillar on the top floor, motioning with another sweep of his arm for Adrian to join him.
It is 1975 and I am in Antarctica. It is not the first time I have been here, but it is the first time I have encountered other intelligent life. Adrian has built a palace here, with tens of millions of American dollars and the use of several languages, without abuse of the workers or taking advantage of anyone. When it is done he calls it Karnak. Adrian's obsession with the long dead is poignant in its way. He treats those alive with care, and his beautiful giant cat with great fondness, but none of them stir him as do dead kings who in life were no more like him than is anyone else on this earth.
He asks me if I will have anything to eat. I have ceased to eat. The last time I eat is in early 1969. The meal involves steak. It is 1967 and Laurie has bought us cheeseburgers... it is 1969 and I am not hungry. I realize that I have not been since the accident, and will never feel hunger again.
"Would you like something to drink?"
|
|