As superpowers struggle for supremacy, Dr. Peter Thornton continues his lonely battle with his gift of healing. Eventually, he enters a realm where only gods dare to tread. The novel is as much an international thriller as an exploration of the Ultimate Human Potential.
Montreal, Canada, March 25, 2008. INHOUSEPRESS presents another page-turner: Elohim — Masters and Minions, visionary fiction, sequel to One Just Man. Both books are now available from all major online distributors, including Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk., Barns and Noble, Froogle, AurthorsDen, Chapters.indigo.ca or directly from INHOUSEPRESS.
Even as the world takes gigantic steps in the fields of genetics, artificial intelligence and nanotechnology, Peter Thornton, the hapless hero of One Just Man, drifts further and further away from mundane reality. Yet, in spite of himself, he is drawn into the machinations of Solidarity International, the Sino-Indian Block and the American Coalition, competing for world domination.
Dejected though involved, he continues to drift into an intangible world where, to his amazement, he is joined by his love, Dr. Cathy Mondellay, who is equally as committed to the mystery of the elusive black holes.
In true Stan Law style, this book is both a bold exploration of human potential and an international thriller. As an added bonus, Peter shows us the way to join him in the realm of man's ultimate destiny.
Action takes place in Montreal, Washington, Switzerland, the Vatican and a realm that is as tiny as it is infinite.
Excerpt
The Prologue
"Beyond the God Particle is revealed a world of splendid, blinding beauty, but one to which our mind's eye will adapt."
Leon Lederman
Recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physics 1988
He wrote, ‘Call me Ishmael.’ And with those three words Melville set his quill on a fragment of immortality. It was easy for Herman. Not so for me. I have no name. Call me Nobody? A Nomad? Or even Petrus Latter? Or Lazarus? Some might remember the body I wore as having belonged to a man named Peter, the original name I carried from my baptism to the day when my hands became blessed with the power of healing. Not I, please note, my friends, just my hands. I was cursed. My medical career destroyed. My future...?
People will tell you that anyone who has the gift of healing realizes that it is a spiritual phenomenon. That it is not the hands, but the power that flows through them. Not so, my friends. I felt no power. No transfer of spirit, no flow of energy, no sense of elation. Nothing. No spiritual phenomena of any sort. Just my hands. Cool, listless, virtually unwilling, they were the instruments of an agency that chose to remain beyond my senses, beyond my understanding.
Even in Rome I couldn’t . . . but that comes later in the story.
Believe me. I had nothing to do with the effect my hands had when they came in contact with people. Whatever took place was not the result of my will, nor even the consequence of my medical knowledge or the skills acquired at great effort and sacrifice over many years. Yes. In those early days I had been known as Dr. Peter Thornton, FRCSP, a fresh inductee to the society of the Fellowship of the Royal College of Surgeons and Physicians.
Somewhere in the hoary past. Another time, another life-time.
Now? Now I am once more Nobody. I’ve spent considerable effort trying to maintain my anonymity. Sometimes successfully. At other times... Three times I’ve left my lair. Three times I’d been accosted.
Then came the separation from the world. I crawled into a hole and pulled the covers over me. I died. In every sense but physically. We all do at times only few of us realize it. Even fewer of us ever come back to life.
“When did it all start?” I asked Smith, in the hope of catching him off-guard.
For a while Winston continued to arrange crystal glasses, upside down, in a stainless-steel cradle suspended from the ceiling on long rods. It seemed to absorb all his attention. When he stopped he faced me with a vaguely amused smile. A funny smile that was hardly visible, yet lightened his deeply lined face.
“About twelve billion years ago, some say further back, Sir,” he said, slowly stressing every word. “About the time Elohim created the world,” his eyes smiled, but his face remained serious. “From that moment on, we were each given a choice, to be gods or minions.”
At the time I took it as a turn of phrase. It never crossed my mind to take his words literally.
“To put it in a different way,” Winston continued, apparently changing the subject, “when matter came into contact with antimatter . . . or really separated. When the conversion of energy into matter was of such magnitude, well… scientists these days call it the Big Bang. We, you and I, are one half of that explosion. The other half remains locked in the hearts of the countless black holes. None had existed before the world came into being. When the two were still one there was only one reality—omnipresent, single, without differentiation. A Single Soul, not individualized. To this day, some people call it God.”
So much for catching Winston Smith off-guard.
According to Smith, it was then, in that evanescent instant, that I was born, even as we all were, into a reality of contrasts, of black and white, of hot and cold, and of good and evil. Into the world we all live in. At least we think we do. The world of illusion, of Maya. The world we all perceive as real.
cont…
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