Tower and the stone

The storm clouds, always lingering overhead, seemed close enough to touch. The urge to stretch my hand upwards and grip the smoky puffs was compelling. Yet, they couldn't genuinely be classified as clouds, not in the traditional Earthly sense. Our clouds were primarily water-based, formed of droplets or ice crystals. Here, however, in this alternate reality, the rules were... different.

The fragrance of the air gave them away. The aroma, distinct and palpable, carried the sharpness of ash and the mustiness of dust, tinged with a subtle metallic edge. From the samples we gathered, these cloud-like formations appeared to consist of dust and ash, suspended and swirling in the dense alien atmosphere.

These formations were possible due to the presence of exotic matter microcrystals, similar to those we'd found in every variant of the E.L.Fs - from vine-like organisms to bipedal humanoid forms. The exact mechanisms were still under research. However, the leading hypothesis suggested that these microcrystals emitted an energy field that repelled matter, akin to anti-gravity, and aggregated fine particles, giving the clouds their form.

"Got it," Archer announced, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. "I've figured out what was throwing this contraption off. The environment here does no favors for mechanical devices."

"It's about time," I responded, turning to face him. His body was hunched over the metallic podium, about the height of a small table. His backside, shifting as he worked on the device underneath, was an entertaining sight and a prime reason for my current vantage point. However, when temptation threatened to interrupt his work and cause further delay, I found solace in the roiling clouds above.

"If you'd listened to my advice and dealt with the Russians before they transported their device here, we wouldn't have wasted two days chasing down stragglers," Archer chided, not looking up from his task.

I sighed, my gaze drifting back to the swirling clouds. "I made a mistake with the Russian device. I wrongly assumed it was a bridge to Russia, not a one-way portal here. But at least we have their design for comparison, right?"

Archer chuckled, a smirk likely playing on his lips as he retorted, "Their self-destruction protocol was inconvenient, but hardly a challenge." He paused, then added more seriously, "The way you've been using your clairvoyance recently... it's an efficient strategy, yes, crafting intricate plans that meet multiple objectives. But there's a certain fragility to it. When one piece goes awry, the whole setup can collapse like a house of cards."

"You mean unpredictable variables like the Crown of Midnight," I interjected.

No sooner had the words 'Crown of Midnight' left my lips than the sky seemed to respond. As if the mere mention of the name summoned it, crimson lightning crawled like a serpent across the stormy sea of clouds, a crackling, electric current drawing a fiery vein across the dark canvas above. It darted toward us, a jagged finger of pure, raw energy, before striking the towering monolith nearby, the Aperture Science Atmospheric Ion Harvesting and Power Regulator.

Its metal trunk stretched skyward, branches reaching out like the arms of a metal titan, each limb bristling with intricately shaped, phosphorescent leaves. Each leaf, an ionic trap, thirstily drank in the fury of the crimson lightning, their glow intensifying with an otherworldly light that cast strange shadows around us.

The power of the storm roared through the central pillar of the structure, absorbing the lightning's raw energy with an ear-splitting crackle, before channeling it into the humming capacitors nestled at the base of the monolith. A protector and a provider, this 'Ion Tree' as the scientists fondly termed it, guarded our facility from the ceaseless lightning while converting its ferocious energy into a power source.

We watched in silence as the Lightning Tree - the Ion Tree - lit up, a beacon amidst the chaos, its fractal branches humming with a life of their own. The dazzling display suspended our conversation for a moment, as we allowed the spectacle to wash over us. Then, shaking off the awe, we continued our discussion amidst the eerie glow.

"Once again, it managed to evade us, rendering the entire exercise a waste of time," Archer lamented.

He was referring to our tracking efforts of the remaining Russians. The potential to reacquire the Crown of Midnight was the sole reason for our pursuit. Otherwise, we could have left the cleanup task to Owens and his team, as we had originally planned.

"Quite elusive, isn't it?" I mused.

"You shouldn't be so proud," Archer retorted, his tone edged with a challenge. "I know it's your creation, but it's killing people. And not just any deaths; these are gruesome."

I corrected him, perhaps a tad defensively. "Technically, it's influencing people to kill each other in gruesome ways. Though I can see how that distinction may matter little to those affected."

"But not to you," Archer stated, not as an accusation but as a simple fact.

"True," I acknowledged, lost in the mystery. "I'm interested in understanding the mechanisms at play, the motives behind the actions. After all, methods can reveal as much as motives do."

"This is about Mel, isn't it?"

At the mention of the name, a sense of satisfaction washed over me. A mystery was starting to unfold, a puzzle was coming together. I nodded in confirmation. "Quite the mystery, indeed. My wicked cousin reappears, against all odds. After all, when an Elf goes West, they should not be able to return, barring permission. And I can think of a few Elves less likely to gain it." My grin widened at the thought, "And they all happen to be family."

"If you're this smug, that means you have some sort of working theory," Archer commented, his tone carrying an undercurrent of exasperation. The soft whirring and clicking of his tools filled the silence as he worked on the machine. But I knew better. He enjoyed listening to my theories, if only to have the opportunity to mock me when I was proven wrong.

"I do have an idea," I said, my eyes flickering briefly to Archer as he adjusted a complex array of wires. "But there are some facts I need to confirm first. It's about Chandrahasa."

"The sword of sharp truths. Since it was the tool that brought forth Mel's redemption, I can see why you need that information. Do remember that I was aiming at you at the time. You were in such dire need for some violent enlightenment. You are far too cute to be a Dark Lord. Ask your question."

My cheeks warmed, even if I disagreed. Not about the Dark Lord part. The violent enlightenment. My plan would have worked; I would have gotten rid of the One Ring. Eventually. "For this mystery, the questions are neither who nor why. But how. How much do you know about the exact principles that Noble Phantasm operates?"

"Not as much as I would like to. That thing is barely a sword. More of a sword-shaped shadow of a higher-dimensional object. What I can glean of its workings is more poetic than technical."

"Not truly surprising. If it works in the domain of the soul, it would need to be like that. But that does align with my idea. Correct me if I am wrong. But can we compare it to an antivirus program for the soul? It isolates and cuts away malignant information nested within one's soul."

Archer paused in his work, his amusement evident in the lilt of his voice. "I suppose. I never quite thought about it this way, but it's a peculiar, though not a wrong way to explain it."

"In the normal course of events, spiritual detritus would gradually dissolve, reintegrating its corruption back into the universe. However, two key factors alter this process: the corruption's origin and its location. The corruption afflicting Maelgin stems from Morgoth himself. Although the first Dark Lord was significantly diminished by this time, the corruption was an almost pure sample of essence aligned with the origin of Evil. As you know, I've been studying it, using the Orc cadavers and other samples we gathered in Arda as my subjects. I discovered that it contains a sort of holographic imprint, embedded with divine spiritons. It has shown itself capable of both resurgence and self-organization. The samples I had were mostly inactive due to their separation from the main spiritual body. But when you consider the location where the corruption was severed from Maelgin, the Crack of Doom, it suddenly becomes plausible for the corruption to reach critical energy levels to reactivate itself."

"Wait, are you suggesting that Evil God might emerge from the Crown of Midnight?" Archer's voice was sharp, his hands momentarily halting in their work on the device.

"No, Archer, it's not quite like that," I hastened to reassure him. "While it's true that the corruption can reactivate itself, it's crucial to understand the role of the divine spiritons. They're less like a virus and more akin to catalysts or radioactive isotopes. They can accumulate and cause changes in other spiritual matter, but they cannot self-replicate. They can distort and corrupt, but they can't reproduce Morgoth's essence in its entirety. My theory is that this is likely the source of the counterfeit Mel. In the spiritual matter that was severed, I believe the amount of Maelgin's spiritons that were corrupted later beyond recovery far exceeds the original corruption by several orders of magnitude. So, when this spiritual matter reorganized into a personality, the missing information was filled in by discarded thoughts and memories."

"Playing fake to fill some void within, huh? Rings a bit too close to home," Archer remarked, a cynical edge to his voice. "Does this mean that the Crown of Midnight is just spewing spiritual corruption everywhere it goes, like a faulty nuclear reactor?"

"No, not precisely," I countered. "The primary function of the Crown of Midnight is to shield its user from external supernatural influences, with a specialization in Mental Interference. It achieves this by absorbing and purifying these influences, converting them back into magical energy. In essence, it pollutes the environment and then feeds on the very corruption it creates - similar to a farmer sowing seeds and then reaping the harvest. Of course, the physical consequences, like massacres, persist. But the spiritual corruption is effectively neutralized."

"I always find it so reassuring when you explain how things could be much worse," Archer retorted, his words heavy with sarcasm. "You've rightly earned your Sealing Designation."

I chose to take that as a compliment, even though he did not mean it like that. "Are going to finish that?" I asked gesturing to the open panel.

"Should I? Considering what you've just explained, perhaps we should postpone this and resume our search for your diabolical artifact," Archer retorted.

"Do you think 'diabolical' is a bit of an overstatement?"

"Given it literally contains fragments of the devil inside, I'd say—No! It's perfectly fitting."

"Every part of Arda does. I believe its effectiveness in this world stems from the lack of inborn resistance in humans here. By imbuing all of Arda with evil, Melkor inadvertently taught all beings to resist it. In a way, his actions indirectly contributed to the Greater Good - a classic jest by the One Above. But as you should be well aware, further searching for it will prove futile."

"Because you've built-in anti-scrying measures so strong that even you can't pierce them. If you ever become omnipotent, we're going to be constantly tripping over immovable rocks," Archer quipped, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Get back to work," I ordered. Grumbling, Archer complied. "I still don't understand what you've been doing. It was supposed to be just a simple pedestal. At most, it should be able to rotate."

"You're forgetting that overdesigned lightning rod. If the viewing platform rotated in place, half the time you'd be facing it, rendering the viewing platform pointless. Also, I've attached additional features in case of an emergency." He closed the panel. "Done. You can put the palantír in place," Archer concluded, stepping back from his work, clearly satisfied.

I was glad that he finally finished, but I can't I didn't enjoy the sight of him being bent over. His pants were deliciously tight.

The palantir was nestled within the metallic attaché case I had brought to Hawkins. Its black spherical form almost seemed to be beckoning me to make use of it. I carefully extracted it from its protective compartment, savoring the feel of its cool, polished surface in my hand. It bore the look of glass but felt more like a gemstone, expertly smoothed by a master craftsman.

The wind whipped around me, heavy with the scent of ozone from the recent lightning strike. It filled my nostrils and my lungs, serving as a potent reminder of the stone's capabilities. Yet, beneath it all was a faint taste of dust and ash, serving as a silent warning.

"Traveling and aiding others... there is a certain beauty to it, isn't there?" I murmured, the palantir still in my grasp. "Perhaps your youthful impulsiveness wasn't all folly."

Archer's voice was sharp as a sword when responded, "Make no mistake, I was a fool and now I'm shackled with regrets. But why do you bring that up?"

"I just had a brilliant idea." Archer snorted at my declaration, but I magnanimously chose to ignore him and continued, "I think there might be a way through the Forest, a path leading out of the Otherworld and into any of the Worlds we've visited. With the guidance of this palantir, I might be able to uncover it."

"Remember what happened last time? You were catatonic, Master. It was a sight I will not soon forget. The risk is simply too great."

Ever since I allowed Jay to call me 'Master', Archer had used any opportunity to do the same. It felt like some kind of twisted competition. I can't say that I was entirely displeased by it. The attention was somewhat flattering. It was only a matter of time before someone else, who did not know, heard it.

I could only hope that those who overhear would come to the obvious and correct conclusion - that we were in a BDSM relationship. In 1984 America, that would be a scandal, especially considering that we were both males.

But there was another explanation for 'Master', one that could be far more troublesome if overheard by the wrong person. That was what the late Colonel Sullivan had called me. I had tried to trace through history, to find those Grand Witches I supposedly commanded in the past. But without the internet, my search was not going well.

"It is not fear, but rather apathy that stops me. The desire to return is dwindling. It'd be comforting to see some familiar faces, Elrond, Sakura, even the children from the camp. And there's a part of me that yearns to know what became of Lydia. But these are faint echoes now, being washed away by the flow of new memories and experiences."

And not just that. There was a secret that I kept from Archer. A memory of a world that I didn't share with him. But I wasn't sure that I ever would want to go back to it. It was so mundane that I wouldn't fit in anymore. Yet such a mundane world contained glimpses of so many others. That sometimes made me question if Sasha was real. Perhaps that identity was just a way for my mind to interpret information it couldn't process normally.

"Perhaps I should use the palantír, Master," Archer suggested out of the blue.

"I have a stronger affinity for it," I retorted.

"That may be the problem. You see too much, especially in a place like this, and that can be a disadvantage. I might not have your talent for clairvoyance, but I'm not entirely without abilities of my own. I may no longer be a Servant, but I retain certain skills."

"No, this is my task. I admit I was just stalling - distracted by my own brilliance. My wit is so sharp, I sometimes cut myself on it."

"A true sword without a hilt," Archer quipped.

There was a mechanical click as I set the palantír onto the podium. Then, the hum of machinery echoed through the surroundings as the circular platform rose from the floor.

"It's designed to rotate around the lightning rod," Archer explained, his voice carrying over the low drone of the machines. "This way, you'll always have an unobstructed view. There are other features too, but they're only for emergencies. I'd hope you won't have to use them, but experience has taught me otherwise."

Bracing myself, I placed my hands on the stone, focusing into its black depths. It knew that I wasn't its rightful master, that I was a thief. Yet I had a claim, and my will was more than sufficient to force its compliance.

A pinpoint of light appeared in the center of the black sphere. I focused on it. The sensation was like falling and yet not falling, like flying and yet remaining stationary. Travel without movement.

The image gradually became clear. It was one of the deserted streets of Mirror Hawkins. I could see the feathery ash falling on an abandoned car. The image was as clear as if I were standing right on that street.

Intriguing, but not sufficient.

If this were all, there would be no need to bring the palantír to this forsaken place.

A mere robot could accomplish this task. It's not as if Aperture was lacking in them.

But my sights were set further afield.

The further one was from the epicenter, the original gate in the Hawkins National Laboratory, the more the universal constants drifted away from those we observed on Earth.

This disparity was why exotic matter crystals could form, or at least, that was the leading theory at Aperture Science.

This locale served as a bridge between Earth and... somewhere else. The farther away one moved from the point of first contact, the less it resembled Earth.

I surmised that this 'somewhere else' was Xen, but that was more of a wild guess than a solid theory.

Still, it was a hypothesis worth testing. If I were correct, one could, by moving far enough away from the origin point, eventually emerge in Xen.

In order to properly harness the power of the palantír over significant distances, one requires elevation. The ancient Numenorians didn't simply erect their towering edifices for the sheer aesthetic pleasure; they served a crucial purpose.

That very principle informed our strategy in Hawkins. At Aperture, under my directive, we decided to build skywards, rather than delving beneath the earth. The absence of a conveniently located mine certainly influenced our decision.

The task at hand demanded a substantial reprogramming of our worker androids, a complete conversion of several construction tools, and most importantly, the invention of an entirely new type of concrete.

We were considering three types of this versatile material:

First, the Carbon Nanotube Reinforced Concrete (CNT Concrete), its structure comprised of carbon atoms possessing extraordinary strength and unique electrical properties. However, its manufacture on a large scale was challenging and potentially cost-prohibitive.

The second contender was Metamaterial Concrete, which could alter its color or even transparency when hit by crimson lightning or exposed to certain frequencies of light or sound. The stability and longevity of such a material in a harsh environment were potential points of contention.

The final candidate was Aerogel Concrete, a material that looked ethereal, almost ghostly, with a faint blue or pink tint. Despite its lightweight and excellent insulating properties, questions about the structural integrity of aerogel concrete, given the brittle nature of aerogels, were raised.

In true Aperture spirit, I decided not to choose between the three but to integrate all into our final creation. The boundaries of possibility were to be pushed, leading to an astonishing outcome. We christened the process: Adaptive Durability And Metamaterial Assembly Nano-reinforced Technology, or Adamant for short.

Thus, an Adamant tower arose amidst the waste, an absurd testament to our relentless progress. A flicker of irony: was I not now a builder of dark towers? But I digress, all that glitters isn't gold, sometimes it's Adamant.

Yet, such towers were not built in a day. Well, not until I managed to decipher the intricacies of Aperture's Nanocores. Despite the elusive nature of this task, progress was evident.

While the tower's construction was underway, teams comprising both human scientists, accompanied by security, and fully automated units were dispatched.

Regrettably, communication grew increasingly unreliable the further one ventured from the origin point. It was not surprising, given that many communication devices rely on universal constants remaining, well, constant.

I could have elected to take risks, endangering costly resources and less costly human lives. But with the upcoming examination utilizing the palantír, I could afford a more frugal approach.

By will alone, I set myself in motion. Or rather, I moved the viewing area, traversing the extent of empty ruins, then the forests of never-born trees.

Life was absent. Aperture had harvested all nearby vines and hunted the mobile E.L.F.s until we could find no more. It was from the alien flesh of the E.L.F.s that we extracted our cure for AIDS. Even before they became rare, the demand was one we could barely meet.

That was our secondary objective - to discover where our source of all sorts of intriguing chemicals and organic compounds had gone.

We might have done what mankind often does - overhunting to near extinction.

But I hoped that wasn't the case.

The clouds seemed to be getting closer, but it wasn't me ascending; rather, they were descending. The sensation was akin to uphill walking. However, this wasn't elevation in a traditional sense, but an axis orthogonal to space-time—a shift away from Earth. I was convinced of this now and it justified my insistence on using the Seeing Stone. Such a shift could be deduced indirectly by a set of complex devices, the effects measured, but direct measurement was beyond our technology's grasp, at least for now. I, on the other hand, had an intuitive sense of it—a sense bestowed upon me during my cosmic game of chicken with the Root, the cornerstone of my Sorcery.

Two observations came into focus. Firstly, there was an increase in the remnants of lightning strikes, and the charred remains of the non-trees became more frequent. Secondly, the mirror image of Earth's fidelity sharply declined. While Mirror Hawkins was a perfect photographic copy of its real-world counterpart, this version was blurry and distorted. The roads no longer looked like concrete but some sort of dark stone, and the trees took on a slightly more alien shape.

My initial assessment was incorrect; this wasn't a gradual incline. The transition was too sudden, more reminiscent of a hyperbolic curve. And this behaviour was predicted by some of our models. Pondering on this, I couldn't help but visualize two parallel lines. One representing Earth, the other ostensibly Xen. Now, if one were to drag a point from the Earth line towards the Xen line until it almost touches, there are several potential trajectories. Yet, it seemed to trace a bell-like curve, echoing the natural patterns seen in Gaussian or standard distributions. A spontaneous similarity implying a universal principle at work here, perhaps?

An abrupt transition marked my arrival at the point where clouds met the ground. This abruptness arose from my ocular deception - what I had initially perceived as a distant horizon was, in fact, this wall of storm clouds.

I pressed on. The palantír could not penetrate beneath the ground, but atmospheric conditions such as clouds, smoke, or dust were not barriers to it. That was one reason I had chosen it over, for example, a telescope.

The previous trek felt akin to climbing uphill, but this part was like scaling a vertical cliff. Little more was observable than thick, dark clouds, punctuated by the occasional flash of silent red lightning. The palantír, after all, did not transmit sound.

The end was as sudden as the beginning. I emerged from the storm into an expanse of endless purple sky, accentuated by wispy clouds and floating islands.