Einstein's Compass

Prolog-3

Arka pointed to the container on the counter. “Where were you today? You were supposed to take the ruby crystals to the Temple of Healing. We had to cancel the treatments when they did not arrive.”

Raka petulantly stared at the ground. “Something important came up.” Then he looked up at Arka defiantly. “But I told Prensa to take the crystals to the temple. It’s his fault the treatments were canceled, not mine.”

Arka frowned. “Prensa? He is our cook, not your servant.”

Arka shook his head as if to disperse Raka’s weak excuse, then changed course. “The temple guard said he saw you walking with a female member of the Belial Brotherhood near the gardens. What were you doing there with her?”

“She wanted to know what we did in the Temple of Healing,” Raka lied. “I showed her around the temple grounds.” That wasn’t all I showed her, Raka thought to himself with a lascivious smirk.

Arka could only shake his head in resignation.

The memory aroused Raka’s anger, which brought him crashing back to the present. “I am meant to do important things, not just be an errand boy!” he shouted at the rock walls of the cavern.

With thoughts of revenge seething in his mind, he snatched at a rat that had the misfortune to scurry past. It was the first sustenance he’d had since the transformation—he hadn’t really been hungry. He angrily tore a leg off and took a bite, the first food he’d had since changing form. As he swallowed, he felt something a transformation begins—short, gray hairs started to replace the scales on his arm. Raka stopped chewing and watched the shift. He was a changeling, he realized, but the transformation didn’t end with his dragon form. Tossing the still squirming rat aside, he plucked a beetle off the cave wall and bit down on it with a sickening crunch. A moment later, his skin began hardening into a chitinous shell. Concentrating, he found he was able to control, or even halt, the changes to his structure.

The thought of changing into other forms intrigued him. His mind flooded with information he had learned in his healing energy classes. Raka felt something else as he sorted through what was happening. It was a sort of knowing, an intuition. Could be this be from the dragon DNA he had ingested? He thought back over his transformation.

He discovered that his eyes were now acutely sensitive. He could see in total darkness and normal light. His memory, too, had sharpened. He could repeat his entire meeting with the council verbatim. His memories were much more vivid. He recalled his rage at his uncle and brother and felt it with new intensity. In fact, he could muster no feelings of compassion or love at all. Glancing at the writhing rat whose leg he had bitten off, he studied its suffering. This excited his killing instinct. It took an effort not to inflict further pain on the creature. He craved more of the rat’s blood, and he speculated that human blood and organs would be a delicacy. A burst of intuition revealed that eating an entire human body and drinking its blood would transform him into a doppelganger of that person. He would have to test out how long this would last, but he suspected it would hold until he decided to take on another form.

As he discovered more of the strengths his new form provided, Raka reveled in the thought that he had nothing to fear. Then, an ancestral memory—perhaps connected to his dragon DNA—flared in his mind. He saw many of his fellow reptiles trapped in a burning structure, writhing in agony. Fear welled up in him at this vivid memory. He had at least one vulnerability: fire. Raka tore himself away from the vision and shakily drew in a deep breath to calm his trembling body. “Enough wasting time on what I fear. Now it’s time to plan for the future and my revenge on Arka and his ilk.” That is the task worthy of my new, transformed self, he thought.

* * *

Since Raka’s meeting with the council, the focus of the Aryan laboratory had moved to DNA and using it for transformation. General Tora-Fuliar envisioned an army of Draconian soldiers with which he could conquer the world. The council leader visited the lab each week for a progress report and was increasingly frustrated at the lack of results. DNA experiments required creative scientists, and creativity was not something the militaristic Aryans were noted for. It was evident that the best talent came from Atlantis. An aggressive recruitment campaign was mounted there.

The Light healers on Atlantis were primarily motivated by their desire to serve the higher Light of God with love. This intention provided them with the clarity to heal from a pure state of giving. Loving came forward and lifted the healer and the patient. The healer’s material needs—food, shelter, and clothing—came as a part of their serving. The glamour of substantial gains and recognition offered by the Aryans, however, began to distract them from the reward of serving. Increasingly generous offers seduced the Atlantean Light workers away from the healing temples to the Aryan DNA research labs. Even some high priests sold their knowledge and healing secrets to the dark empire.

The DNA experiments on Aryan required a high-quality controlled food source. Scientists used everything from cows to mice. But the trials were not without challenge. The Aryan’s successes in cloning had sparked fierce debates among scientists and the public. The people of Atlantis questioned the morality of cloning plants, animals, and possibly humans. But few knew that cloning was just a cover for a secret project of DNA experiments combining animal and human DNA. On the surface, it was producing novelty animals that had become big business on Aryan. Wealthy families and even countries were buying hybrids like Minotaur and Centaurs.

The clone business on Aryan also played into Raka’s plan for revenge. Once he had become adept at using his new body, he made his way back to the city. He set up an observation outpost in an abandoned structure in the remote industrial area where the DNA research complex was located. Now that he had a plan, he could afford to be patient. For several weeks he watched the movements of the scientists, military, and guards.

The general routinely showed up alone in his golden anti-gravity vehicle at the end of the workweek, parking away from the building to avoid attention. He appeared to be meeting with Dr. Aimee, the director of the science facility, for progress reports on his new military species.

As days—then weeks—passed, Raka’s patience started to wear thin. If progress weren’t made soon, even the general would realize that he wasn’t going to be able to produce an army of warriors like Raka—an army Raka fully intended to take over. Pacing in his ramshackle hideout, with a heightened awareness of everything around him, Raka sensed the time was approaching for him make his move. He felt increasingly impatient, believing he would soon know the moment to strike.

By the time the general returned to the facility, Raka was nearly bursting out of his skin. It took incredible self-control to hold himself back and merely observe. His senses perked up as he saw the general storm out of the facility. The man appeared furious, a sure sign he had received more bad news. The irate general made his way to his flyer and slammed its door. Raka couldn’t believe his eyes; the general had caught his hand in the door. Even from this distance, Raka could hear the general bellow in pain as he jumped out of the vehicle, blood spurting from his self-inflicted wound. Raka immediately smelled the warm, precious blood, urging him into a frenzy. The general’s screams pushed Raka over the edge, and he burst from his hiding place, streaking across the open field toward the wounded, infuriated man.

The general was not aware of Raka’s presence until it was too late. A brutal blow from Raka’s tail rendered his victim unconscious. Raka with his razor-like talons grabbed the general by the collar. With his brute dragon strength, the dragon picked up the general like a ragdoll and flew back to his hiding place. Inside, he threw the general onto a battered table. The stunned man moaned as he struggled back to consciousness. When the general’s vision cleared, his eyes grew wide at the sight of the dragon standing above him, foul saliva dripping from the creature’s lips fell on his head. “Wha...”

Raka grinned and put one of his talons to his lips. “Shhh, General, not that anyone can hear you in here.” He reached out a hand-like claw offering to help the general sit up. Reflexively, the general grasped Raka’s nail and struggled to a sitting position. Raka slowly placed his other claw on the general’s shoulder. Then, with a ghastly smile, Raka viciously yanked the general’s hand and ripped the general’s entire arm from its socket. As his victim screamed in terror and agony, Raka regarded the arm thoughtfully. He began to gnaw on it with relish. The general lived long enough to see Raka devour his other arm and start on his legs. He did not live long enough to see Raka transform into a perfect replica of the man he was consuming.

As Raka finished licking the last of the general’s blood from the floor, he heaved a contented sigh. He lay down to rest and recover once the transformation was complete. He closed his eyes, reveling in the thoughts of what he could do now as the head of the Aryan Military Council.

* * *

1446 BCE – Egypt

Concealed by the dark of the new moon and disguised as members of the Pharaoh’s Imperial Guard, Moses, with his two priests, furtively made his way toward the most sacred sanctuary of the temple of Thebes. His eyes darted here and there as he scanned the corridor. He knew the consequences would be grave—likely deadly—if they were caught in the forbidden area. Even so, he would not be deterred. The stakes were too high. He must secure the holy relics if the Israelites were to have a chance of surviving the exodus from Egypt. Despite the high risk of his task, he found the calming techniques he had learned in his studies assisted him in staying focused and reasonably calm.