The Altar: Chapter 1 (1)

As promised, here's the first chapter of my novel-in-very-slow-progress, The Altar. Not sure how I feel about this opening. Check my older posts for a refresher on the context and setting (I think it's in July under 'another novel idea. Pun intended'), and if it still doesn't make sense or I've changed too much stuff since that initial concept, comment or message me on facebook. Other comments and criticism are welcome and highly encouraged. 

Chapter 1

At 8:00 AM tomorrow, you are to report to my office. You will be sent to Primitive Village #239 immediately afterward. You will be observing their activities for one year. Normal Primitive observation protocol applies. Your focus will be on the political and religious stability of the village, though of course anything else you deem worth reporting should be mentioned. Come to my office should you have any questions.

--G

Message sent at 17:47, 6 July 2459.

Joseph Zerra, Head of the Department of Primitive Studies, glanced at this message on his tablet computer one last time; still nothing had changed. He knocked three times on the wooden door to the Genius's living quarters and shuddered. He had nothing to hide, no reason for guilt--but to be in the presence of a man of such power was somewhat unsettling. He had discovered...no, created immortality and antirads at the age of forty. Zerra was forty, and all he had was a few reports on Primitive activity. It was enough to make a man feel quite useless...You cannot tolerate those sorts of thoughts, Zerra. Every action to further the Elite cause is crucial.

By this point a pretty, somewhat flustered brunette in an white night robe had opened the door. “And you are?”

“Joseph Zerra. Head of Primitive Study. Here for a pre-observation sendoff.”

“Let him in!” a deep, commanding voice echoed. The brunette, who Zerra recognized as a member of his department, politely stepped out of the way. Zerra walked straight ahead, trying not to look the woman in the eye. Should have known that he'd pick her next.

He walked straight ahead to a long hallway filled with simple wooden doors. The familiar sounds of muted shrieks and cackles filled the first room on his right. Ignoring these, he opened the third one on the left and sat in the chair in front of the large mahogany desk, as always. In a few minutes the Genius entered and sat on the opposite side of the desk. He was thin, bald and very pale, and yet tall, athletic, dark Zerra was unnerved by looking at him. It must have been the sunglasses—he reportedly suffered from photophobia, but some thought he enjoyed the power he held by making it impossible to look him in the eye. Maybe it was the black suit that made his already pale skin seem alien. Either way, Zerra felt a strange, reverent terror in his presence.

“Hello, Zerra,” he said courteously, offering his hand.

“Good day, Your Omniscience,” Zerra responded with an overzealous handshake.

“So, let's not waste time. You are leaving for your observation now?” The Genius was already flipping through a stack of papers.

“Yes, Your Omniscience.”

“Perfect. Prompt as always. Well, you know the protocol by now, I'd say—this is your...sixth observation, yes?” Zerra nodded a little too quickly as the Genius went on without missing a beat. “Report on the religious and political stability and anything else that needs reporting. Do not intervene directly or indirectly with any of their affairs, or severe punishment will be enacted. If you are discovered, leave posthaste, and I will handle the matter. Your rations will be delivered weekly. And keep in mind...” Here the Genius leaned closer. “This village is one of particular significance. It is one of the largest and most stable in all of North America. It was one of the first that I told about Xaheros. Amos and I may make an appearance to reward them for their piety.”

Zerra raised his eyebrows—it was always rare for the Genius to leave the comforts of the Elite community. “Understood, Your Omniscience.”

“Very good. Your essentials are in the backpack. Here are the coordinates for the teleporter.” The Genius stood up and extended his pale right hand again. “Farewell, Zerra.”

“Goodbye, Your Omniscience.” Zerra shook the centuries-old hand in front of him, picked up the heavy backpack on the floor and departed without another word. The teleporter (a simple floor-mount with a scanner module for receiving coordinates) was kept two doors down the hall on his right. He opened the door, tried to remember if he had forgotten anything, came up empty, placed the paper with the coordinates into the teleporter module and stepped onto the shining chromium surface. There was a rush of wind and color—he blinked and found himself in a world that seemed nearly alien. It was an open field surrounded by forest. All the plant life around him was either dead or absurdly overgrown. The hum of insect life around him was oppressively loud; it was cicada season.

Zerra sighed, dug into his backpack and pulled out a thick white one-piece outfit. As soon as he had zipped it up, a softer, mechanical hum met his ears—the sound of antirads purging his body and clothes of the radioactive nuclei he had come in contact with as soon as he arrived. He started walking eastward—Village #239 was about an hour's walk away from his coordinates, ensuring that his sudden arrival by teleportation would remain unnoticed.

The Genius closed the video feed on his tablet computer. “Another safe arrival,” he said to himself. He left his office, returning to his bedroom as the brunette was removing her towel after a shower. She didn't seem to notice his arrival, so he sat down contentedly.

About twenty seconds passed before she turned around, startled and concealed herself with the towel “What are you—oh, it's you, All-Knowing One,” she said, somewhat relieved.

The Genius waved a hand casually. “As you were.”

The brunette proceeded to remove her towel in a noticeably sensual manner, and the Genius smiled softly to himself. With her back turned, the brunette queried, “Tell me, All-Knowing One, was I...satisfactory last night?”

The old man shook his head, still smiling. “Yes, dear, you were excellent.” There was no dishonesty in his voice—even after four hundred and eighty-three years of life, there were still women that could excite him in bed.

“Oh, I'm so glad to hear that, All-Knowing One,” the brunette said with a vapid ecstasy that nearly made the Genius gag. “You were incredible, of course.”

“So I've heard,” the old man replied. “I do think I shall be asking for your return in the near future.”

The woman tried to contain her joy. “Thank you, All-Knowing One...I will be glad to oblige any time.”

“Of course you will,” the Genius responded. By this point the brunette was fully clothed in a businesslike yet rather attractive woman's suit (the Genius took note that she had been smart enough to pack a change of clothes). “Remind me of your name again, would you?”

“Sarah Layne,” she responded, not in the least offended. It was never wise to be offended by anything the Genius did.

“Layne. Duly noted. Well, have a good day.”

“Same to you, All-Knowing One,” Layne said brightly as she left the Genius's quarters.

He shook his head slowly. Sometimes he thought that someone of his intelligence and position would not demand young women to come to his bed every night, that he had more important things to think about, that he was literally centuries older than some of his partners (Layne was nineteen by his estimation)...and yet even then some attractive young Elite would catch his eye, and, well, they never seemed to refuse.

Such wretched creatures. All of them are brilliant, independent, strong—they could run their own Enclave if they wanted to. And yet they let me have their way with them, and they enjoy it. All because I am powerful. They disgust me.

And yet...who am I to say no?