Angels of Apocalypse, Part I: Alignment

by J. J. Harkin

  As he faced eastward, leaning slightly over the side, Sémeion could see the brazen altar and the laver positioned before the entrance to the Holy Place, in the Court of Priests down below. Down a flight of steps one could walk further eastward into the Court of Women from there, yet intermittent gates surrounded both of the inner courts, granting access to the Court of the Gentiles outside, wherein stood the mosques. On the inside of the Mount’s outermost wall, many quaint porches had been built, where the various vendors and attractions that had been arranged for the benefit of visitors would soon be positioned. Everywhere the Levite priests worked busily, even at this late hour, for the morning would arrive with a ritual of great pomp and circumstance: the Temple’s dedication.

  Yet Sémeion’s eyes were most often drawn southward, to the space between the two mosques, where the strange image of Talman now stood. His servants had delivered it only the previous day, and with great effort, for it was heavy. It was obsidian, and very beautiful, but Sémeion had been surprised to see that it was barely larger than life-size. By all accounts Talman was a great man, and well-deserving of an image fifty feet tall. Thus Sémeion felt far more deeply affected by his primary patron’s humble dedication gift than would otherwise have been the case, though he did wonder if it might have been more impressive had there been further time allotted for its construction.

  Either way, the ebony image was utterly gorgeous, polished to a finish which was nothing less than mirror-like. The pedestal beneath it was low, but – most strangely of all – this extended before the statue in a short runway, where one visitor at a time might stand to admire the image. There Talman had indicated the people should bow to place their vote of confidence in the Arab Union – as it was now being called – for he said the statue contained a tabulating computer. Indeed, Sémeion had noticed immediately that something resembling camera lenses had been fitted into the eyes of the statue, and Talman had said that these took a facial recognition scan of each visitor, to assure that no one voted twice. Those citizens who had voted in favor of the Union could then obtain thousands of shekels worth of free items by doing nothing more than scanning themselves in front of their webcams at home, at a handy website which kept track of all the votes.

  As he gazed down into the Court of the Gentiles, Sémeion smiled to think of Talman’s generosity. Israel’s economy had floundered since the collapse of the West, so that any infusion of support – financial or otherwise – from their Arab neighbors was a welcome thing indeed. He sighed to himself, wondering if it would all be enough. Only yesterday the Minister of the Interior had informed him that food supplies were running low, for it had been another dry year, and few nations in the world were in a position to sell provisions. In the end they had been obliged to pay a high price, but at least the immediate threat of starvation was past.

  Deciding to take in the priceless view of the stars best seen at the Temple’s top, Sémeion lay down upon the roof of white stone. The lights in the sky wheeled past as he placed his hands comfortably behind his head. He had been awake and working for a long time; there was no fighting it. Sleep took him swiftly.

  Immediately a dream sprang up to replace the waking world, wherein a featureless space surrounded him. It was not dark, though there seemed to be nothing present capable of reflecting light. Sémeion held up his hands before himself curiously, noticing that they now seemed both bluish and transparent. As he gazed upon them, he at last identified the source of the surrounding light, for it was his own body. Sémeion was the light which illuminated this vast space, yet he looked around in loneliness, wondering how he had arrived there, and where he might go. The place smelled like absolutely nothing, but there was a low buzzing in the air, like the far-off colonization of bees.

  “There you are, my son.”

  Sémeion heard the voice before he saw anything. The next instant he was rushing forward into an ever-broadening brilliance, and then he saw the eyes. Colorless they were, but filled with infinite shimmering facets, and they roved this way and that as he was surveyed at close range. Also it seemed that many, many sources of light surrounded them, but Sémeion could not look away from the countenance near at hand, for it felt ancient, and as familiar as some close relative.

  “Leave us.”

  In a flash the numerous intelligences which had encircled them fled into the surrounding space. The blazing light thereafter began to diminish, as the piercing gaze relaxed. Sémeion felt as though he was set upon the ground, and he looked around himself. The place was like some very old temple, he thought, for nothing but endless pillars surrounded them. High above and just below, a ceiling and floor of glittering stone sandwiched all. The temple was so vast that no broader sense of Sémeion’s location could be divined at all, but he felt sure this was neither Jerusalem, Athens, nor Rome, for he had never seen stonework so seamlessly sculpted, not even in those storied repositories of human excellence.

  “Come,” said the dazzling face, as it took yet another step further back.

  At this distance Sémeion felt he could much better see the form of his companion. He was like a man, but unusually tall, and as translucent as Sémeion himself. Yet the glow of the man was not pale blue, but an intense fire of bright white, so that it took the Israeli Prime Minister several moments to accumulate the confidence necessary to persist in his examination of him. At last Sémeion met eyes with his host, if only for just a second.

  Then the voice spoke once more, as the luminous man turned to lead him on into the maze of pillars. “You have come a long way, Sémeion.”

  “Have I? But who are you?” asked the Prime Minister, as he hurried along after. “I feel a sense of familiarity. Have we met before?”

  “Of course,” said the man from over his shoulder, as he continued to stroll down the avenue of pillars. “All have met me. I am the Light of Lights – the voice which speaks from every mouth.” There was no time for Sémeion’s befuddled response, for he saw that his tour guide had stopped between two pedestals of waist height. There the dazzling man turned, and Sémeion halted, feeling that words were about to be said. “Look!” Directly Sémeion saw that two distinct shapes had appeared atop the pedestals. On the pedestal at his left a shining orb had appeared, while on the right a gleaming cube floated, rotating. “You must choose.”

  “Choose?” asked Sémeion, as he stepped a little closer. “What shall I choose?”

  “You must choose,” repeated the shining man, and he extended his hands toward the two geometric figures on either side: orb and cube.

  “What is the right answer? I mean, how important would you say this decision is?” asked Sémeion.

  “This decision is everything, but there is no right answer. Only your answer…”

  Deciding a thorough investigation was appropriate, Sémeion approached the pedestal at his left first, reaching out to contact the surface of the strange, misty sphere. His fingers found its shimmer both warm and bright, and then many fast images crossed his mind, as he touched it. Animals of every kind sprang immediately into Sémeion’s thoughts. There were lions, lemurs, and lizards; beagles, birds, and boars. Also he saw green things springing up in every corner of his imagination: vines, trees, mosses, grasses, and ferns. Insects swarmed through his consciousness too, until a sudden change occurred. Rapidly he was drawn away, flying backward through space, further and further from the orb, until it felt as though Sémeion might be observing Earth itself from afar, hanging in space.

  Almost Sémeion felt he could reach out to touch it, as he had done in the case of the misty orb, until new awareness washed over him. As he reached for the Earth, something seemed to come alive within the planet itself. Something seemed to be watching him closely as he reached out toward the sphere. A happy sense of mutual understanding developed quickly thereafter, until Sémeion felt as though the planet itself might be saying “Good day! Live wild!” It was an eternal voice, but one which could manifest its owner only, for there was nothing beyond to influence it.
Without the least hindrance of analytical reflection, Sémeion felt introduced personally to the purest essence within every life form. But all was abruptly over as he withdrew his hand.

  Once more the glimmering chaperone spoke. “Now you should investigate the cube, Sémeion.”

  “Alright,” agreed the Prime Minister.

  Feeling intimately aware that he was being carefully watched, he stepped across to the other pedestal. A cool sensation stole over him as Sémeion’s hand came into contact with the surface of the cube. He felt as though he might be rushing inward, and then all stopped. Rather than being surrounded by plants and animals, Sémeion felt this time as though he might be surrounded by ideas. It all proved quite difficult to characterize later on, but he felt suspended in a dark expanse, wherein many secret personalities or concepts seemed to hold residence. Moreover, the ideas seemed quite intelligent, at least until he discovered the sinister manner of their interconnectivity. As his sense of touch assessed the darkness, Sémeion felt that tiny filaments of intention passed between every thought, until he became convinced that a logician of great skill had placed them all in order within the void. Yet quickly Sémeion came to recognize that following this train of thought led him always further into the cube, where all was darker and colder; and at its very center an icy logic froze his heart, whispering “The night loves you! Purchase truth from death!”

  Sémeion pulled his hand from the cube then, and rushed back to himself. “What was that?” he asked the shining man.

  “You must choose.”

  “Choose what? Between orb and cube?” Sémeion was quite aware that the man’s statements left much to be explained. Was he supposed to choose which experience had been the better for him? If so, the decision would not be difficult.

  “You have seen the orb and you have seen the cube. Choose now what you will do. I can tell you little more.”

  At once Sémeion felt certain that this was some sort of test. The wonders within the orb had been most endearing and beautiful. He had loved the plants and animals, but was the decision really so straight-forward as that? Sémeion thought of all he had glimpsed within the cube. There had been many ideas there which he had never considered – mental vistas which he thought needed thorough investigation – all of which he wished he could remember now that he had left the space. Yet it had been very dark and cold at the cube’s center, and its morbid words had been unsettling. If this was a test it was a completely unconventional one, yet he had much preferred the orb.

  Sémeion looked up toward the shining man timidly. “Is this the choice between life and death?” he asked, still considering carefully.

  “Mmmm…” said the man, and his head seemed to wobble on his shoulders, as if to say both “No” and “Yes” simultaneously. The response was almost humorous in its appearance. “Do no more than look within yourself.”

  “Okay,” replied Sémeion, suppressing mild frustration. “Look within…” Wondering what this might accomplish, he closed his eyes. Again the sounds of silence assaulted him. Deeper and deeper his awareness fell toward the center of his bluish body, and then his vision went utterly black. Opening his eyes, he came back to himself, and looked up into the face of the glowing man, speaking the only good answer. “Then I choose the orb.”

  “You have chosen well for yourself,” smiled the Light of Lights. “Remember this choice in the months to come. You will see the ramifications of it play out on every level of Israeli life, and then for the entire world.” A thoughtful expression preceded his last statement. “But may I show you one more vista, Sémeion?”

  As the Prime Minister nodded, the shining man began immediately to move to the time of some new intention. Stepping confidently toward the cube, he snatched it up as though it were a toy, and moved to stand before the orb. There the Light of Lights slammed the cube down upon the top of the sphere, and as his host stepped aside, Sémeion saw that the two forms had come to exist in the same space. Now the cube freely rotated within the orb, and quickly the two began to spin in opposite directions. Faster and faster they spun, as Sémeion – looking within – was drawn further into the oblivion of trance. A cradle of blackness embraced him thereafter, and he remembered nothing more until waking.

  “Oye!” said a voice. “Look, I’ve found him!”

  “There, now…” another voice was saying in his dream. “Come on, Prime Minister Shosheqets. Up and at ’em!”

  A gentle slap caused him to sit right up. It was morning – perhaps even midmorning – for the sun was well up. A bevy of colleagues and personal assistants surrounded him. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “It’s time for your speech, Prime Minister,” whispered a jolly man, the representative known as Akan.

  “Here, put this on!” insisted a stubby woman, as she approached quickly with a gorgeous, ceremonial, white robe. “Wake up, Sémeion! Thank goodness we finally found you…”

  “Thank you, Athaliah, I…”

  “Oh, don’t mind me…” Already he was being shooed toward the southeastern corner of the Holy Place’s roof. “You’ve missed the sacrificial rituals, unfortunately, but I daresay a quick speech will easily make amends for your subjects. Just say something appropriate so we can cut the last ribbons and get going. Take this.”

  A microphone was pushed into his hands, but Sémeion refused it. “I don’t need that,” he reminded them. He snuck a swift glance over the side, and was shocked to see that visitors from every part of Israel had already swarmed the Mount, filling it to capacity with eager listeners. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” he said, whirling around out of sight in surprise. How had he slept so late – and on hard stone at that?

  Knowing there was no fixing his unpreparedness for public speech, he pointed to himself. “Ohr!” Immediately an aura of bright light began to shine from him, and the attendants stepped back in awe. “Kol!” he finished, adding the spell – as indeed he believed it to be – which would amplify his voice. There was no helping him; he would simply have to wing it. So Sémeion plunged confidently onward, stepping openly into view before the people of Israel with arms raised, looking down upon his countrymen proudly.

  Cheers erupted as he was recognized. “Good morning, Israel!” he began, hoping it was indeed still morning. Then he was off, discussing every sociopolitical factor which had contributed to his recent arrival in the Holy Land. He spoke of Europe, the Middle East, and the prophecies of the Torah. He spoke of the wars of the world, the need for innovation, and of the various paths which lay before Israel. Even by conservative standards, Sémeion’s impromptu speech was quite long, but nobody really seemed to care. This was the man they had been waiting for – they were sure of it – so that cries of “Emanuel!” and even “Messiah!” began to drift aloft by the time he was finished.

  Afterward Sémeion could barely even remember anything he had said, having spoken through the bleary-eyed haze before his morning coffee. It was the increased shouting of the word “Messiah!” which brought his speech to a halt in the end, for Sémeion still felt himself to be no match for the implications of the term. The strange glowing man from his dream who had identified himself as the Light of Lights seemed a much better candidate by far, though Sémeion had never met him before. Or had he? Perhaps it was just a dream.

  “Come now, Prime Minister,” someone was saying, as they trundled him down the stairs. “We’ve just got the statuary demonstration, and then you’ll be free to go.”

  Security officers swarmed around them as Sémeion, Akan, Athaliah, and their entourage stalked across the Court of the Gentiles. At ground level the excitement of the mob became a good deal more frightening, for the glow which remained around Sémeion fascinated the citizens of Jerusalem to no end. Halfway between the mosques, they reached the statue at last. Athaliah took the lead as they arrived, and Akan stood beside her with a tablet computer – the display of which was reproduced on a massive screen behind them – as she explained the new system that would be used to organi
ze the citizenry of Israel.

  “Here we are, everyone!” shouted Athaliah, as she took her place upon the extended pedestal which led across to the statue like a gangway. “Here each one must stand to proclaim their allegiance to Prime Minister Shosheqets’ diplomatic efforts.” As she turned to face the statue squarely, something like a camera flash issued from the eyes of it, and Akan began to speak as she bowed.

  “Here I’ve brought up our national website,” he shouted. He held the tablet computer overhead for all to see, though everyone remained focused on the screen behind the pair, which displayed the better onscreen image. “Watch, now, as Athaliah logs in!”

  In a second Representative Athaliah had stood before the tablet to have her picture taken once more, and then all saw that her account was activated. An avatar which looked precisely like her now filled the screen. Taking the computer from Akan, she continued their explanation. “Joining the Israeli cyber-community is that simple!” she exclaimed, beginning to direct her cyber-self through a three-dimensional maze of recreated government buildings. “Through this interface every other registered member of the Arab Union can be contacted, regardless of location or language. All of the interpretive software is built in.”

  “Better yet,” added Akan, “your avatars may access countless free items. Home delivery for all of your personal needs can be arranged, so long as the items in question are available to the public...”

  Knowing that he had nearly stumbled onto the subject of the impending food shortage, Athaliah quickly interrupted. “Most importantly, we hope you will all visit the AU’s Creative Imagery Center, where we are now working collaboratively to establish a symbolic representation for the Arab Union.” Her avatar had entered a virtual building, which appeared to be a gallery of submitted artwork, for she walked right up to a nearby painting which bore a banner labeled “Highest Vote Count.”

  “Right,” agreed Akan smoothly, doing his best to look consistently confident. “Once all is decided, each avatar will wear the symbol upon its forehead or hand as a sign of allegiance. So get your submissions in before the cut-off date! Yours could be our winner!”