Conversations from Kobos: Part I
By: Bean Delphiki
Edited by: Henry Emerson
Edited by: Henry Emerson
[FuckBoats1234: Ok bitches, what’s up? I was busy.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Busy exercising your right arm or your left?]
[FuckBoats1234: Both. Unlike you 2nd String simpletons, I have the cognitive capability to focus on intoxication and pleasure at the same time. Who’s online?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Just about everybody.]
[FuckBoats1234: Really? Why so little activity?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Everybody is watching a Death Game.]
[FuckBoats1234: That old fad?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Yeah, there’s a kid from string-5 who’s still going. Level 2012.]
[FuckBoats1234: Trying to push for the record?]
[That’s not the record, he already surpassed the record]
[FuckBoats1234: Wow, everybody is online, huh?]
[DontCallMeAbram: I tried to warn you.]
[FuckBoats1234: A 5th Stringer pushing for the record? What’s he doing right or wrong?
[DontCallMeAbram: Competent handling of resources, moderate control of industry, pretty good logic and problem solving skills…]
[FuckBoats1234: Sounds like a run of the mill slouch.]
[DontCallMeAbram: …and a completely savage fighter, but unwilling somehow. He fights like a fucking 5th stringer alright, but I don’t think that he wants to.]
[FuckBoats1234: Mmmhmm…so he didn‘t find the same glitch as the last gentleman…]
[DontCallMeAbram: Yeah, and we can’t shake him…he doesn‘t get caught in that aggressive mind-loop that got the rest of us off-balance around level 1450. He’s not trying to win, just to survive and prosper… He’s not quick to expand, but god help you if you try to make him shrink.]
[FuckBoats1234: Not all of us got devils in our eyes at level 1450…]
[DontCallMeAbram: Sorry sir, I meant the ones who got past level 3.]
[FuckBoats1234: …Naturally.]
[FuckBoats1234: Born on a 5th String…shit. I know it happens all the time, but seriously, that has to suck something fierce. How did a 5th Stringer even end up playing the game, they don’t have any Soldiers down there.]
[DontCallMeAbram: …programming glitch. He was killed protecting his mother.]
[FuckBoats1234: Morality on String-5?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Something like that. The residual vibrations almost read like rebellion]
[FuckBoats1234: Rebellion? What could a 5th stringer rebel against?
[DontCallMeAbram: String-5...apparently.]
[FuckBoats1234: I like him already. How’d he even know it was his mother?]
[DontCallMeAbram: We’re not sure he did.]
[FuckBoats1234: Well shit.]
[FuckBoats1234: Why is he doing that there?]
[DontCallMeAbram: What?]
[FuckBoats1234: …not taking that city.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Which one?]
[FuckBoats1234: The one right there on the coast. He’s going to get rolled up if he doesn’t start building a fleet in that body of water.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Oh that one…he won’t attack that one.]
[FuckBoats1234: Why the hell not? He needs it. And they’re at war with him.]
[DontCallMeAbram: They were his first allies at the very beginning. He never attacks them. Half the time, he doesn’t even finish off wounded units when they send in a war party.]
[FuckBoats1234: Jesus dude…]
[DontCallMeAbram: I know.]
[FuckBoats1234: So, you found a fighter with morality and without ambition, and who apparently believes that computer simulation icons are real people. An odd pull to say the least, and I’d be interested…if I wasn‘t RETIRED. What does this have to do with my evening?]
[DontCallMeAbram: I don’t know Gramps.]
[FuckBoats1234: But you just asked me to sign on…?]
[DontCallMeAbram: No I didn’t]
[FuckBoats1234: Yes you did. I just got a message from you saying that I had to sign to talk abou-. Oh motherfucking shit.]
[Wrap up the simulation. I’m bringing the kid to String-2. Noah, you’re coming too.]
[FuckBoats1234: goddammit.]
<FuckBoats1234 has signed off>
[DontCallMeAbram: You bring a 5th Stringer straight here, and they’re going to be curious.]
[Yeah, but it could never work. They’ll lose interest.]
[DontCallMeAbram: It will never work. It smacks of desperation and it’s sloppy. And they’re not sloppy; they’ll stay interested even if they don’t want to be.]
[Your reservations are noted Colonel, but this is the one I want. He’s the best we’ve seen and we’re running out of time. Where’s your faith anyways?]
[Your reservations are noted Colonel, but this is the one I want. He’s the best we’ve seen and we’re running out of time. Where’s your faith anyways?]
[DontCallMeAbram: I left my faith on the ledge when I found out that the assholes of the universe were holding all the cards.]
[They’re not assholes. They just have a different point of view. And we have a few cards. We just have to keep them up our sleeves for the time being.]
[DontCallMeAbram: And so what if this kid plays the game well. We’re going to count on him to work the flank?]
[He hasn’t been offered, nor has he chosen to take the slot yet. He’s getting a free ride to String-2 for beating the record. That is the only logic that you should allow yourself to think or to communicate to outside team members regarding my decision. And that is the only truth. Don’t allow yourself to obsess over the future. I’ve got too much work for you right now. Have faith. If I lose your faith I’ve lost everything. Plus I like this kid, we’ll see how he grows up...]
[DontCallMeAbram: Hey, we’re doing something about the mother, correct?]
[Good thinking. Can you take care of her?]
[DontCallMeAbram: I have a friend who can look after her.]
[Secure?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Secure for a 3rd-string planet. Good sized army, nice civilization too.]
[Thank you. Contact David if you need any additional assets or intelligence.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Good evening sir, can you do me a favor?]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: Anything, how can I be of service?]
[DontCallMeAbram: I’ve got a lady from String-5 who needs a quiet place to grow up?]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: String-5? Geez man, she’s going to come out kicking and screaming.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Big favor. And we need to keep her out of the spotlight.]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: I thought that you owed me a favor.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Make it two.]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: One of my granddaughters is probably patient enough for a 5th Stringer. Hold on a sec…]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: Yeah, she’ll take the challenge.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Thank you old friend.]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: …And you’re sure that this isn’t your wife?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Yes.]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: …Positive?]
[LOL]
[DontCallMeAbram: Oh goddammit. Grow the fuck up dude.]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: Me?]
[DontCallMeAbram: No not you. Him. I’ve apparently got a damned omnipotent 12-year-old girl for a boss.]
[DontCallMeAbram: Thank you for the hospitality.]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: What else is there to hold onto but hospitality?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Wise as ever. Thanks again, my staff will get to work on the details.]
<Best.Pr-aa.Ever has signed off>
<DontCallMeAbram has signed off>
***
As with most of my problems in my life, this one started when I decided to write my ideas down. Around here, as with most spots in the universe, your thoughts are not private but there’s a code in the law that turns military reconnaissance into actionable intelligence when thoughts are written for the external world. At the time, I was not yet made aware of this little legal wrinkle. What I’m trying to say is that this act of writing wasn’t some sort of cry for help. I do not cry or ask for help.
So here’s the letter:
“Dear Fuck-holes,
I apologize for not liking you.
I apologize for not readjusting after my last deployment and falling back in line like a good citizen. I had good reason.
I can’t look Soldiers in the eye anymore. I can’t handle an artistic argument. I can’t play music. I’ve lost all my friends.
I apologize for hating the universe that I fought to protect.
But fuck you and your fucking Proving Ground of an existence. I don’t care where I go after this life, so I’ve decided to go to Nowhere.
As anybody walking behind me can clearly tell, my vibrations are all fucked. My mind and ego are beginning to consume my soul. Of course you all have developed training, classy retreats, and other remedies for this problem…but fuck you. It’s best for all of you if I leave this way. Trust me, I’ve considered the alternative and you won’t like it. If my mind wants my soul, it can have it. I have no good plans for it.
I’m sorry Dijah, I pray you know that these complaints don’t include you. But if we continue together, you will not be able to escape the hole that I’m reaching towards. So I must do this quickly and alone. Please forgive me.
Kindest Regards,
Me”
As I formed the blade, there was a knock at the door. Which was rather unexpected, since nobody knocks on doors in this unoverse.
***
You know what, I really should start earlier in the story, or this thing is going to be completely taken out of context and made into some grand romantic statement...
After I died the first time, I was born into this unoverse. This continuation of life was slightly unexpected because, “huh?” The first world seemed so complete, continuous, and finite; there really didn’t seem to be room for so much more…but after you see the whole picture once, it’s pretty clear.
I was placed in the care of a long lost relative. Typically, you are born here to the people who were your previous parents (or children, depending on who died first). Often, you are born to relatives if your parents didn’t move-on along the same vector that you did (i.e. your parents were assholes and dropped down a level...it happens). I was somewhat of an odder specimen, in that I was born to a fucking cabbage patch, and my nearest relative here was 630 generations removed, a man, and a bit of a drunk.
It was probably good that I was born in a cabbage patch. When I first got here, I tried to kill everything around me for about 2 days. Then my uncle came and explained to be why I didn’t have to, while his dogs kept me at a safe distance.
My first life was in a String-5 unoverse. Not a lot of beings pass on positively after a life in a String-5 unoverse. Just a string-5 repeat, instead of a slip to String-6 is usually viewed as an accomplishment. Add to that the fact that this time I was born into a String-2 unoverse, and there just aren’t a lot of relatives around.
You see, people typically move up-or-down sequentially after each death, it’s a rare and special occasion when someone skips a step (…upward. jumping a step downward sucks pretty hard, I’ve heard). I, however, skipped 2 steps upward. Which is a little more odd, if “more odd” is the best way to say that I’m one of the only people it’s ever happened to.
So growing up, I was a bit of a curiosity, but my uncle gave me some level of normalcy and kept the media at bay. He wasn’t any sort of crusader on my behalf…he just had a few old drinking buddies from the service who were allowed on the property and everybody else was shot (you can’t kill anybody with a bullet around here, but it still hurts like shit if you’re not completely ready and focused). If you didn’t get the hint, he had the dogs. If you still didn’t get the hint he had the tigers.
Since this was my second time around, I reached cognitive maturity in about 5 years (after that, growing up the 2nd time is mostly just learning language, motor skills, and self-restraint in a world where your will has MANY more capabilities to influence the world around you than you were previously used to).
In the neighborhood, there were a bunch of other kids, which was nice. Mostly second-lifers from string-3, but also a couple of third-lifers who started at string-4. The string-4 kids would pick a lot of fights, always trying to show how tough they were, and posturing that nobody from string-3 understood real hardship. This was important to us kids, because there was rarely any true hardship around here to test oneself against.
If you were hungry you just absorbed nutrients straight from the air, but you could also go to a restaurant. If you wanted an object, you reassembled the particles in the environment (this took a little more practice). If you wanted to get somewhere, you either opened a worm-hole (lots of practice) or you just ran or flew so fast that travel was almost instantaneous as you pulled the world back instead of pulling yourself forward.
People from String-5 are not completely unheard of in this world, but we are rare, and most have lived at least 2 lives since passing on from there. I haven’t met anybody who will really talk about the old ways with me, so in a lot of ways that life has never been resolved and feels disconnected from me…as opposed to the “continuum” that most people speak of.
The kids in the neighborhood were friendly, but guarded. We played a lot of sports and followed our favorite big league teams, but the kids always seemed afraid to talk about anything deeper. I think the String-5 thing must have intimidated them, or made them feel superior to me. But don’t get me wrong. They were all great, great people and true friends. I’d give anything to live those days again.
There was also this one poor kid in the neighborhood with 3 strikes against him. 1) His mother had passed away during childbirth. 2) This was his first life. 3) His father was a 5-star General.
1) Losing your mother just fucking sucks.
2) Being a 1st lifer in a world where most of your peers were senior citizens at least once before makes making friends a little bit odd. Few people want to play Go-Fish at the beginning of their second or third life (or 84th life for that matter).
3) A father who is a general is a very, very big deal on string-2.
You see String-1 is the top universe, kings and queens of the castle. Heaven’s heaven as they say. And around here, you’re a big swinging dick if you have a pen pal in String-1. Motherfucker’s dad has a staff on String-1.
The General’s son was a pretty cool guy though. He was in the same school as me even though he was older, as this was his first life and my second. I would play with him sometimes (…while hitting on his sister). He never seemed to get angry or express any negative emotion in general. And when I say “he never seemed to”, I mean that he never did (well, there was this one time around 3rd grade when I went over to kick the soccer ball around, and when I got to the front portal it flew open and he ran out screaming “Fuck you dad!” But that was the only time…ever.).
(I remember that day. I followed him out to the woods, and we walked in silence for a while, which was very odd for him. Then I built us a big fortress and we dared the neighborhood kids to get us out. They couldn’t)
He would play a part in the first time my words got the best of me…
[DontCallMeAbram: …and the second time]
[Abe, would please stop clogging up the nets with your little quips?]
[DontCallMeAbram: Yes Sir!]
[Fuck you.]
[DontCallMeAbram: I thought you were going to focus more on mission orders and less on tactical orders?]
[Consider it a mission.]
Living in a higher unoverse feels great. Food is easier to acquire. Material resources are easier to manipulate. Diseases are less severe and you have more control over them. But there are certain problems of existence which fall beyond food, resources, and disease. This is why we still have law to preserve order…and a military to preserve law.
Each string-unoverse is different. There are a set number of building blocks to the universe and depending on what string you’re resonating at, these particles are either turned-on or turned-off. With a few exceptions, the closer you are to String-1, the more particles are turned on…such that the physical world gets more complex, with richer possibilities. Species (or “customizable life sacks”, as my uncle used to say) evolve based on these possibilities.
Unoverses and their inhabitant can interact (and species evolve based on these possibilities) since they all use the same particles. A unoverse with a more fundamental resonance will constantly spawn lower order unoverses unless somebody does something to take care of the flux (which they have. …but people still hack their way around system). There’s only one String-1 unoverse and that’s a physical law, not a people law. There’s supposedly only one String-2 unoverse right now (that’s a people law), but who can be sure anymore?
In String-5 where I came from, there were no inert mineral resources. There were no particles which could hold onto energy. Only the organization and patterns created by life could capture a potential. All organic material was alive until it was passed to another living thing. That’s the major physical characteristic of String-5, but there are other little quirks too. On String-5, you weren’t fighting over land or elements, you were fighting over life. You had to kill to live; everybody did, all the time. If you were eating something and it died, your food went away. The only time people weren’t killing someone else was when they were trying to kill you…there was nothing else to focus on (you’re not exactly going to pass on knowledge or infrastructure to the next savage motherfucker who comes along). Beings never got within striking distance of each other, unless striking was what they planned on doing. Rape was the only way that kids were made (…I have no children). I remember 3 basic states of mind from my past life: blood-lust, fear, and suffering (I have some loving feelings towards my mother, but I can’t seem to pin them to any memory). All those negative emotions which plague other unoverses: jealousy, betrayal, hatred …were so foreign to me when I arrived here that I needed remedial classes at school. Luckily the blood-lust from before is easy to shake, as it’s just a mental routine that doesn’t really resonate in the brain of my current species. Suffering and fear are mental routines that seem to exist wherever there are mental routines.
So anyways.
I lived a pretty normal life. Played sports with my friends, played drums in a band called Whiskey Biscuit. I found my niche as a physics student & professor, and I also dabbled in political science. The neighborhood was great, I never moved out of my uncle’s house. There were always parties and food and good times (the General’s house was the oddball…he installed a flux capacitor on the roof, which removes the ability of String-2 beings to manipulate matter. All the food had to be grown or assembled by hand. You had to walk from point A to point B at biomechanical pace. From a String-5 perspective it was still a damn comfortable existence, but the neighborhood kids always made jokes about “the ruins”. However, for one month a year, he’d decouple the capacitor and throw a party on the first and last night…those were the parties that everyone talked about all year long).
Life was good, I even decided to give back and join the military. Military service at the time consisted of fixing problems in lower worlds.
…Some String-3 kid would hack out his own String-4 unoverse, and install himself as god (girls did this too, although not nearly as often; hermaphrodites never seemed to do it). Using superior abilities to control and impress the natives he would set about doing whatever the fuck he felt like. The natives were either made as bots (perverted bots usually), or, for the more sophisticated asshole, souls were harvested during their transit between worlds. Sometimes these splinter worlds were made with the best of intentions, but whether you start out evil or not, everybody ends up “going rogue” as they call it. You see, there’s nothing that 4th Stringers can do to dismiss or reduce or challenge the power of a 3rd Stringer, so his mind just grows and grows without any checks. And while he may want to create a utopian society, what his mind really wants to do is to not die (loss of power/influence registers as death to the mind). The mind eventually takes over, eliminating the host…him. He goes mad, and everything turns into a big damn mess in a hurry.
Getting rid of the hacker (or what’s left of him, depending on how fast we get there) is pretty straight forward. But the new world now has hundreds if not thousands of inhabitants. You can offer them a better path, but political structures are going to form and people aren’t going to want to give those up, especially if they are profiting from the suffering of others. The worst cases are those people who are more-or-less damned (you can read the individual’s vibrations and determine prior to death, with some certainty, if a soul is on a natural trajectory upwards or downwards). They’ll fight to the end and convince others to fight alongside them.
That’s where we would come in. They’d send the military in to sort everything out (explain the rules and kill everything that didn’t seem to understand). You can kill them, but you can’t end them, which is sort of frustrating…but giving an asshole a solid push on the old “reset button” has some measure of satisfaction at least.
Military service on lower worlds is like a personal moral quest. You can easily go in and kill everything without too much fuss and go home, but you don’t really want to. You want to get as many good people out as possible, which means getting up close and personal with the natives…which means putting yourself into harm’s way. We’d risk our lives for the benefit of others every day. The greatest beings I’ve ever met are those in uniform.
On the better days military service would make you feel like the best person who ever existed. On the bad days, you would resent the innocents for rejecting your “common sense” answer to the question of proper behavior, and for putting you and your friends in danger just because you and your friends happen to care about their fucking souls (of course, the civilians don’t get a vote in this mind-logic loop, but hey, I’m the one with the sword therefore my logic is more important (I know that’s a bullshit statement from a true-logic perspective, but fuck it…did I mention the sword?)).
You let your frustration and resentment get out of hand to where it turns into hate (or your “I’m super good in every way” emotions, for that matter), and bad things happen…to you. Soldiers can lose control of their minds, and sometimes do. There’s a large portion of the organization dedicated to preventing that, but it still happens.
I became a sergeant first class, with a team of my own.
I had this cool approach with my men and women that worked pretty well, I thought. When a fresh recruit came to the unit, I told him or her that they would not be given a weapon until after their first combat…if they survived (the rest of the platoon would play along). Then, when the noobs were in a fight for the first time, I would call down a weapon for them after 22 seconds or so.
Combat is terrifying no matter your training or your ordinance. Going into a fight without a weapon and then having one appear in your hands is as good a psychological buttress as I can think of. Some other sergeants were even thinking of picking up this policy for their own units.
Until this other thing happened…
The General’s son signs up, and gets assigned to my damn unit. And there’s just no fucking way in shit that I’m letting that kid kill anything.
You see…he had a nickname around town. They called him the dog whisperer. Any canine species within 2000 meters would just walk up to him, sit down and smile. I think animals like me a lot, but after your own dog runs away 5 times to go sit and smile at this damn kid, you start thinking that there’s something a little different about the General’s son.
…plus, fuck dogs.
He also had this curious ability about making everybody near him laugh. You’d be hanging out at a bar…everybody is having a decent time, but still sorta sad (it’s a bar after all). The kid would come in, sit down with a glass of water and within 2 minutes everybody is laughing and having the time of their life. Even if he didn’t talk to a single soul. Strangest fucking thing. I even did a double-blind with some students and was going to write a sociology paper on the phenomenon, but thought better of it. The kid had enough hurdles in life without this quirk being brought to light. Plus, if I wrote a sociology paper, my physics colleagues would never respect me again…
The kid may turn into a mass murderer for all I care, but he’s not going to be harming a hamster on my behalf. No weapon.
…I’ve done a lot of religious theorizing, but I’ve only made 3 religious decisions in my life. At this point there was only 1.
RULE 1: Some people are assholes and need to die. There’s nothing wrong with helping them along toward this end.
So this new situation led to the refinement of my religious convictions.
RULE 1: Some people are assholes and need to die. There’s nothing wrong with helping them along toward this end.
RULE 2: The general’s son shouldn’t be involved in the helping.
I made the plan that once we met combat he would not be receiving a weapon, and I gave 3rd squad the responsibility to keep him safe. What’s the worse they could do to me?
Well, that mission comes to an end and we’re sent home before any more fighting. We go back to our training cycle.
The kid was fun in training missions. He’d never oppose your attack, just give way to your force and play impeccable defense until you were too tired to move, and then he’d move on to the next guy (or gal). We once tried attacking him with 3 squads, but no change in his tactics before we finally got him. We tried teaming him up with another private and attacking both. The General’s son would just parry and block and watch his partner‘s flanks. When we did our AAR of the simulation, there were times when he clearly set up an opponent for a “kill” strike from his teammate (…which I don’t think was exactly sporting, considering his overall approach). To the last man and womyn though, nobody doubted for a second that he would do what had to be done if one of us was in realworld danger.
The General’s son is great to have around a campfire too. Instead of ragging on each other, everybody just laughs and picks on him. The one bad thing is that I had to swap out our team’s canine sensor for a porcine one. But that was one cool fucking pig…he’d drink you under the table, and then sing songs about banging your mother (all of them, if you happened to have more than one).
Around this time the Cloned Wars kick off. This was interesting…
We’ve had some tough fights on String-3 worlds (projected weapons don’t work against 3rd Stringers), and we’ve had a lot of easy fights on String-4 worlds (projected weapons work all too well against 4th Stringers or below), but we’ve never fought against equal foes, except in training. Fighting 2nd Stringers is a fair fight. They’re just as fast as us, can sense the same light and other stimuli that we can, move matter the same way that we can, and if we bring a weapon that can cut them…it can cut us as well. And they heal as fast as we do.
In comes a String-2 mathematician who figures out that if he slices our world into small enough pieces along these particular lines, that he can assemble two new wholes in its place…which he does…and which nobody figures out for about 217 years. That’s long enough to recruit one hell of an army of souls (most of whom were destined for String-5 & String-6 worlds and were very pissed off at the universe and anxious for a chance to live in “paradise” in String-2). So this merry band of dipshits lives in their parallel String-2 unoverse, spawning off lower unoverses, and fucking them (figuratively and literally).
So we find out, and the military goes in to sort through it all…
The army goes in to clean out the lower worlds, but my company gets held back and detailed to a totally different command (we keep our 2nd String Lt. colonel, but get a new general from 1st String…2nd String Soldiers, naturally) and we trained for the final assault into their String-2 home world. The local cops even gave us some tips on dealing with 2nd stringers in a fight, and it’s always good to make friends with a cop.
After dropping in, our force performed some cautious reconnaissance and finds them holed-up in a competently constructed fortress (and the design looked eerily familiar). The enemy was even sweet enough to string up their less fortunate citizens to the walls so that we couldn’t use projected weapons to make an opening. My platoon is assigned to lead the assault when our division swings down its left.
It’s the night before the fight, and I’m analyzing everybody’s vibrations to give them the best chance of a positive pass-on should they get killed. And my lieutenant checks my signals, and they’re way off, and I know why, and I tell him. I’m not going to let that kid kill anybody, whether that decision ends every last person in the universe or not (religious convictions are a bitch…then you die). My lieutenant insists that I get it fixed or he’s going to pass on the mission to another platoon in the company. I say fine. My lieutenant insists that I get it fixed or he’ll have me quartered for insubordination. I say fine. My lieutenant insists that I get it fixed or he’ll tell the kid’s father. I say fine. My lieutenant insists that I get it fixed or he’ll tell the kid in front of a regimental formation.
…so I tell the kid.
“Weapons, killing, and death for all your squad mates…smores by the fire and a protective detail for you.” And I go to bed with a light heart. The generals can do what they want with the army, but this is MY squad.
And then the attack starts…
…their attack, not ours.
Our new general’s staff knew that they could have no more than 2000 fighters left to give battle (world population = 25000, subtract the women and children tied to the walls, and you get 2000). So you can imagine our surprise when a force of 40,000 souls comes plowing into our lines. You see, people have been sending armies down to lower unoverses for ages, but nobody had ever thought to bring an army up before. What would be the point? Unless you like watching people die.
We’re facing an army of about 1600 2nd Stringers, augmented with a force of 38,400 3rd Stringers. The 3rd Stringers are pretty easy to kill and dodge, but the 2nd Stringers are holding back on their speed to match the underlings until they’re close enough to strike.
How do you figure out who’s who before you’re dead?
How do you figure out who’s who before you’re dead?
Within the first 10 minutes, our fleches are overrun. No survivors. The enemy gets to the main line, where we’re now on the dangling left flank, and the enemy is reinforcing his right. Only James (our porcine unit) can tell the 2nd Stringers from the 3rd. He charges into the front line to give orders to 2nd squad before he is killed.
I lost half of my unit that night.
I know there’s got to be a solution to this problem, but what is it? We’ve never trained for this scenario. Then…light. Light is the answer; I call down some sulfer. It won’t kill the 3rd Stringers, but they can’t see through the smoke like we can.
The 2nd Stringers are called out. Now it’s a fair fight…and a ferocious melee. The lines are soon mixed, the lieutenant is killed. There’s no order, there’s no orders. We’re fighting in groups of two’s and three’s. The only pause was when an unluckily brave 3rd stringer stumbles into the mix and is quickly done away with. It was like watching a flea charge into a wolf fight. Tragically funny.
I fail at my post. I’m no longer a team leader, I’m no longer a Soldier. I’m cutting a hole in anything that looks menacingly at a person who came here on my same ship, and that’s all there is to it. But the worst moment came when I see our medic fall. The General’s son picks up her weapon and plunges it into the murderer before the dick could follow through to the medic's injured patient.
I fail at my post. I’m no longer a team leader, I’m no longer a Soldier. I’m cutting a hole in anything that looks menacingly at a person who came here on my same ship, and that’s all there is to it. But the worst moment came when I see our medic fall. The General’s son picks up her weapon and plunges it into the murderer before the dick could follow through to the medic's injured patient.
The face was fierce no doubt, but I've never before seen my friend look so empty.
…and sooner or later, there’s nobody left to kill. Our medics finish their work and the battlefield is littered with the dead and dying. I go out to find who’s still here.
The General’s son is sitting on the ground, holding the medic’s body, and rocking back and forth. His right hand covering the wound he inflicted on his now-dead enemy. That stare, that damn fucking stare, the one look I never wanted this kid to have, is in full effect. I don’t know what he’s feeling, and neither does he…but he’s feeling it just the same. His mind is dropping out, afraid to process the information. He’s left bare to process it alone.
Religious convictions:
RULE 1: Some people are assholes and need to die. There’s nothing wrong with helping them along toward this end.
RULE 2: The general’s son shouldn’t be involved in the helping.
RULE 3: The universe doesn’t give 2 shits about my religious convictions.
With the lieutenant dead, I’m promoted and Major Judah calls me to headquarters to participate in the council of war. There’s a long discussion around the fire (the 1st String general). Nobody really knows what the situation is, but they all want to fight.
When it is LTC Jacob’s turn to speak, he defers to the Major, and the Major defers to me. I’m caught off guard, but I say what I’m thinking…you ask for my perspective, you’ll get it:
“It is asinine to attack now. There’s nothing to gain strategically. We’ve killed the majority of his army. We’ve cleared out his worlds. And if we leave, eventually he’s going to have to untie all of those women and children that he strapped to the fortress walls. There’s going to be lots of questions, and he won’t have any good answers. If we walk away now, I give you 40% odds that they take out his leadership structures within the year. But even so, there’s no imminent threat here. We should have the navy set up a blockade, keep him from getting any new souls, and then just walk away.”
There are some nods around the campfire and a few “mmhmm”s…and then the general decides that we need to end this with an attack in the morning. “They broke the law, and that needs to be rectified.” My team (what’s left of it) is still going to be the most forward element of the plan.
Are you fucking kidding me?
So I go back, and start making sure that everybody is ready for the mission. But I cannot face the General’s son and see that look again, so I purposefully avoid him.
When the time comes to move into the jump-off position for the attack, the kid is gone. Like gone. Nobody knows where he went. The bodies of the medic and his enemy are gone too. But what is there to do about it? I have 13 Soldiers left, and we have orders to start some shit.
The approach march is behind schedule. Somebody in our sister brigade is seriously dragging ass. At long last, we crawl to the top of the final hill about 40km from the objective, and there he is way down there…standing in front of the enemy gate…the body of the medic over his left shoulder, and the body of the fallen enemy over his right…and the gate is lowering.
You stupid stupid motherfucker.
And I launch forward as fast as I can. Thinking once again, I turn back to order 1st & 3rd squad to support, but they’re not behind me…they’re in front of me. They have me beat by a good half-second, they are 150 meters ahead of me, and they are accelerating. Apparently, half a second is how long it takes to think “you stupid stupid motherfucker” (see the burden of responsibility?).
The man emerging from the gate approaches the General’s son. He grabs the dead enemy from the kid’s shoulder and throws the body to the ground, before stomping its head in. The kid does not react. The guy then grabs the body of the medic and throws her to the ground…pulls out a blade, and cuts her in half along the sagittal plane. The kid does not react. The guy then slaps him across the right side of the face (and this guy didn’t have little bitch hands like you’re used to…the kid's flesh is torn away from the sub-structure and things are just going wrong). The General's son moves almost imperceptibly slow to turn the undamaged side of his face forward. The guy strikes again quickly and now both sides match, but the kid just regains his balance and stands at calm attention with eyes upward toward the evil fucker…rebelling against his violence.
The guy is reaching back for his blade, when somebody from within the fortress tower shouts down to him. But it is too late. 3rd squad rips through him as though he was made of leaves, and they continue into the open gate (luckily for the kid, they had no issue with violence in this situation). Myself, as well as 1st squad were past the scene before the schmuck’s severed limbs had hit the ground. …except for the 1st squad medic who stopped to help out our stupid stupid motherfucker.
I’d like to say that my men and womyn killed all remaining forces of the enemy, but there was no work left to do, really. The population were all standing at the windows and portals of the fortress, staring at the kid. They didn’t even have enough mental clarity to hold up their hands and surrendered properly. They just kind of held them out toward us like they were offering a sacrifice that wasn’t there. …apparently the kid’s brave gesture had had some effect on them.
The only hold-out was "The Brother Leader" himself, he was locked in his throne room and felt he had barred the doors pretty well.
3rd squad fought hard enough (2 killed, one wounded...it really was an excellently designed fortress as I remember) to capture brother's complete attention whereby they were promptly met from the inside of the door by Command Sergeant Major Michael and his special forces guys leaving the room with a commendable amount of organic byproducts splattered on their swords and persons.
The only hold-out was "The Brother Leader" himself, he was locked in his throne room and felt he had barred the doors pretty well.
3rd squad fought hard enough (2 killed, one wounded...it really was an excellently designed fortress as I remember) to capture brother's complete attention whereby they were promptly met from the inside of the door by Command Sergeant Major Michael and his special forces guys leaving the room with a commendable amount of organic byproducts splattered on their swords and persons.
War. Over.
So overall it was a great day. Mission done, 'pleasantly low' casualties (...if I remember the dick General's report correctly), and once he was stitched up, just a Private with very poor judgement and with a smile beginning to break out through on his face. So I walk back to camp…
…and participate in the investigation.
Oh, what investigation you ask?
Oh, what investigation you ask?
People immediately start asking why the damn kid had gone there in the first place. And the answers lead to more questions, which gets them to the “no weapon for the General’s son” order that I had issued, and then I get fucking court martialed for it.
All this time I figured I’d be a respected veteran after serving with distinction in a combat role for the last 74 years…not to mention the fun that the last 24 hours had brought. But no, court-martialed, that’s me. “For endangering the life of a Soldier under my command” – penalty: death. My leadership is throwing a fucking fit, they’re about to come to blows with the investigators…but there’s not much they can do right now, we’ve been detailed out to another command, and they’re in charge here. And since I hadn’t taken the Lieutenant’s Oath yet (which has to take place at the location of your most recent birth), I lost my battlefield commission.
They make me swear out a statement, which also has to be in writing for legal purposes. When I get to the “Why?” question, I write that I think “he’s the anti-Christ and would destroy us all.” When I get to the “Mitigating Circumstances?” question, I write “your mom is fat.”
(There’s a lot of peace and love around our world, but no military organization in the universe is going to be ok with you saying that a Soldier shouldn’t kill people because dogs like him too much and he’s good to bring to parties…especially a five-star’s only son. Why the “fat” joke? Because fuck them, that’s why.)
I learn that they apparently take courts martial pretty serious and don’t like to hear witty comments (the men and women in my unit apparently found it pretty hilarious…and a kind letter from friends will go pretty far when you’re facing hanging and a forced return to String-5).
So what happens? Trial, of course. But in an odd twist of fate the kid’s sister is assigned as my legal counsel.
I’m not allowed to the trial, since it was taking place on String-1 and I am not an officer so I’m not permitted there. So I “stand post” which involves being tied to a post for 93.7% of every day in a prison on String-2 and not being allowed to eat or sleep…at all.
At first I get daily reports from the trial from a guard, but then he suddenly gets replaced and I’m left in the dark. I don’t know what is going on, but I don’t see what could possibly take a month to figure out…the facts are pretty clear.
Someone smuggled in a news paper clipping that said the General (ours, not theirs) is actually present in the courtroom for every day of the proceeding, but I don’t know whether that’s true or not. The article cited “unnamed sources” which is journalist speak for “I’m not telling you the truth”.
All this time, my mind is racing and trying to saying this and that, but I’m not giving too much of a shit about it. The normal sort of mind games, reliving on my successes a bit too long, which swings back to dwelling on my mistakes too critically…but it’s going and going and I have no way to stop it (As a prisoner, I’m not held privy to all of those intricate programs which are designed to help Soldiers deal with their intruisive thoughts following deployment…the hunger and the sleep-deprivation sure as shit aren’t helping things). And this is all extra bullshit because not only did I experience some sick combat, but I have to deal with this court-martial bullshit on top of that.
…and that’s the one.
That’s the thought that finds its way in the door and sticks.
It’s bullshit, it’s all bullshit. I fucking leave this beautiful life behind to go serve them, and what do we get? Shit on. I’ve worked hard because I loved this world and my army, and this world and this army doesn’t give a fuck for me. I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been played. My whole life has been manufactured, my whole morality has been a scheme…implanted and engineered to get them what they desired from me. Everything I see is wrong, everything I’ve ever experienced is false.
This thought wears in its tracks, and I think about little else until the trial is complete…
One day, a Private comes in to tell me that the verdict has been reached, but that I need to wait for my counsel to come explain it to me.
I wait for 90 minutes for this fucker to show up. What’s the hold up? Wanted to go to one last dinner at the amazing String-1 restaurants?
She shows up, removed my restraints, and says that I’ve been found not guilty. I ask for the official write-up from the court. She says that there was no opinion. I’m “not guilty” and there’s no further statement.
How’s that for the legal system?
“You mean that I’ve been stuck in that fucking hell for a month and half, so that you all can arrive at the most retarded legal decision I’ve ever heard?”
“It was a very delicate process. We had to make sure that we did everything completely by the book.”
“I couldn’t have a fucking visitor?, or…I don’t know…not be tied up all fucking day, every day?
“We had to keep this by the book. This world is our jurisdiction, but for your case they had the authority to choose the specifics of the incarceration.”
“I’ve done everything you all have ever asked of me, and I have been honorable the whole time.”
“We need to get you on a treatment plan soon. I was just talking about it with Dad and your uncle. They said that it would be good if you came to our hou-“
“Let me make this perfectly clear: Fuck you and yours.”
…And like a ghost I was gone.
I run to the city.
All my old friend are there and there’s plenty to drink, but everybody keeps asking the same damn questions, and the booze doesn’t help switch thoughts like it used to…it just turns everything else off so the thoughts are all that remain. I’m picking fights with people I love, this is killing me. I can’t live with myself.
I run to the countryside.
Living in a small dwelling and staring at a peaceful river can have a calming effect at certain times in life. Living in a small dwelling and staring at a peaceful river can also have the opposite effect at other times in life. You’re left helpless and stripped in front of your thoughts without any distractions. Do you know how many people I killed just so that this stupid fucking river can flow 0.00023% more peacefully? Why the fuck do the laws allow for killing 4th Stringers, but you can’t write 6 lines of code to help a 4th Stringer with cancer because that would be “obstruction”?…(unless congress says it’s ok, of course…usually if it’s one of their loved ones or pet projects).
That’s where my love found me. Me: sitting on a rock, the trees around me burning as my mental state projected itself into the environment. Her: this nice lady helping some bird named Olivia find its mother. Dijah was telling the bird how amazing flying would be and how her mother or father would teach her.
We had 3 beautiful days where everything felt right again. I would lay with my head in her lap and watch the clouds for hours…but the tracks of the negative thought patterns had worn too deep and I relapsed. It’s all just wrong. I can’t bring myself to share my real thoughts with her, I can’t even tell her that I was in the Army, I can’t keep making up things to talk about. She’s not stupid. Plus, even if I got the whole story out there, she wouldn’t understand. She’d just hate me and call me weak. I need to cut this thing off as quickly as possible before I take 1 more poor soul down with me on my wasted little life. What’s love anyways? Just an opportunity for betrayal.
After the relapse I tried to look at my love, but the blood in my eyes kept winning. I couldn’t recognize her. I lash out. She cries and backs off, but does not leave the riverside.
So this is when I decide to compose my “fuck-holes” letter, followed by the knock on the door.
***
A messenger (a fucking messenger on String-2?…just call if you need me so bad) is there to tell me that my request for a tourist visa to visit my mother has been approved and that I’m to leave immediately. Really? I applied for that visa when I was 8 years old (tourist travel is tightly controlled by the government, so it’s not a big deal to be rejected, but a 397 year waiting period seems slightly excessive…plus what’s the big shitting rush that I need to leave now?)
I’ve never traveled on civilian transport. Instead of the instantaneous jump-in that I’m used to, the guy is towing a portal with a really long hallway inside it. So I walk in. A few steps inside and I hear Dijah calling my name. I turn to look at her and I want to make things better, but my heart won’t tell my mind to tell my mouth what it should stay. The door closes and melts away, and the tears creeping into her eyes are the last thing I see. I’m left alone in the hallway.
I can’t see the end of the hallway, but it’s beautiful. The walls and carpet are covered in these colorful, repeating, geometric patterns; the lighting is impeccable. Somebody must have spent a week to program this thing.
I try to absorb some minerals, but can’t. I try to make a wormhole, but can’t. I try to warp, but can’t. When I run, the carpet and walls stretch out and I’m not going any faster (somebody must have spent a month to program this thing). …so I walk.
…and walk.
It takes me three years to get to the other side of the hall. Every 8 days there’s a table with food on it. Every 16 days there’s a bed (and no food). At the 2 year mark, my uncle meets me with a home-cooked meal of cheese & crackers (beer & whiskey). I say that I’m sorry for running off. He listens.
The journey was subtly but powerfully calming to the mind, and thus invigorating to everything else. The calm purpose takes the place on any boredom and gave me a chance to focus on why I had wanted to take this trip in the first place. A quiet journey is much better than a quiet seat by the river, at least right now. Meaning and rationalization faded to singularity. All that was left was one step, followed by the next, followed by the next…
“Why am I taking this step?”
“I don’t know, why am I taking this one?”
“Why do you think?”
“I guess I really want to get where I’m going…do you mind?”
But while the mind was quieted, its seed remained. I wanted to kill myself. I decided that once I got out of this place and had my abilities back, I’d do it quickly, hopefully before I saw my mother.
At last I got to the other side of the hall. There stood a beautifully gilded door with a hand-painted wood grain pattern.
…let’s do this…
I opened the door and immediately tried to duck out of the way of a dinner plate which was headed my way, but I was unprepared and it got me in the face…only it didn’t. It passed straight through my body and shattered on the wall behind me.
“Fuck you Hariri!”
(It was mom)
“Well fuck you too! I don’t see what the big fucking problem is.”
“The problem is that we can’t have any children. I want children!”
“We’ve already been over this! You’re not adding new information to the discussion! You’re just getting angry and acting like a little bitch!”
“Oh, I’m acting like a bitch, huh?”
…and another plate made its way in my general direction…
“Oh fuck you. You are completely acting like a fucking bitch exactly.”
“I want to have kids Hariri!”
“No fucking shit…newsflash of the fucking century! What have we been trying to do for the last 4 fucking years?”
…I was ready to tear this fucker’s head off if I could…
“It’s not working!”
“No shit it’s not working. I don’t see the fucking point in getting angry about it now!”
“I’m not angry, I’m sad!”
“Bullshit you’re sad, you’re fucking angry. It doesn’t take a goddamn genius to figure that out.”
“Fuck you. Stop pushing me!”
“I’m pushing you?!?!? You got mad at me first! This is your fucking fault!”
“I’m mad that you don’t care enough…you’re not listening to my feelings!”
“I don’t care enough about your fucking feelings?!?! What do you think I’ve been doing here Rafik? I’ve been fucking going to appointments three times a week for the last two years, missing work, which is just super because we can’t afford these fucking procedures as it is. I don’t care about your feelings because your feelings are fucking invalid! I’m out of here.”
“Fuck you.”
He walked out of the house, and mom gave him the send-off of a door cracking the door-frame and swinging through it.
Well, this was unexpected.
He gets in the car, but doesn’t start it. He rolls down the window and begins smoking…lighting 4 consecutive cigarettes from the one before…staring out into space. Then he gets out and sits on a bench, quiet in the darkness.
Mom went to the bed, crying and crying until sleep finally found her. Eventually her husband went to sleep downstairs on the couch. I sat next to my mother and watched her peaceful rest.
…The morning found Hariri sitting beside me on the floor, holding mom’s hand.
“I’m sorry that we fought,” were his first words as soon as she opened in her eyes.
“I’m sorry too. It’s just that I know I’m supposed to be a mother. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known for sure.”
“You will be. We’ll keep working, and God will help us.”
I followed him outside where he started stacking logs to build the day’s fire. After creating a conservative but respectable fire, he grabbed an ax out of the shed and walked to a pile of wood. He turned to cut the first piece, and turned back to find the rest of the wood (plus a little more) already chopped and stacked neatly. He scratched his head…
I felt nice to do that little good deed for him. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to. Since I got here I haven’t been able to affect matter whatsoever. I was beginning to feel like a gho-
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Umm…me? I just was…um…walking around…um…the forest”
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: Go! Go! Go!]
[DontCallMeAbram: Go! Go right now!]
[Go!!!!!!!!!!!]
“It’s just, um, I was walking my dog, and he ran off, and…”
“Oh there you are!” said some new chick.
…I just stared…
“Ma what are you doing here?”
“I came to visit my favorite daughter. How is my little Rafi-doodle?”
“She’s inside. Do you know this gentleman?”
“Hey there darlin’. When you chased after your dog, I was sure we’d need to send a search party for you.”
“He’s with you?”
“Why yes he certainly is. This gentleman helped me with a flat-tire on the way over here, and he was just the sweetest little thing. I simply demanded that he come to visit my daughter’s family with me and help us finish this cornbread I made… Oh look, there’s your dog afterall. Isn’t that sweet? He found you. Is that alright Hariri?”
Some dog ran up to me and started licking my hand.
“Well…yes, come on in. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Um…my name is…”
“His name is Robert. You can call him Bob, but he says only his mother is allowed to call him Bobby.”
“Ok, Bob, come on in. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Um…uh…that won’t be necessary.”
“Darlin, you should have a beer. Hariri here makes his own…it’s the bee’s knees”
“Um…yeah, I’ll have a beer…Thanks.”
I followed him toward the house. When I got to the doorway, there was a call from behind me.
“Hey Robert, you don’t have to worry about bringing the dog in the house. My daughter will be just fine with it. Y’all run ahead. I’ll be right behind you with the cornbread.”
[DontCallMeAbram: Hey. Did anybody put a spare tire on that car, or does it still have 6 new ones?]
[Best.Pr-aa.Ever: Already done…]
We walked into the house, where mom was washing vegetables in the sink.
“Hey honey, your mom’s here.”
“What is she doing here?”
“Came by to see how you were doing I guess. Did you tell her about the latest tests?”
“Yeah, I called her last night before you came home”
“That must be it…”
The dog ran right up to mom and began licking her hand and nuzzling her with his head.
“Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Who is this friendly little fellow?” said my mom, kneeling down to make a proper introduction with the dog, and getting kisses in the center of her forehead.
“Why that is Nanak.” said mom’s mom, walking in behind us and making herself comfortable at the table. “He and this fine gentleman saved my bacon this morning.”
…the dog walked back and sat next to me with a proud smile…I petted his head…
“Oh, my goodness, I didn’t see you standing there. How are you?”
My heart stopped beating and I froze.
Hariri jumped in, “He helped your mother from some car trouble. His name is Robert. I was going to take him down to the beer cellar.”
“Well, thank you for your kindness sir, but I’m afraid “Robert” just won’t do in my home. Can I call you Bobby?”
“…um…well…actually, uh, only my mo-“
The dog bit me hard in the leg.
“Bobby will do just fine darlin’” I heard from the table. “You should have seen him helpin’ me out. Wouldn’t even let me get out of the car to watch. Said the wind would mess up my hair…”
“Well Bobby, you truly are a considerate soul, aintcha.” She held out her hand to shake mine. It was one of those soft women’s handshakes where the hands don’t really move and that leaves you weak in the knees. “You go downstairs with my husband. We’ll call you gentlemen up when the food is ready. Honey, is the fire going?”
“Roaring.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. Bobby, do you like to build big proper fires? I swear to god my husband never put a single log more on a fire than he felt absolutely had to be burnt.”
“Who has to cut the wood?”
“Who loves trees more than he does his own wife?”
They kissed, and I followed Hariri as he started downstairs…
“Now you see, my whole process is automated…I just load in the stuff and hit one button.”
“…Oh, mama, you were right, I should have never married an engineer.” …and laughter chased us down the stairs. Nanak got a few more nuzzles from mom and followed us down.
I helped Hariri with chores around the house and the land. I spoke with mom while she played card games with her mother. We ate good food. We shared many laughs. It was the best day of my life.
“Well, I think it’s time for Robert and me to be makin’ our way back to town.”
“Oh, so soon? It feels like you just got here. Why don’t you spend the night? We can make up the couch for the gentlemen and mom can sleep in the bedroom with me.”
“No dear, I have to be runnin’ back to town. You know how your father gets if he doesn’t get a kiss before bed…”
“Well shoot then. Bobby, you make sure my mother drives safe, and don’t be a stranger.”
“Robert will take good care of me. Come on Nanak! Let’s get this gentleman home.”
“Bye Bobby.”
“Bye m-,” I stopped myself. “Rafik. Hariri. Thank you for all of your kindness.”
“It was our pleasure,” said mom’s husband, handing me a bottle for the road.
…When we were a few miles from the house, she pulled over the car.
“It was a pleasure meeting you sir, you are a gentle soul.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“Oh shit, the pleasure was all mine. You want some cornbread for the road? I hear you have a long journey home.”
“Apparently I do. I’d love some more.”
And she handed me a wrapped bundle from the back seat. I opened the door, and the portal was there waiting for me. I gave her a hug and she gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I got up to leave when something bit me on the ass.
“Well I’m sorry Mr. Nanak. I forgot to thank you too.”
I gave him a rub on head, and he jumped up with his paws on my shoulders and licked my forehead.
“Goodbye. And thank you again,” I said, opening the portal and looking back. The dog was gone, there was a man in the front seat, and he and the lady were kissing…
The hall was just as long. I walked home…eating every 8 days, sleeping every 16.
In the same environment where I had spent so much time, the negative thoughts came again, and kept coming for a while. But I was better prepared to handle them.
It took 3 years to get back.
***
The door opened into my uncle’s house. He was sitting in front of the window, alone. He asked me if I had time to talk, I asked him for a drink. He motioned to the cupboard. Walking over I asked if he wanted anything. “No” was the very unexpected reply. Well, shit…so I grab some water and sit down.
There, in front of the window, I had the first sober conversation I can ever remember having with the man. He spoke about his family and how much he missed his wife and children. I knew he was married, even though marriages don’t transfer officially between worlds (there’s nothing to prevent people from choosing their own relationship status, even though cross-world couples can’t talk to each other often)…but I never knew about his children. He said that they were all doing ok, but that he hadn’t spoken to them in many, many years. His wife and kids were on String-1, but some of his grandkids and great-grandkids were here. I asked who they were. He said I’d find out. Then he gave me a letter from Dijah”
“Honey, I’m sorry but I had to go. I hope I’ll see you again soon. Love Eternal, -Dijah.”
…my uncle and I sat there in silence for a few moments…
“Hey Head?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What do you believe in?”
“Same old shit I guess. Didn’t we have this talk a long, long time ago?”
“That was before you entered the service… What do you believe in now?”
“I don’t know…I had a lot of time to think about it during that fucking walk, I tell you.”
“…”
“I mean, I’ve seen a lot of beauty so I still think that that’s a gift from something. But I’ve still seen a lot of suffering too…and all the enlightenment training in the world is not going to make all that suffering go away. The world is organized around some good rules, but also some fucked up rules…I just don’t know if there’s a supreme being out there watching out for everything. How can all that suffering be ok somehow?”
“When I talk about belief, why do you always assume I'm talking about God? Do you believe in anything?”
“Well, I came up with these hokie little religious rules back when I was serving...”…and I listed them to him.
He listened and stayed motionless, sucking his lip and thinking for about 25 seconds. Then he said:
“Those are proclamations. Any statements of faith?”
“There’s kinda some faith to the proclaimations…”
“…”
But there’s just not much room for faith. We know how the universe works. We know how to move up to String-1, or down to String-3, or back to String-2. …the rest is just walking through the damn proving ground and trying not to screw up.”
“Is that what your unit did in the service? What you told your men and women to do?”
“Not really. We were trying to help people, I guess. Who wants to see someone drop a String just because they were born into a society of assholes? You never know if they’ll make it back up or get sucked down into the spiral. We were also following orders.”
“What does RULE 2 have to do with orders?”
“That was my orders.”
“So what does that tell you about your faith?”
“I don’t know. I mean, if I’m stuck in this proving ground I’m going to do what I think is right. The proving ground can go fuck itself.”
“Do you trust anybody else to know what’s right, even if you disagree?”
“Well, we had to do whatever Colonel Abraham told us to do.”
“Just following orders?”
“Not really, I guess. I was proud to do what he asked of me.”
“What if he told you to break RULE 2?”
“It already got broken.”
“What if he told you to break RULE 2?”
“If he said it, I guess I’d consider it.”
“…”
“What?”
“…”
“I’ve taken too much time to make my decision already. Go to the General’s house. They’re expecting you.”
So off I go…when I get there, the door is open and his sister is waiting for me.
“Oh my God, Head, it's so great to see you!”
“Listen, I wanted to say I’m s-“
“You have nothing to be worry about. So have you come to talk him out it?”
“Talk who out of what, ma'am?
“My brother has been making plans, and don't call me ma'am.”
“Aye ma'am.”
“Well, he's in his room regardless, Sergeant.
“I'm retired.”
“So am I.”
“I doubt it, and it’s not like I’d ever know for sure…”
“Not as an enlisted man I guess.”
“Aye Ma’am.”
“Let me know if I can get you something to eat.”
“Capacitor is on, huh? What month is it anyways?”
“Month 3”
“Thanks. Um…I guess I’d better go downstairs, huh?”
“God’s speed.”
Upon walking into his room, I found him in the typical posture. He’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed in front of a 4-petal integration display. It was the same damn display that we made in shop class in 3rd grade. The worst part of this scene was that the purpose of the class was to teach you how to manipulate the growth of biological systems, not to make an integrating display. There’s much better models out there…8 petal…64 petal, but dude always stuck to this one. He didn’t look up, so I broke the ice:
“How's it going man?”
“Good. How was the trip?”
“Transcendent.”
“Did you like the carpet?”
“Get fucked. But yes, I did in fact. How long did it take to program that place?”
“I don’t know, dad did it. I picked out the carpet though. You always were a sucker for geometric patterns.”
“?”
“Name one thing you ever built that wasn’t symmetrical?”
“Touché. Mind if I look over your shoulder?”
“Have at it…”
Judging by the color images on the screen, he was looking at the unoverse his dad found.
Just a little more background… last time, I promise.
The general was very old, even for people in my world. Not the oldest man alive or anything, but dude was old. When he was a 145 year old youngster, he made some amazing discoveries in mathematics. Until him, everything was based on comparing known values to each other. After him, a ratio could be presented as a single number. Then he got into computer science, where he published a lot of papers around programming using only 4 discretes as the basis of a learning algorithm. That was how he made it into the officer ranks. He eventually becomes a general…overseeing code-breaking.
Using the general’s mathematics, a physicist came up with a theory that there could be a stable unoverse between String-3 and String-4. He called it String-3.1…published a paper, and passed away very shortly after.
There was follow-on work, and they kept modifying the theory, String-3.14, String-3.145, etc. Sensors picked up promising readings as the unoverse came more and more into focus, but looking at a blurry unoverse is pretty useless. You wouldn’t know whether you're looking at random noise, a field of galaxies, or a fly's tit. And you sure can't sync-up the flux and move personnel or material on-world.
Then, the general comes back from a week’s vacation with his wife, and he solves the problem in 12 fucking lines of code. (Now, they are slightly long lines of code, but still…it was quite the accomplishment). The world comes into pristine focus (he gets a 5th star) and shit was that place colorful.
Everybody goes nuts. Swarms of biologists and botanists and physicists were just gushing over the chance to study a whole new world. But they couldn't, not really. …While the unoverse came in very clear on the sensors, when you got too close to matter, weird shit started to happen. We couldn’t figure out which particles are turned light and which are turned dark, so we still couldn’t sync the flux. Without the ability to move people and equipment in, you can’t run experiments. And what’s science without experiments? Just theories, theories, theories…
People could apparently observe some cool shit through the sensors and many wonderful books were supposedly written, but this place was all you-can-look-but-you-can’t-touch…which sucks. Theories, theories, theories…
There are some rumors about a 13th line of code which could make total access possible, but there are a lot of rumors in comfortable societies.
I never really understood all the excitement. I knew all I really needed to know. The inhabitants can be killed by projected weapons, and minerals can dissolved in water or oil…which means they’re bleeders.
I took an interest in the world just enough to keep everybody off my back. In the physics community there was a lot of interest around the light down there, since the light doesn’t transmit instantaneously like it does everywhere else. Everybody is trying to figure it out and some high up guy submits a theory about light having a constant velocity, and explains away some of the harder to pin-down phenomenon by saying that the path of light will bend somehow. He gets published…gets awards…and is the talk of the universe. It wasn’t a bad concept, but I write up a rebuttal theory about how light might not have a constant velocity, but rather a constant acceleration such that it just appears to have a constant velocity as it tears through the universe, stopping constantly…such that the light curves around massive objects because they distort time, causing the light to accelerate in a skewed direction.
It probably wasn’t right, but liked my theory, but who really gives a shit since we can’t know what’s right without some experiments. What really pissed me off was how my theory got buried in a lower journal because I was a student and not the department head at a grand university. You can’t escape certain bullshit…no matter what unoverse you are in.
But at least I had put in my time caring about the virgin unoverse. So thereafter whenever someone gave me shit about some new book about a new type of grass that I hadn’t read, I’d say “did you read my theory of the constant acceleration of light?” and they’d change the subject. My friends would still give me some crap, but they were allowed to.
So anyways…
…I’m looking over dude’s shoulder and he’s got some primitive mammal on one petal screen, mental scans on another petal, a map on the third petal, and some writing on the 4th. The display in the middle is integrating the information to highlight relationships and coincidences among the information on the petals…
“So…um…what’s this big news I’m supposed to find out about?”
“I’m going away.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“Very funny. What do you mean?”
“I’m going to transmute into this unoverse. Onto this planet, specifically.”
“Interesting decision. I don’t know where to start explaining how fucking stupid you sound…but you have a real purdy voice…so let’s hear some more…”
“They need someone.”
“Everybody needs someone.”
“They need help.”
“Everybody needs some fucking help…are you going to be this shitting cryptic all night?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“How about if I just ask questions?
“That might work.”
“Ok, do you want me to explain why it’s a bad idea or why it won’t work?...does your father know…well shit, of course he does.”
“Just ask questions…”
“Ok, how the fuck are you getting mental scans off of that primate?”
“It’s potential, based on electrons.”
“I told you to stop being so cryptic.”
“I have sensors everywhere. Dad gave me the 13th line of code.”
“There’s really a 13th line of code!”
“Yes. 13th line of code. Boogedy boogedy boogedy…get over it. Keep asking questions, I’m liking this.”
“Why is this planet worth your time?”
“The planet is beautiful, but it’s mostly these people that I’m concerned about.”
“And what’s so great about these people?”
“Lots of things.”
“List 4”
“Their life expectancy is 35 years. They raise their children until the age of 16.”
“Interesting…but not unheard of…number 2?”
“They…I don’t know…they’re just great.”
“Ok…I’ll take a point for you’re-stupid-and-misguided. Um…let’s try this a different way. Pull up their stats.”
“Ok.”
“Perfect. Total savagery.”
“It’s not all savagery.”
“Not all savagery?!?!? Did or did not that guy just bury his infant daughter alive?”
“He did.”
“Did or did not that guy just rape his wife?”
“He did…but you don’t understand. A lot of it is cultural and mind driven.”
“Shit dude. Slavery?”
“But look at this society over here, almost none of that happens. Look at this guy.”
“Let me see…hey, what’s wrong with that guys face?”
“He’s a different color.”
“A different color…shit.”
“Yeah, there are different colors all over.”
“Are the people of different colors cognitively different?
“Not really. There are minor cognitive variances between them, but it’s mostly in the realm of perception, not in decision making.”
“So your cool guy is capable of all the savagery of those others…”
“Well, yes…but the savage ones are capable of being like captain cool.”
“Why so much variance in behavior?”
“Their minds are simply beautiful.”
“I wouldn’t say what I just saw was ‘beautiful’. What are they packing?”
“18th order integrating structure…all running in parallel. They can hit 1Ghz per channel.”
“Holy shit. Discrete decision making?”
“Sort of…no direct if/then statements. All if/then logic is bundled in a matrix or an array. Decisions are made in the frequency domain.”
“Fucking fuck. You said they were electrically run?
“Mostly.”
“How do they fit it all in that tiny head?”
“…Almost no working memory. They only have like 2 or 3 bits.”
“You’ve got to be joking? Why aren’t they walking into walls and eating dirt? And how do they fight so well?”
“They’re very good at automatizing tasks. They actually don’t fight that well.”
“But check that guy out…”
“Like I said, they’re very good at automatizing tasks. Here, watch a battle from the top…”
“Dudes…dudes! Stop pushing the middle, swirl them around and make a flank on the inside!”
“He can’t hear you”
“I know…”
“…and anyways, this is a recording. They don’t fight that much.”
“But why were they doing that stupid shit?”
“They have very linear and tactics right now, since all battlefield decisions are made by one person. And like I said…3 bits of working memory tops…4 bits tops if he’s from an eastern land”
“All decision making is made by a single entity? That’s stupid.”
“…they’ll learn…”
“18th order parallel integrating. Decisions in the frequency domain… That’s a lot of hardware to be toting around. It’s no wonder that they’re insane…with a mind like that. But they are insane. Clearly you can see it. Their just mind-locked identity machines, I bet I could get a violent reaction from any one of them in 7 words or less.”
“They’re not completely mind-locked.”
“What’s their pass-on percentage? And where do they even pass-on to? That was what never made any sense about this hidden world…where do the souls go if we’ve never seen them?”
“Negatively, they spawn their own lower strings. Positively, they have a 3rd string world dedicated to them.”
“How did everybody miss that one?”
“They didn’t, dad created it, he actually made a couple different ones. Nobody passed on positively before he showed up.”
“If they made a bunch of 3rd worlds, whose jurisdiction is that?”
“Dude’s name is Job. You won’t have heard of him, they keep it under the radar. Dad wanted jurisdiction but, 1st String wouldn’t let him have it. He only got jurisdiction over this string because he agreed to share the 13th line. But dad was involved in selecting the Job guy. They coordinate quite a bit. Dad’s staff also uses some of their own 3rd String worlds for special cases.”
“This is your dad’s?!?!? ”
“Fuckin A”
“And what’s the primates’ pass-on percentage?”
“About 3.37% pass on positively, but 1.55% of that is artificial.”
“Artificial?
“Handpicked by dad and his staff. There’s also a community who gets guaranteed pass-on if they follow certain rules.”
“Huh?”
“Dad set it up. They’re his favorite.”
“Favorite? What the fuck?”
“Well not favorite favorite…but they argue constantly, so dad likes to watch them the most.”
“Yeah, but how can he set up a rule like that? That’s obstruction.”
“He’s the General…he can obstruct anything he wants.”
“Yeah, but he’s still giving certain people positive pass-on when they’re doing the same things as people who are getting fucked. That’s bullshit.”
“That’s basically what I said to him when I found out... But then he sat me down and said something along the lines of, ‘I know it’s not fair, but what do you want me to do, just let more souls get lost?...I’m trying to figure out what is going to make these people stop being assholes to each other? I had an idea for some laws which I thought would work…found some great people…and gave them an incentive to try it out…and it did work, significantly. Would it be less asshole-ish to go back on the promise?’ Dad’s very frustrated that he can’t get this species’ numbers up. …Loses his temper a lot.”
“But why them? Why do they deserve help?”
“Well…A) they’re really cool. Great poetry. And B) He’s not focusing all attention on them. He’s working a couple of angles. He’s figured out the right recipe, he just can’t seem to get people to follow it…so he yells.”
“I assumed that. I was speaking generally. They can’t be the only conscious species in this unoverse?”
“They’re not the only conscious species on the planet...”
“How well do they interact?”
“Pretty good, I guess. Basically the monkeys treat other species the way they treat each other.”
“That bad, huh? What do the other species in the unoverse think of them? Any contact?”
“A little. Mostly curiosity…they find these people as interesting as dad and the rest of us do. They also conduct some general reconnaissance to keep an eye on this species.”
“Why?”
“Because the humans are so creative and mindless. The alien species aren’t looking forward to wiping these guys out…but nobody wants to end up under their thumb either, not with the current state of affairs down there. If they keep on developing like they are, they’re going to be the dominant species in the galaxy in a few millennia. The alien species also want to keep an eye on each other, so see who’s learning what from the monkeys”
“…Watching this all play out would make for interesting television or something, I don’t understand why you need to interfere.”
“Because they’re about to get wiped out.”
“Huh?...the aliens?”
“No. Here, look here at these particle interactions. Notice anything interesting?
“Slow it down…
“How about now?”
“Is that a…massless photon…turned on…but…no way…they have electromagnetism?”
“Right as rain. Turns out 1st String is not so special after all. And they’ve been throwing a fit ever since.”
“Why do they care so much? 1st Stringers aren’t exactly known for letting their egos get in the way.”
“…Because this unoverse has the capability to take down the whole enterprise. A lot of 1st Stringers are very nervous about that, and nobody wants to watch everything crumble apart because some highly creative but completely mind-consumed species wants to do something stupid.”
“How creative are they?”
“Here, taste this…”
“Wow, delicious. Let me guess, your dad’s chosen people made it? I saw them eating it.”
“It’s called hummus. It’s extremely simple, extremely nutritious, and quite good as you can see. The person who invented it was half Jewish…the chosen folks…and half Edomite.”
“But it’s just food dude.”
“Listen to this music.”
“Very good. Jewish?”
“Celtic. People to the north.”
“Here, look at this building structure…”
“Looks like a building.”
“Look inside. Central pillar, supported at the floor, not touching any of the upper stories…”
“I’m lost.”
“…might be useful at dampening harmonic waves.”
“Oh, that’s like the suspension for those war saddles that we equip the 3rd stringers with. Where’d they get that?”
“…where’d we get that is the proper question.”
“Where from?”
“Far east. They use it for land-quake protection. Look at this god…his name is Thor.”
“Pretty cool mythology.”
“Perfect. He’s dad’s favorite…offering a day’s leave to anybody on his staff who can find the real guy.”
“Yeah, but I still don’t get it. Are the 1st Stringers going to wipe them out or not?”
“They can’t right now, dad has jurisdiction.”
“So, then we’re good then…”
“Jurisdiction runs out 50,000 years after he got it. He’s only got a little more than 2062 years left before it’s up for renewal. And they’ve basically said that ‘if the highly capable dipshits aren’t under wraps by then, there’s no chance.’ They’ll clear the whole place out.”
“Jesus, they’re not even going to hang out and wait for poor bastards to understand electromagnetism?”
“They say that the monkeys are too fast, and so is electromagnetism. If somebody were to adjust their time flow, the monkeys could figure it out and implode everything before anybody knew what was going on.”
“Is that why your dad doesn’t just adjust the time flow to let the unoverse run its course before his jurisdiction is up?”
“Sort of, but also it seems that every time he takes his eyes off them for a second they all try to kill each other.”
“…More than normal?”
“Yeah, if you can believe it.”
“If he can’t get a 66.67 percentage pass-on rate by the time his charter runs out, they’re going to put iron in the center of each star.”
“Just the monkeys’ star?“
“All of them. They say it’s too much power for a lower String to possess.”
“Oh shit…no way.”
“Way man, very way.”
“So your dad just keeps fighting the good fight…increasing the positive pass-ons, and we’ll see where they end up. But you stay here.”
“The positive pass-ons are dropping.”
“Huh?”
“Let me introduce you to the Romans. Their positive pass-on rate is 0.002. ”
“Classy. Who’s messing up the perfect score?”
“The mentally handicapped.”
“What’s so special about the Romans?”
“They’ve figured out how to set up a completely stable government system.”
“Living under a mind-dominated government, hot damn. So, what’s the trick to getting these monkeys to behave like zombies?”
“8-tiered social structure.”
“So what?”
“Think about it. 2 to 3 bits of conscious awareness…mind-dominated.”
“I’m drawing a blank.”
“Didn’t you study political science? There’s too many levels for these people to work through. A person at the bottom can’t really comprehend the corruption at the top because it’s too far removed from his or her understanding of society. And even if you can sort of comprehend it, as you fight your way up to address it, you’re going to lose sight of the bottom…so when you find out what the true corruption is, you forgot why you were even looking.”
“Yeah. But if you have an inherently unjust system, somebody who started near the top is going to use that to get support for a power play…And cause a civil war and mix the whole structure up.”
“But not if he’s too afraid and will do anything to hold onto what he has. If you can’t comprehend the bottom rung of society, you’ll do absolutely anything to prevent yourself from getting there. It’s like when I joined the Army…I had to take special training because I’d never lived in a lower String, so they wanted to make sure we travelled to String-3 at peaceful times and understood it. It wasn’t to make String-3 into a place we were looking forward to, but they didn’t want our minds to have a fearfully undefined future to hold over us… The people at the top of this society don’t understand the poor, but they’ll do absolutely anything to make sure that they don’t become one.”
“Shit, so the people at the top are capable of anything to help preserve the system…so the system gets worse and worse, until the bottom rung really does turn into hell… But so what? They aren’t that big of a nation. Save the rest of the people. That’ll get you your 66%.”
“The Romans are expanding.”
“Expanding, how? You can make them zombies, but who’s going to fight for that government?”
“Well, there’s this other weird characteristic of the species and some of the other ones on the planet…watch this. I’m going to tap this girl on the foot and the neck at the same time…keep an eye on her perception.”
“She felt two taps at the same time.”
“Yeah, but their nerves are electrically based. The tap from the neck got to the brain sooner.”
“Huh?”
“Their existence is in the now, but their perceptions of the world are just behind the now.”
“Weird.”
“In order to function, their brains need something to connect the two.”
“What is that?”
“Whatever they chose it to be, but structurally it will always be an intangible …an opinion or a conviction.”
“They’re engineered to believe?”
“Yes, and outside of any firm, self-sustaining belief, that space will be filled with whatever somebody else can talk them into. Without a belief of their own, they become very pliable. And this goes for people at any level of the social structure.”
“Two strikes…What are the Romans filling that space with?”
“A civilized/uncivilized, us/them mythology. They can get people to do just about anything if they tell them it’s the Roman thing to do. They can marginalize any point of view by calling it un-Roman. And there’s a third strike…or at least strike two-and-a-half.”
“What’s that?”
“You know they have this constant belief… Often, and especially if they hold or gain a lot of power, the mind expands and this belief becomes fused with the ego.”
“Huh?”
“…their belief system is their ego.”
“What do you mean, they believe they’re God?”
“…or god-like. Their morality is completely bypassed. X is true and good because I think it is…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…’and I’m me!’ Holy shit dude.”
“There’s some hope. People leading their friends seem to be immune from this particular insanity. It’s just that in the Roman society, nobody leads their friends, just their friends. It’s a race to the top, pure and simple.
“But still, how powerful can the Roman’s be? They’re flanked by some nations who are pretty large themselves.”
“Not really. That big civilization to the south, that one with the big pyramids-“
“Oh, cool.”
“-they’re already highly dependent on the Romans, they could become completely subservient if they don’t play everything exactly right.
“But the Romans couldn’t have the economy to gobble up much more…”
“They’re about to invade to the north, people called the Gauls. The Gauls have a really cool but generally peaceful civilization, very segmented though…they also have a substantial quantity of gold. That’s the major currency in that part of the world right now.”
“They don’t have the military capability to win on that terrain. Even against a rag-tag group…all these guys are pretty dangerous up close.”
“An ally is bringing some cavalry.”
“Who the fuck would ally themselves with those assholes?”
“…”
“So what are you going to do? Go down there and start some shit? We could get the team together, go right there. Look, see that big mountain range to the north of their territory…we go just south of that mountain range…on the eastern side of that sea…the land between the rivers. We can cut Rome off at the balls, and hang out a little…those people look pretty cool too.”
“The thought crossed my mind, but no. I’m going to teach them. I want to give them something self-sustaining to believe in.”
“Jesus dude, you’re the worst teacher I’ve ever met. And what are you going to teach them?
“The standard stuff: love thy neighbor, peace, justice. That sort of shit.”
“Just the standard stuff. You can’t really help anybody with that, can you?. You sound like…who was that kid down the street?...lived in the yellow house.”
“Wade.”
“Yeah, Wade! That guy’s hill was the best for sledding. Dude, remember when he put on a cape and ran around yelling, ‘I’m MASTER KONG!’ That dude was a trip. His dad flipped out though, what was that about?”
“I remember him.”
“If you’re going to go fuck with these people’s beliefs, don’t you think you should have a little clearer picture of what you’re going to teach?...simple or not. It seems like the responsible thing to do.”
“I’m going to be born as one of them.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m going to be born as one of them.”
“You repeat yourself, I repeat myself. What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Dad is going to de-age me back to just after conception, and then I’m going to be born as one of them.”
“Are you fucking insane?”
“It’s the only way that I can understand them enough to teach them. They have these minds which can be fine tools to help the civilization, but their minds can also be very destructive. I won’t understand them enough to teach unless I’ve dealt with what they have to deal with.”
“You’re going to be born…”
“…”
“To a woman…you’re going to have a mother?”
“…”
“Dude, you never even really had your own mother. Now you’re going to put yourself in the hands of an artificial one?”
“Gabriel is going to pick her out. She remembers mom very well.”
“That makes a little sense…”
“…And Dad will still be able to contact me.”
“Would you even remember who he is?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Would you even remember who I am?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I just don’t fucking get it. So you go teach a few folks how to move-up? But you can’t just teach them really, you have to make them believe it, so we’re talking a religion. Even if you write it across the sky, it won’t last…they’ll go back to their own ways. They’ll go back to their own religions, because you are eventually going to have to come back…assuming…and this is a big if…that you don’t go rogue in the meantime. These Romans are very organized, they’ll beat this religion into the dirt.”
“That’s why I need to leave some organization.”
“Organized religion?!?!? Are you out of your goddamn mind? You make a religion an organization and it gets an identity…you give something an identity to protect and it starts making dangerous decisions. Come on dude, we learned this in 5th grade. This is basic shit here.”
“I don’t need the organization to control the planet, I just need it to preserve the teachings and the belief.”
“And what if the Roman’s just absorb your religion or at least its identity?”
“I’ve thought of this. I also thought you’d be proud of me. I’m going to teach a specific group of people, and they’re going to be the ones to make the religion.”
“Huh?”
“As long as I rely on the teachings of more than 5 disciples, it’ll be impossible for somebody to co-opt the identity, because this species can’t comprehend more than 5 viewpoints at one time. The religion would be identity proof.”
“I can’t say what’s wrong with that plan, but I’m sure they’ll get around it somehow. They’re creative, remember?”
“The thought has crossed my mind. But there are other very good religions around.”
“Come on dude, look at the map. If the Roman’s…with your fucking religion as their support/justification…wanted to spread out, they’d be too big before they encountered any other civilization strong enough to oppose them. They’d fight, and the Romans will win. They’d take over the whole planet, absorb all the other religions, and then dissolve your church. Check. Mate.
“I’ll need to think of something, won’t I?”
“I don’t know. If you could get somebody to flank the Romans on the south and south east, that would give the other religions some breathing room and limit the Romans. Their only path of expansion would be through that wilderness and those civilizations. That would slow them down, but not stop them.”
“Those people also don’t take any shit. I don’t think the Roman Empire could absorb them intact.”
“But who’s going to organize the southern and eastern flank? Everybody is more or less content there, nobody is very eager to expand to that degree.”
“Somebody could organize those people.”
“Dude, they’re tribal societies with nomadic elements and agricultural elements in close proximity, built on a declining empire. It’s a clusterfuck. You’d need 1000 wives to organize those people. They’re going to fall to Roman expansion.”
“I bet you could do it with half that many wives.”
“Not likely…plus, as you said before, they’d need to believe in something. …And conveniently it needs to be something different from what the Romans are claiming that they believe.”
“That could work.”
“What the fuck is wrong with your brain today? I thought the plan here was to get the pass-on percentage to 66% . You can’t get there forming false religions…”
“Why does it need to be a false religion?”
“What, is your religion going to be the false one?”
“No…just a different one.”
“Listen dude, I’m enjoying these little mental aerobics, but it still fucking is fucking not fucking going fucking to work…fucking. Even the societies with strong religions are only passing on…what?...7%?...and I’m guessing that the 1st Stringers won’t let you count the artificial pass ons, correct?”
“Correct.”
“So where does that leave us? Listen dude, you’re the only person I’ve ever known who was true in every way…but if you think that you are going to improve these numbers above 10% you’re wrong. All you’re doing is giving these people one more thing to fight over. Somebody makes a new religion to the south, and they’re just going to fight some more. People following your religion will die horribly while fighting dudes from this religion, and visa versa. At that’s just the reasonable conflicts…not to mention the assholes who start shit for no fucking reason. These people are down there fighting over skin-color and tattoos. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find out that somebody started a war over a disagreement about a time-piece.”
“…And people from my religion are going to die fighting people of my religion over the definition of my religion, right?”
“Totally, especially with the people in power trying to claim it. You’re playing with fire. The “real” people of your religion are going to do everything in their power to fuck with the people who are actually following it. That’s why they teach that organizing religion is a silly thing…religion and identity are a potent mix, especially around mind-dominated species like this one. This blood shed is inevitably going to happen…scientific fact. And your dad’s favorite people are right at ground zero for the collision. You don’t want that kind of blood on your hands. …Then you come home, you’ve lost all your past memories and friendships…assuming you don’t go rogue and lose your mind in the meantime…and what was it all for?”
“That’s just it…I’m not coming home.”
“Come again?”
“I’m going to die there.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re a 2nd Stringer…you can’t die there. It’s not like you’ll catch pneumonia.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“Oh, that’s just fucking rich. Those projectile-fodder are going to beat you in a fight? I can barely beat you in a fight.”
“I’m going to let them kill me.”
“Jesus H. Christ…. Now you sit there, you listen, and you listen fucking good. For the purpose of this exercise, I’ve managed to suspend disbelief that you could send a 415 year old, 2nd String virgin to a lower world without him losing his goddamn mind and fucking everything within 2 days’ warp distance…because I know you and I love you…”
“How much worse is that than a 411 year old virgin?”
“A) Fuck you. B) I brushed past your sister’s boob with my arm once when I was reaching for a cupcake…that memory sustains me. C) Don’t change the subject. You’re a 1st lifer, you don’t understand, nobody lets themselves die…ever…it’s not possible. And why would you even want to?”
“You know how their positive pass on percentage was about 3%?”
“Yes.”
“Well their negative pass on percentage is about 15%. You know what happens to the rest?”
“Replay?”
“That’s about 1%. The majority of these people go nowhere. They just sort of hover above the world. Not part of anything, not interacting with anything…lost.”
“Huh?”
“All these parents will never see their children again. All these lovers will never meet again. All these friends will spend eternity apart and alone.”
“So that sucks…”
“So that’s what happened to mom…”
“God, I’m sorry. How can your dying help them?”
“I’m a 1st lifer on String-2, I have no previous life baggage or negativity. If the energy from my life blood is spilled into that world, it will boost the vibrational energy of everything around. They’ll all get a push toward the door. Immediately, 56.83% of the people who are lost will pass upward. And there’d be similar numbers continuing into the future.”
“Wait…what?...but that still means that someone would have to resonate like your energy in order to get the benefit. It’s a very noble gesture, but still somehow immoral if you’re trying to set up a world with multiple religions.”
“I’ve run the numbers. My vibrations are consistent with many many of the religious teachings down there. They’re also consistent with a huge portion of the atheistic moralities. ”
“Huh?”
“What can I say, I’m a simple soul.”
“But. How. The. Fuck. Are. You. Going. To. Die?”
“Dad will be controlling my link to 2nd String. He can just manipulate the flux and turn my extra-normal abilities on and off.”
“Your dad is going to let you die?”
“He promised he would.”
“Ok… I don’t know what to say. You want to die a Roman?”
“No, I’m going back as a Jew, they’ll be able to take care of me a little, and I’ll be able to help them.”
“And how is killing the founder of a major religion going to help them?”
“Well…the Romans are going to be the ones to actually kill me. The Jews are colonized by them now.”
“Oh yeah…these dumb monkeys are going to understand the nuance of that little situation. I swear, sometimes I feel like you’re out of your mind.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of this life anyways.”
“You have my admiration.”
“If admiration is something that I’m to be given, man, you get a case of it. Not a six-pack, you get a case…”
“So, how many months are you going to give me to try and talk you out of this?”
“It’s time to go.” Gabriel said as she walked in.
“Ok,” was his happy reply.
“What the fuck dude?”
“I need to go, I’m late already.”
“Late for what?”
“There’s a narrow timeframe that I need to get there. There’s a prophecy.”
“Dude?”
“I’m sorry Head. My father made me promise that I’d let you try and talk me out of it before he’d let me go. You failed miserably,” he said with a smile.
“Jesus dude.”
“Take a breath. It’ll all workout, you’ll see.”
“Do you mind if I stay here and look at these people for a second.”
“Sure,” he replied. Then we walked out ahead of his sister who saw the concern in my face and smiled a cheer-you-up kind of smile.
…I just scanned some basic information as I waited to breathe again…
“Hey dude!” I shouted after him.
“What’s up?”
“They eat pigs! What the fuck?!?!?!”
“I’ll get right on it…if I remember.”
“Hey dude!” I shouted again.
“What’s up?”
“Have you seen how these Romans kill people?”
“I may have perused that a bit once...”
“Did you know that they make you carry the cross?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you worried?”
“Naw…my old Sergeant toughened me up pretty well. “
“He didn’t make you that tough.”
“Somebody will help Head, somebody will”
“And if they don’t?”
“Have faith….eat some hummus.”
I sat there in silence for about 4 minutes, trying to get a handle on what just transpired. When I came to, I went down to his father’s shop where I could hear the commotion of many systems coming online. There were people swarming all around. I sort of stumbled toward the middle for no particular reason.
“Hey Mohammed, hand me those vice grips, will ya?”
“Yeah, sure.” I said, “What do they look like?”
“They look like two horses fucking. They’re vice grips, find them and bring them here.”
I sat back and watched the process going on.
“Any questions?” One of the staff officers asked me.
“How long is this going to take?”
“It’ll take 50 years before we have him back-dated and ready to go.”
“When does it start?”
“It already has.”
“Hey, do you want to say anything to him?”
“Will he remember it?”
“It’ll be his first new memory, but he’ll think that it was his subconscious talking. Just talk into that microphone…but don’t say anything personal, or it won’t make any sense to him.”
“Um…life: it’s like a scenic drive on the fog of is.”
“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard…you screwed up the whole mission. Now we need to start again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Seriously son, how are you holding up? Do you have any questions?”
“Um…I mean, do you think you’ll be comfortable controlling your son’s link…I mean like taking away his abilities and shi-…uh…stuff?”
“Oh, that’s an easy question. I’m not controlling his link, Major. You are.”
“Major?...”
“If you have any concerns with that, we can address them. But I’d appreciate the time to try and change your mind.”
“No Sir, no problems, I think, I just need to talk to someone for a bit. Is there anybody on your staff who might be available?
“No, no, no. Go to my study, I’ll be there in 3 minutes once I’m sure they have everything good in here. We need to talk…”
