The Justiceers - Part Six: Chapter Eight
the next chapter in my forthcoming novel
The Justiceers
by Daphne Garrido
Part Three: The Will to Choose
Part Four: Prefinished Business
Part Six: Death Rides a Horse
6.8
The visage known as Miriam Lightfoot III was within that very chamber, deep inside Grammaton, where the devil had made its way into the vortex of conscious energy encompassing the entire planet. She couldn’t believe this was real, even actually looking at it, but it most certainly was. These people had torn the guts from an innermost sanctum within the deepest layers of this planet’s crust, a chamber of diffuse and reflective heart-light thrown from the natural growths of crystalline fungi which acted most suspiciously like the mirrors still standing above Oliath at this point, working in very much the same way, dispersing shimmer-less glow throughout this underground, cleansing the silver heart-light of its lethal properties. Miriam recognized quite apparently how it was the loudest and most constant expression of the planet’s humming vibrations she’d ever heard.
Buildings of man’s making, such callously placed boxes of disgusting practicality, they dug into the floors and walls of this sacred chamber, boreholes from all directions connected to a centralmost and cylindrical device by tubes feeding inward. Its semi-spherical dome-cap was pockmarked by these menacingly wide-gauged conduits.
What it all did, how things worked, the purpose this was used for — she could only guess, but her heart knew the most import thing, it was blasphemous to nature and must be put to an end — it didn’t matter how, she would give this space back to the planet by any means she’d find herself capable, and the consequences of what came from it would simply have to be.
The primary and secondary visage joined her, pulling themselves back from the discovery session which they’d been bravely undertaking together, transporting themselves in blind leaps through the planet, sometimes embedding most fully in its rock, or to appear in free-fall towards the source of Grammaton’s heart-light.
Nothing could truly kill a visage, and one of the first skills ever learned in the development of their propagation and manipulation was in turning off pain, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t get freaked out. Ever still, this was Miriam Lightfoot, and she had less fear within her than any one person on the surface above. Which just so happened to include Miriam Halafax and Arthur Katrinus by this point, circling the city of Oliath for some time before, having just landed quite near the city’s central plaza.
Together with her sister visages, combing through logs and receiving analysis from the data-scrapes sent back for processing by Miriam’s sub-AI interface at home-base within the tunnels beneath Oliath, the purpose of this place was finally coming together.
The tubing led to tunnels carving through the planet, those not of man, but quite natural indeed, containing great sheets of organic material which were possessed by the flowing light of Grammaton’s heart; they sang its hum.
This sound was that of perfection, a vibration of purest love and harmony, which was being channeled into this chamber, along with her light, to exploit for unlimited energies which had been reserved only for the ever-expanding shadow civilization growing beneath the surface.
Grammaton itself steered Miriam here through its gentlest guiding, a right reserved for her alone, the one who’d gone through so much already, steeping herself in trust of her wisdoms. It told quite plainly through its means to do so, within her mind, manifesting through her own inner-dialogue, yet driven by that same divine creation which would be channeled in her writing.
Its song had been made wrong by destruction wrought at the hands of men, her harmony off because of the many explorations and excavations of these sacred tunnels throughout her great body, and it was ruining everything.
Receptions created in the blankest space of Miriam’s mind, were known to be led by something beyond herself, so far from what she might’ve imagined in the first place. Never did Miriam truly hear voices, or even think she had, except for a couple days around that recently passed nexus point, and during a stint long ago abusing a ruthless plant-medicine most surely still kicking around within her. That one was a tricky little bitch.
Yet, she knew to trust her creativity as a channel, and had reserved enough space in her mind which was free of anxiety for these flowings to pour effortlessly into that space. Though, they would often trigger those very same anxieties, and the mind so built off years of trauma would take the wheel. Still, recentered, allowing herself to repeat the process, is when she’d develop the means to tell the difference from ego and pure interpretations of divine intuition.
Regardless of how it worked, her guidance had led her as always, and Miriam was about to end this monstrosity, perhaps, triggering the beginning of something a bit more profound.
Sabotage was in order, a simple pleasure amongst the ongoing horrors, and there wasn’t a single thing Miriam Lightfoot would ever find herself more apt to complete. Fucking shit up was simply her bag. The three visages found themselves most at home in this space beneath the earth, a part of their soul comforted by the embrace of a celestial consciousness so near, allowing herself to release all ego into the flowing intelligence of her mother itself.
She knew things far beyond time, space, and previously realized thought within this system, planet, and entire civilization amongst the stars, but was still very much the same woman in moments of peaceful presence. Yet, she was hidden here, despite all efforts to sneak wisdoms gifted from her mother into the data-link of The Periphery, nothing broke through. It was as if she was known by evil itself, that very same corrupting the device installed at the high-court, her potentiality calculated in some way, marked as an offender of the old order, blackwalled from breaking though to people.
Miriam Halafax herself had struggled mightily through the cycles to find favor by any algorithms of the many applications used both for in-system, and quantum entangled communications among The Periphery’s populace.
A part of her had always know something out there wanted her silenced, believing for the longest time it was simply her world of origin, bad luck, or another of the many displeasures born from the fact she was a woman in a male body, even that she’d not met superficial beauty standards to a high enough degree. Yet, even her artistic creations so devoid from all of that, which she knew the value in herself, were dismissed by all throughout her cycles creating. That was except, of course, in all but one arena; that of sharing and healing with others through the exploration of spirituality.
Those fuckers weren’t infected with evil, and that was the thing. Intention also mattered greatly in any endeavor, how you orient your personal purpose of will most important, those working from ego to always find themselves less capable at any task. That is, except for tasks which brought success in the upside-down worlds created by mankind so lost from spirit. The opposite was true for those.
The structures in place around The Periphery, all of the unseen shadow which went unchecked so long and steered their ways, was rearing its ugly little head here in Yemi. People were hooked to this corrupting energy of Admanium’s unnamable inverse, one of purest self-serving intents, and able to bore itself into any technology or civilizational structure made by the same.
Out of it all, every last piece of soul-corrupting, lie-instilling, spirit-separating distraction — along with everything hidden from society and done in the shadows, including darkest magic by those so possessed by the forces of evil — it was this abomination, within this chamber, where Miriam Lightfoot’s visages now found themselves, which was the worst thing humanity had ever done.
Heart had spoken it plainly; it was time. Her visages prepared meticulously, and there was only now a switch to be triggered. The blasting cell was found in a locked security closet which had been no hassle for Miriam to blink through and retrieve. With all fuel lines cut, the rotor—mechanism twirling its gyroscopic core at speeds far beyond maximum, and the blast cell snuggled up tightly beside panel they’d sawed opened at the forefront of the device.
It was Miriam’s turn to choose.
With less hesitation than anyone of lesser confidence might’ve employed, she’d sent that execute command, flipping the proverbial switch, and bringing home the greatest trophy of trustful bravery any human being would receive from Grammaton. She saved a future here for so many, along with Arthur and Miriam. If, by chance, also killing a couple hundred thousand people, and letting the Cryptoids loose, igniting the evolution of Grammaton, and allowing it to shed its outer skin to finally realize the God which had been hidden inside.
Miriam Lightfoot had been the true savior of this planet all along.
