08-05-2020, 05:02 PM
The next 5 days seemed to go by quickly and Marcus gave no thought to Ryker or what he was going through. There was far too much on his plate. While the Consulate on Channeler Affairs was its own autonomous entity, he still worked closely with Alexandrova and Leonid in the Propadanda and Media Affairs Consulates, respectively. For a few obvious reasons, of course. One being that public perception of channelers was still across the spectrum, ranging from terrified fear to worship. Neither of those were desirable, at least from the government's perspective. The Ascendancy should be viewed with something akin to religious awe. The Rods of Dominion should be regarded as his powerful representatives. And Vellas' teams, when deployed, should be seen as the trump card, the triumphant secret weapon to quell any dissent.
But the girl who worked in the flowershop, the college student taking his finals, even the Imam of a mosque or Father of a church needed to be seen as only human. The ability to channel did not confer upon a person the natural right to lead or have a say in governance, no more than mere physical strength did. That was the official position. Therefore, channelers need to be normalized, recognized as equal parts of society, protected and encouraged. But unless they were part of an arm of the CCD, appointed specifically to that role, they had no business leading groups of people. The memories of the insurrection in the DV or of Theo Andlain still was too fresh in their minds.
And thus, under his direction, Marcus' consulate had to thread the needle to achieve that balance. Propaganda and Media were critical. Already, a few programs and avenues were being discussed to introduce channelers to the world in a safe and humanizing form, for which they had high hopes.
Aside from that, he oversaw the various avenues of research that was going on. Despite their evening together, Marcus kept his relationship with Danika professional. A part of him felt a twinge of sadness at the thought. There had been something about her that tugged at him, reminded him of Elena. With her, he had almost felt...normal. Human. But he knew it was not to be. He wasn't normal, not by birth, by ability or by ambition. Women like Spectra were more his speed, simply because their relationship was more transactional. There was no illusion regarding emotion. It was mutually beneficial. And they played to each other's strengths. Still, Danika's work was impressive. She was currently on the trail of something, though she refused to divulge more until she had something more concrete. He trusted her. Whatever she was doing would be critical.
He tasked one of his aids to begin putting together a research program to determine how men and women used the power and what points of similarity and differences there were. That involved interviews along with a study of the wiki library of created weaves in his app. What seemed interesting was that how a man achieved something was completely different than how a woman did the exact same thing. Mostly. Everyone had their subtle variances. He had directed that analysis be done on the tau algebra equations of weaves that did the same things to distill them out to their simplest purest form, using the principle of homeomorphism from topology. He wondered if the male and female versions would show some sort of symmetry, and if so, what it looked like.
What excited him was the possibility of coming up with a way to convert from one expression to another, in the same way that the Reimann Zeta Function, a summation using integers, could be turned into in a product of only prime numbers, the Euler Product Formula. If there was a symmetry in the equations for how men and women used the power, then he might be able to find a similar mapping to convert one from the other. A weave made by a man could be "translated" into one a woman could use. This could vastly speed up training and information gathering, as men could even train women and vice versa. Just a dream, but one he liked.
Especially as, once again, all of it would flow through him. Ultimately, he would add all of that to his knowledge arsenal. He found it strange that, in a world where channelers abounded, Ascendancy saw no need to work at keeping ahead of those who might challenge him. Then again, as long as he had been ruling, there had been no challengers. No channelers, really, too. Not any to pose a threat. Channeling was fairly recent. Marcus supposed it was simply habit. When one is the only one with ability, and with your top level of strength, the idea of someone supplanting you doesn't occur to you.
Then, too, the Atharim, particularly their Regus, kept The Ascendancy's focus so that he never considered the threat in his bosom. All the better for Marcus, though, as he quietly acquired power to himself. One day, he would be ready to strike.
Aside from all that, there was also the folding of Domovoi into his Consulate: meeting with Chief Inspector Drayson and discussing goals and procedure of the task force- the "Monster Squad" as they called it. Nox Durante had been conscripted as a consultant. His experience and knowledge as a former Atharim would help Domovoi in their handling of these new types of cases.
Between all that, when next Marcus had set foot inside Butryka it was because it showed up on his schedule. Ryker had not crossed his mind during the intervening days. That morning, he reviewed Ryker's file again. Nothing new occurred to him. Everything really depended on Ryker. How malleable he would prove to be.
He passed through the gates of Butryka, noticing once again the distinct odor of the place. It was interesting how despair and hopelessness could have a scent. The other thing that did stand out to him was the way the guards spoke to him. While before they had been prompt and respectful, given his position both as Consul and as a representative of the Ascendancy, there was a certain...arrogance in the way they walked and spoke. He understood. He had been perceived as a bureaucrat, a paper pushing sycophant. Most of them had no idea what being a Consul entailed, and just assumed he had kissed the requisite ass for an appropriate amount of time. Especially for a man not more than 24 years old.
This time, though, the salute was not perfunctory, the respect not feigned, and the subservience completely real. He smiled to himself. Apparently, word had spread regarding his Force choke. It was a good tool to have on hand as it definitely had an effect. The guard he'd spoken to nearly fell over himself describing how they had carried out his orders. He almost felt sorry for Ryker. Well, not really. In truth, it was rather amusing. The man would be drifting off only to have a bucket of ice water thrown on him. He knew from experience how shocking and disconcerting that was- and the Van Pattons hadn't even been trying to keep his eight year old self awake.
He did smile at hearing that the guard had been enterprising, putting Ryker in a cell with little insulation. During the late afternoons it was brutally hot. During that time, the cold water roused him and could be considered refreshing- a treat, almost, except for the prevention of sleep. But at night, it was another story. The minutes and hours would tick by, he could imagine, the drowsiness creeping up on him, especially after a long day of moving rocks from one pile to another. Another nice example of ingenuity on the part of the guards. Work him all day at hard but useless labor, stick him in a warm cell for the rest of the day, douse him with ice water at the first sign of sleep. Keep him up all night. Rinse and repeat.
He would speak to the man's superior at some point- after talking to Ryker. No point in rewarding the man if it didn't produce any results.
He waited patiently in the interrogation room, hands folded together on the steel table, meditating. It would not do to show any amusement or pleasure at Ryker's appearance. In truth, the hearing of his experiences of the past week had threaded a feeling of electric pleasure in Marcus. He found himself smiling at imagining the man and his suffering. He didn't question it or wonder where it came from. Not anymore. He was Marcus and Malik in one. And no feelings were wrong. They just were.
So he meditated, making sure his pleasure at the man's state would not show. But he made a mental note to set a reminder each evening to touch base with the guard. Find out how the man was doing. The feeling was...powerful. And he wanted to feed it.
At last shuffling steps and the clink of metal chains echoed in the distance. Despite his resolve, he smiled, then kept it. To be the overly friendly questioner. On a whim, he decided that he'd have something special brought to the man, some treat that he would associate with Marcus' visits.
A pet needed to learn to look forward to seeing his master, after all.
But the girl who worked in the flowershop, the college student taking his finals, even the Imam of a mosque or Father of a church needed to be seen as only human. The ability to channel did not confer upon a person the natural right to lead or have a say in governance, no more than mere physical strength did. That was the official position. Therefore, channelers need to be normalized, recognized as equal parts of society, protected and encouraged. But unless they were part of an arm of the CCD, appointed specifically to that role, they had no business leading groups of people. The memories of the insurrection in the DV or of Theo Andlain still was too fresh in their minds.
And thus, under his direction, Marcus' consulate had to thread the needle to achieve that balance. Propaganda and Media were critical. Already, a few programs and avenues were being discussed to introduce channelers to the world in a safe and humanizing form, for which they had high hopes.
Aside from that, he oversaw the various avenues of research that was going on. Despite their evening together, Marcus kept his relationship with Danika professional. A part of him felt a twinge of sadness at the thought. There had been something about her that tugged at him, reminded him of Elena. With her, he had almost felt...normal. Human. But he knew it was not to be. He wasn't normal, not by birth, by ability or by ambition. Women like Spectra were more his speed, simply because their relationship was more transactional. There was no illusion regarding emotion. It was mutually beneficial. And they played to each other's strengths. Still, Danika's work was impressive. She was currently on the trail of something, though she refused to divulge more until she had something more concrete. He trusted her. Whatever she was doing would be critical.
He tasked one of his aids to begin putting together a research program to determine how men and women used the power and what points of similarity and differences there were. That involved interviews along with a study of the wiki library of created weaves in his app. What seemed interesting was that how a man achieved something was completely different than how a woman did the exact same thing. Mostly. Everyone had their subtle variances. He had directed that analysis be done on the tau algebra equations of weaves that did the same things to distill them out to their simplest purest form, using the principle of homeomorphism from topology. He wondered if the male and female versions would show some sort of symmetry, and if so, what it looked like.
What excited him was the possibility of coming up with a way to convert from one expression to another, in the same way that the Reimann Zeta Function, a summation using integers, could be turned into in a product of only prime numbers, the Euler Product Formula. If there was a symmetry in the equations for how men and women used the power, then he might be able to find a similar mapping to convert one from the other. A weave made by a man could be "translated" into one a woman could use. This could vastly speed up training and information gathering, as men could even train women and vice versa. Just a dream, but one he liked.
Especially as, once again, all of it would flow through him. Ultimately, he would add all of that to his knowledge arsenal. He found it strange that, in a world where channelers abounded, Ascendancy saw no need to work at keeping ahead of those who might challenge him. Then again, as long as he had been ruling, there had been no challengers. No channelers, really, too. Not any to pose a threat. Channeling was fairly recent. Marcus supposed it was simply habit. When one is the only one with ability, and with your top level of strength, the idea of someone supplanting you doesn't occur to you.
Then, too, the Atharim, particularly their Regus, kept The Ascendancy's focus so that he never considered the threat in his bosom. All the better for Marcus, though, as he quietly acquired power to himself. One day, he would be ready to strike.
Aside from all that, there was also the folding of Domovoi into his Consulate: meeting with Chief Inspector Drayson and discussing goals and procedure of the task force- the "Monster Squad" as they called it. Nox Durante had been conscripted as a consultant. His experience and knowledge as a former Atharim would help Domovoi in their handling of these new types of cases.
Between all that, when next Marcus had set foot inside Butryka it was because it showed up on his schedule. Ryker had not crossed his mind during the intervening days. That morning, he reviewed Ryker's file again. Nothing new occurred to him. Everything really depended on Ryker. How malleable he would prove to be.
He passed through the gates of Butryka, noticing once again the distinct odor of the place. It was interesting how despair and hopelessness could have a scent. The other thing that did stand out to him was the way the guards spoke to him. While before they had been prompt and respectful, given his position both as Consul and as a representative of the Ascendancy, there was a certain...arrogance in the way they walked and spoke. He understood. He had been perceived as a bureaucrat, a paper pushing sycophant. Most of them had no idea what being a Consul entailed, and just assumed he had kissed the requisite ass for an appropriate amount of time. Especially for a man not more than 24 years old.
This time, though, the salute was not perfunctory, the respect not feigned, and the subservience completely real. He smiled to himself. Apparently, word had spread regarding his Force choke. It was a good tool to have on hand as it definitely had an effect. The guard he'd spoken to nearly fell over himself describing how they had carried out his orders. He almost felt sorry for Ryker. Well, not really. In truth, it was rather amusing. The man would be drifting off only to have a bucket of ice water thrown on him. He knew from experience how shocking and disconcerting that was- and the Van Pattons hadn't even been trying to keep his eight year old self awake.
He did smile at hearing that the guard had been enterprising, putting Ryker in a cell with little insulation. During the late afternoons it was brutally hot. During that time, the cold water roused him and could be considered refreshing- a treat, almost, except for the prevention of sleep. But at night, it was another story. The minutes and hours would tick by, he could imagine, the drowsiness creeping up on him, especially after a long day of moving rocks from one pile to another. Another nice example of ingenuity on the part of the guards. Work him all day at hard but useless labor, stick him in a warm cell for the rest of the day, douse him with ice water at the first sign of sleep. Keep him up all night. Rinse and repeat.
He would speak to the man's superior at some point- after talking to Ryker. No point in rewarding the man if it didn't produce any results.
He waited patiently in the interrogation room, hands folded together on the steel table, meditating. It would not do to show any amusement or pleasure at Ryker's appearance. In truth, the hearing of his experiences of the past week had threaded a feeling of electric pleasure in Marcus. He found himself smiling at imagining the man and his suffering. He didn't question it or wonder where it came from. Not anymore. He was Marcus and Malik in one. And no feelings were wrong. They just were.
So he meditated, making sure his pleasure at the man's state would not show. But he made a mental note to set a reminder each evening to touch base with the guard. Find out how the man was doing. The feeling was...powerful. And he wanted to feed it.
At last shuffling steps and the clink of metal chains echoed in the distance. Despite his resolve, he smiled, then kept it. To be the overly friendly questioner. On a whim, he decided that he'd have something special brought to the man, some treat that he would associate with Marcus' visits.
A pet needed to learn to look forward to seeing his master, after all.