[Rogue Angel 02] - Solomon's Jar by Alex Archer

Author:Alex Archer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 2006-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

"It's hard for most Westerners to think of 'nothing' as a positive thing – the ultimate creative force," Mark Peter Stern said, gazing out the porthole of the compartment he used as his office. Outside the sky was an almost painful blue. Cloudless. "Yet it is. From primal nothing, which is really no-thing, derives that which is without limits. And from there – light. Limitless light."

He turned. "From there derives our human potential, Ms. Creed. We are sprung from the light, and we know no limits. If only we let ourselves see."

The office, while spacious, was surprisingly spare in furnishings. There was dark-stained oak paneling to sternum height, cream-painted bulkheads above, a large desk with a globe and a computer on it, a rendering of the Tree of Life behind it. Given Stern's notorious love affair with the camera, Annja was surprised to find no photographs at all in evidence.

Sitting on a tubular-steel-and-black-leather chair that was far more comfortable than it looked, Annja let herself smile tentatively. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Dr. Stern."

He laughed, smiled, waved a hand. "Please forgive me. I have a tendency to preach. I have so much to share with a human race that needs the truth so badly." He shook his head. "I'm sure your viewers would prefer to be spared the proselytization. Or your producers at any rate."

Thinking of boy-wonder producer Doug Morrell, who held the world's "my eyes glaze over" land-speed record, she said, "That's for sure."

She tried to remember to keep her knees closed tight. She didn't want any embarrassing moments.

Unlike her famous predecessor she was no virgin. Nor did she think of herself as a prude. But she was using her sexuality as a dodge here, as bait, and it made her feel cheap.

"You're known for your financing of archaeological researches and expeditions," Annja said.

Stern smiled. He was a handsome man who looked much younger than his forty-one years, with open features, green eyes, a shock of straw-colored hair. Indeed in person he seemed more compelling. The camera, no matter how artfully plied, could not capture the full impact of his personality.

He wore a light tan suit, cream shirt, black-and-gold silk tie. All impeccably tailored, of course; renunciation of worldly things wasn't part of his teachings – exactly. As near as Annja could tell from visiting the Malkuth Foundation's Web site, Stern's conception was that materialism was something humans had to get out of their systems before advancing upward along the spiritual path, rather like a childhood sweet tooth or adolescent acne. She wasn't clear, really.

"If you're interested, I'm always open to proposals for new digs," he said.

She smiled back. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Mark."

"Mark. Thank you. But right now I'm most interested in exploring possibilities for doing a show."

"I hope I'm not considered one of history's monsters," he said with an engaging grin. "Other than by some of my detractors, of course."

Annja laughed. She didn't have to force it. He was unquestionably likable. And something more. She remembered that the men

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