Eclipse

By Elantu Veovode

Eclipse is a literary/philosophical horror in the Faustian tradition. Two protagonists, one seeking power and control, another shunning knowledge in favor of vengeance, violence and the pleasures of the flesh, are forced by events beyond their control to accept the consequences of their actions. Bill wants total power of communications, but finds that technology ages quickly.... and so does he. Jessica is a repressed, fearful virgin whose actions as well as her reactions are dictated by the opinions of others and by her intense aversion to ridicule. She leads a solitary life, dedicated to her work, her secret love of co-worker, Martin Swann, and her private study of arcane religions. Martin is a vain, successful businessman and a playboy. Jessica becomes obsessed with punishing Martin for his little cruelties. In the course of her study of praxial demonology, she sacrifices material form in exchange for anonymity and discovers that with the divestiture of accountability, her inhibitions are left behind as well. Free of public scrutiny, Jessica haunts Martin's house, wrecking havoc on his life, his love interests and his sanity. The voice of reason, presented through the person of the demon that Jessica and Bill summoned to their aid, goes unheeded. Both seek the unlimited expression of free will which creates more problems for them than it solves. Both Bill and Jessica discover that breaking natural laws invokes natural causes.... and effects.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elantu Veovode
• Release date: Jul 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781937425012

Book preview

Eclipse

Elantu Veovode

Copyright 1996 Elantu Veovode

Cover Art copyright 2011 Elantu Veovode

Spirit Raven

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

The last thing Bill expected was a visit from Vin Diesel.

He stared at his terminal, a frown pulling down on the edges of his lips, when the familiar face appeared on the screen, scrolling into view line by line. Ubiquitous lozenges, ads for everything from porno pages to purported great deals on merchandise, appeared scattered through the accompanying text and along the perimeter of the page. A word band at the bottom caught his eye and he paused to read it before sending the image into oblivion.

If you want it - you should have it. Read the bar. Why not? The only thing standing in your way is you. Beneath it a red oval with a black border invited him to click for more information.

It sounded like a porno come-on line, but he added the site to his bookmark list, just in case. He could always remove it later. The red button on his screen opened doors he didn’t know existed. The instant he positioned his cursor and clicked, the screen jumped to dead black - not the slick, warm grey of a blank screen - roiling, pulsating black filled the space from corner to corner. In defiance of the normal rules of order, the image of Vin Diesel grew from the bottom of the screen, climbing upwards towards the laughing eyes. Rotating lines began at his smile and built the face, finishing off his chin and neck only after the rest of the head had acquired its shape. Except for the smiling face, nothing else appeared on the page. There were no visible links and no accompanying text.

Pretty clever, but where the fuck is the rest? Bill mumbled to himself. The cursor raced around the screen, searching for hidden buttons that might open something.

What were you looking for? The image on the screen leaned forward, grinning openly at the confusion it created.

Christ, the graphics on this thing are something else. Bill checked the megs needed to load the image and drew back empty handed. He pulled down View and selected Document Info, but the source denied complicity, steadfastly holding at a ridiculously low, three-digit number. He made a note to find out who had designed the page, intent on picking the brains of a genius before the techniques he employed came to be common knowledge. I have to have this. he told the screen. This is something else. Lust and anxiety warred in his stomach. The man who could pack graphics of such quality into fewer bits than a text link must be a formidable talent.

You want it, you should have it. The face assured him. Just say the word.

What word? Bill gripped his mouse protectively. The fact that the screen appeared to be talking to him drilled a hole in his brain. He didn’t know of a program that could respond to random speech.

Whatever word you like. The image chuckled, rolling the sound on its lips. I’m not making the rules here, you are. he reminded his audience.

Shit! Bill slammed his hand against the desktop.

Odd choice. Not my first choice, but then, its your universe. The image shrugged his shoulders, warping the screen and sending waves of black ooze overflowing the corners. The odor of offal filled the air around the terminal, clouding the office.

Bill clicked frantically at spots on the screen, repeatedly punched at Back and Exit, all to no avail. He stabbed at the power button three times, but the power-on light glowed green without fail and the image of Vin Diesel remained fixed in his monitor.

Tired of it already? the visitor inquired, amused. He held a finger to the side of his nose playfully. Before you say something else, think this one through a little better.

Information! Bill screamed.

Too vast a category. the visitor protested. We’re in the ballpark, but unless you qualify that, we’re going to be here for a very long time.

Computer technology. Bill reached for solutions, cutting his request still closer when he noticed the face on the screen furrow his brow. Operating systems. Graphics. He gasped for breath like a man who thought he was picking a flower and found himself grasping a scorpion instead.

The visitor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps we can work together. He said, drawing out his words as if a great deal of thought went into each one. If you can ever make up your mind what it is that you want.

Your text bar was very misleading. Bill complained. You can’t do these things.

Of course not. the visitor agreed. But it’s your nickel. You called me.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Bill snapped, forgetting for the moment that he was ostensibly alone in the room. The disturbing realism of the graphics displayed on his monitor rattled him. I like a good game as much as the next guy, but I expect to be able to win.

And so you should. the visitor agreed. But the game hasn’t begun yet. I am still waiting for you to tell me what it is that we are playing.

Information. Bill repeated his earlier request. It’s the only game I play. The only one worth playing.... in my opinion.

In this game, your opinion is the only one that matters. The image on the screen nodded his head sagely, and then raised his chin to regard the man seated at the desk before him. Define your rules and we will begin whenever you are ready.

I get to know it all. Bill began, feeling out his parameters. He figured if he started high, there was always the chance that he might get it and if he didn’t, then it’s easier to cut than to add once the contract has been agreed upon.

The visitor in image form showed his teeth in a smirk that broke into open laughter. So what you really want is power. He twisted his face, leering through the screen. A terrible burden. he warned. If you want to Exit now, you may. he added. In fact, I recommend it.

Who developed you? Bill spat out. I want to know how your graphics are packaged. Even chaining couldn’t handle this level of sophistication. There would be gaps in the sequence. Besides, that’s not a functional approach. It’s choppy. He glanced at Document Info again and noticed that the numbers had not changed. Your numbers don’t even begin to explain the high resolution I’m getting for a single, still graphic.

I am what I am. the visitor replied solemnly. Behind him, fiery lights blazed and streaked across the screen. The image darkened until the figure seemed to be peering through clouds of smoke. His eyes were very bright. Until we meet again, friend. He nodded and turned his back as the screen flashed then went dead.

For the next hour, Bill checked his system for viruses, satisfying himself that no damage had been done to him by the strange web page. That afternoon, he launched himself on a personal study program that took him through everything there was to know about graphics on the net. Two weeks later, he was more convinced than ever that what he had seen couldn’t be done. More than once, his finger lingered on the bookmark that would take him back to the sight, but he found he was reluctant to repeat the experience. Shame flooded his face with unwelcome heat whenever he allowed himself to recall how a mindless web page had buffaloed him. He prided himself on his knowledge of operating systems, but he’d been confounded by a simple application.

Months passed before he dared it again.

This time, the face of the famous actor glared at him malevolently when he clicked on the red lozenge and activated the page. Seemingly random squares appeared on the screen, some loading from top to bottom, others from the bottom up. He was sure that at least one began at a corner and worked its way across diagonally. The face began to move and speak before all of the squares had completed their missions. He dragged his eyes away from the image and glanced at the Info Bar. The image was speaking, but according to the bar, only 73% of the site had been loaded. The edges of the squares melted away, erasing the multitude of lines and angles, just as they completed building the face. Without stopping to find out what his visitor was saying, Bill interrupted him, gratified to notice that the voice that went with the image on his screen ceased speaking instantly.

You closed down while I was still connected. Bill complained. Don’t do it again.

No damage was done to your system. The visitor reminded him. I’m not responsible for your likes and dislikes. If you don’t want to work with me, don’t call me.

Who holds the copyright to your software?

The visitor smiled slyly, pulling a wry grin that exposed the gleaming edges of his teeth. No one. he answered frankly.

You can’t do what you do. Bill leaned towards the glowing screen, studying the image closely.

I know. Diesel’s grin widened. And you’re dying to know how I don’t do it aren’t you. He snorted openly, the familiar growling voice playing with Bill’s sanity, teasing him. Don’t be in such a hurry.

Out of habit, Bill pulled down Document Info and checked the document size, amazed and irritated that the same three-digit number persisted in insulting his intelligence. Meanwhile. He snapped While you babble in riddles, somewhere, someone else is capturing the technology. And I want it. he added.

If I remember correctly, and I always do. Diesel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. You told me you wanted information. ‘To know it all.’ you said. What has that got to do with me?

Graphics is not my strongest suit. Bill admitted. Knowing how you - this application - functions would advance my knowledge of the field considerably.

You would settle so low? When Bill didn’t answer, the visitor filled out the thought for him. You’ll never, as you so passionately desire, know everything if you insist on stopping to peck at gaudy tidbits like a crow at a picnic.

Bill bit his lip, swallowing his initial reply. What would you suggest? He asked.

I’m a people person. Diesel admitted. That’s what I do. I work with people and try to help them get what they want out of life. A lot is said of man’s irrepressible need to know. Most of it said by men. Good cover. Best lie ever written. Need to know isn’t what the game is all about. It’s about having something that no other person possesses. Knowing something no one else knows.

You just described success. Bill pointed out. So what’s the downside?

Diesel sneered. You want it for free. And having it, you expect the have-nots to pay you handsomely for a little peek.

That’s business. Bill protested.

Yes, it is. Diesel admitted. I’m glad you see it that way.

That’s the only way to see it. Bill resisted the urge to snap. He found it hard to believe that he was having a conversation with an image on his monitor.

So what you really want is control over how much others know. The vistor turned his head slightly to the side, regarding Bill with one malevolent eye. An honest answer will get you further than a foolish lie. He reminded his audience.

That’s one way of knowing more. Bill agreed. The guy who owns the bridge definitely has the lion’s share of power.

Exactly. Diesel echoed Bill’s thoughts. If what everyone else knows has to go through you before it can be shared with the rest of the world, then by definition, no one knows anything that you don’t know. Power in its purest form.

I like the way you think. Bill nodded, stifling a nervous giggle.

Diesel’s voice resonated in Bill’s head like distant thunder. I thought you would. he said.

Seconds later, the screen went dead and nothing Bill tried would revive it. He jumped, startled out of his chair when a heavy knock at his door demanded his attention. Opening it to the extent of the security chain, revealed the flesh and blood body of the image on his monitor, only this time, a perfect rendition of Vin Diesel was standing on his porch. He considered slamming the door and putting the whole episode behind him, but the man leaned forward addressing him in a tone that brooked no argument.

It’s too late to play the shy virgin. The visitor reminded him. We have work to do. he winked. You wouldn’t want to miss the grand ball after getting all dressed up, would you?

Bill shut the door for a second and slipped off the chain. A hot wind, accompanied by a cloud of dense smoke, rushed inside as soon as he opened it again. He coughed furiously and fell backward on the sofa with a handkerchief over his face. Wiping his eyes of the burning soot, he drove his back further into the sofa, watching his visitor coalesce slowly. The man was dressed in black slacks and a white muscle shirt. In his hand was a wafer thin box smaller than the palm of his hand.

What kind of a joke is this? Bill ventured. Since the smoke and fumes had cleared, he felt considerably braver. He felt free to pretend that such a disturbing event as cold fire had never happened.

Feel free to laugh. The visitor invited. It’s good for the soul. He seated himself at Bill’s desk and began to unfold the wafer in his hand. Each time he turned it and opened another layer the device increased in size. When he was through, he had unfolded an elegant laptop with a full size keyboard and a handsome graphics monitor.

That’s fabulous. Bill crowded his visitor’s shoulder to get a better look. Who makes it?

The visitor began typing a string of symbols, mumbling his answer, apparently devoting his energy to the task at hand. We have some of the finest tools ever made. he answered. We’re the second oldest company in existence. Before Bill could attempt to guess the name, Diesel interrupted with a clarification that succeeded in clearing up nothing. We were in business long before any of the companies in Fortune 500. Most of what those guys learned what they know from us. He added, mumbling to himself as he worked. Though few are willing to admit to that.

What do you do? Bill reached for understanding, but Diesel’s answer failed to satisfy him.

Everything. he said. We work with people, mainly, but we’ve got our hand in practically every operating system on the planet.

How come I’ve never heard of you? Bill challenged.

The visitor turned half towards him and regarded him curiously. You probably have. he admitted. But we like to work behind the scenes. Our products are everywhere, but our subsidiaries generally get most of the publicity for our work.

Bummer. Bill offered his sympathies.

The work is its own reward. The visitor informed him. He completed loading data into his terminal and rose from his seat, turning to face Bill. And now for you. He said. As he spoke, his face darkened until his eyes appeared to glow in the dimly lit room, but if intended to say anything more, he was cut short by a persistent complaint from a thumbnail device that clipped onto his belt. He punched it quiet with a quick stab and released the catch, holding the tiny device at eye level. A deep frown creased his brow. His hair twisted on his head as though a violent wind had ripped past him though all the windows were closed and the room remained calm and still.

Problem? Bill ventured. It pleased him to think that perhaps, after all, his visitor was not infallible. The sour face that answered his prodding pushed him back a couple of steps, out of reach.

May I use your phone? The words growled between the visitor’s lips. I won’t be a minute. He dialed the number, standing stiffly by the phone and listening intently for several minutes before he spoke. Again? Contrary to his prior anger, he almost laughed aloud. She’s called every night this week. He fell silent, while his laughter subsided and a serious cast once more overtook his cheerful face. Yet another persistent customer. he noted. I’m with a client now. I’ll get to her tomorrow afternoon at the latest. She’s not going anywhere. People like her never do. He was about to hang up when something the other said brought the receiver back to his ear. I took care of that. His contract should be on your desk. A shortness, tempered by strained patience, entered his voice. I have two more clients on schedule today, plus a contract termination hearing to go to. I thought I’d kick back with a bottle of wine and catch a little quality time this evening on my own. Tomorrow’s Saturday, I can see her tomorrow afternoon after I meet with Reverend Patterson in the morning. Sound good?’ He tilted his head hopefully, listening for confirmation that his plans met with official approval. The bright gleam that played across his face spoke volumes, without his closing remarks. Thanks. His voice quivered with genuine feeling. Coming from you that is high praise indeed. I could use a break for a few hours. I appreciate it. Thanks again." He hung up, setting the receiver down with exaggerated gentleness.

Kissy face from the boss? Bill teased. Nice to know you’re appreciated.

The visitor ground his teeth, producing a sound like boulders slamming into parked cars. I pride myself in the quality of my work. He snarled. The hours are long, but my contracts are flawless.

How do you have time to be in so many films and work for a big company at the same time. Bill fidgeted nervously and reached for a bit of conversation to ease the tension.

You really are naive. the visitor observed. He circled Bill slowly, walking around him and observing him from every angle. I chose my appearance for professional reasons. he explained. Our clients prefer to work with a familiar face. I have others, but this is my favorite.

I don’t like men with too many muscles. Bill concentrated on Diesel’s impressive arms as he spoke. A cold lump formed in his throat and he found that he could not swallow it into oblivion.

The visitor laughed, his booming roar bouncing off the walls of the room. No. I don’t suppose you do. he agreed. His laugh trailed off and he stood in front of