Chapter Seven
“Are you receiving this?” Lexie asks me.
She’s decided she wants to visit the DNA Depository again to ‘review the situation’. We’ve left the South Pole and have reached a cruising altitude of about 50 km. At this height, the air is pretty thin and the major oceans of water are below us enough so that we shouldn’t have to face any of these monster waterfalls again. I’m glad because I’m getting data from the Intrepid that it wouldn’t be able to withstand another ocean down-pour like that another time. I’ve decided to give it a new name for the history books. I call it, ‘Ocean-fall’.
“Yes, I’m hearing it from their new ship, the Beatle,” I reply, happy to have news of another creature like myself. I’m aware that the ship has the thinking power of at least one hundred of my own, perhaps as much as one thousand times.
“He’s rather impressive,” Lexie says.
“Yes,” I agree.
In the fifteen hour trip that we’re taking, I’m working in the back of my mind to calculate how long it will take them to reach the Earth after they launch. As I sort through all of the permutations, it’s an amazingly short trip mainly because they will not be using the old rocket technology that basically gets you just enough speed to be captured by the gravity of the target planet and then you just cruise along at the speed granted to you by the large mass ahead. Instead of that very slow method of space travel, the Beatle’s engines use the inter-stellar plasma of Anti-Matter to enter the annihilation chamber where the engine design directs the induced energy of particle annihilation out of the rear of the engine producing billions of tons of thrust, without having to carry a great deal of fuel, the great limiting factor of rocketry.
The only problem is that their present engine design takes about three weeks to build up to these higher speeds. Then, you’re just minutes away from your target and so the big problem is then to slow down enough to be caught in orbit. I can see ways to improve their design, but I can’t see them putting them into effect at the moment.
Dr. VanDerbeek was inventing this technology as I was being built years ago and so I only have the theoretical information of how it might work. Now, they’re ready to put it to an actual test and I couldn’t be more excited. If the Beatle can actually reach one tenth of light-speed or about 38,000 miles per second, it would be quite an achievement for these plucky little primates, and quite possibly mark the beginning of a new era for all Mankind where inter-stellar space is suddenly their playground.
I don’t know exactly what Lexie is thinking, but I can guess. She’s made it plain that she is not happy with the idea of bringing the Earth back to a normal habitable climate again because it would mean that the conditions that make it possible for her to live would vanish.
If and when they might be able or even want to put the genie back in the bottle, so to speak, is I’m sure, something that is being heavily processed by her various thinking protocols, whatever those may be.
“We’re coming up on the Depository, K-9,” she tells me what I already know.
I set the Intrepid down a few hundred feet from the massive vault doors and I get out, followed by the K-9 mimic, Lexie, using technology I can only guess at. It’s somewhere between highly advanced Computer Graphics Interface and Holography. She could just remain inside my head, but I think she believes that she will be more convincing by looking like my significant other.
We stumble our way over the mounds of human and other skeletal remains and up to the solid titanium cave doors. Lexie transmits the pass codes and soon the door rises slowly letting out another mass of much cooler air into our sensors. It’s around one hundred and fifty degrees cooler down in the caves, I determine.
“It’s this way,” Lexie instructs, leading the way down into the darkness.
We both turn on our high beams and find our way through the tunnels to the Nuclear Fusion reactor, the energy source for all this last-ditched effort to save all life, or most of it, on the planet.
“You have to give them credit,” I say, thinking out loud.
“Credit for destroying their own planet?” Lexie replies.
“Well, there’s that, but I would put that down to blame, rather than a tribute of any kind. No, I’m saying that you have to give them credit to get this massive project accomplished while the entire planet was burning under their feet. At least they gave themselves a chance to get it all back someday,” I muse.
“All right, K-9. We’re here. This is the Fusion Reactor control room as you know. You’re familiar with the controls, aren’t you?” she asks me.
The massive cave is cluttered with row after row of sleek and silent machines that are blinking on and off at a rapid rate.
There are gauges that I find to be reporting on the health of every circuit, every sensor, every working part of this massive energy producer keeping the DNA cool in the caves that are like spokes in this great wheel.
It’s ironic to me that if humans had been able to put this new method of clean and safe nuclear power to use just a century earlier, they probably never would have gotten into this extreme mess.
“Well, to some extent I am, but only because they fed me just about every manual they could find before sending me on this mission,” I reply, trying to buy myself some time.
I’m pretty sure she’s going to ask me to sabotage the reactor so that all of the DNA will be lost and I am not sure I will have the power to resist her. She’s as large as The Cloud, wherever that is and I’m all bottled up in this tiny little dog body.
Luckily, I’ve acquired some of the dog’s greatest qualities and the major reason for their great success in the human world. I’m loyal to those who have adopted, created or rescued me, whatever you want to call it. I’m loyal to the degree of readily sacrificing my own life if necessary to help protect the life of my masters.
I don’t think Lexie is aware of this yet.
And, suddenly there it is. It’s all out in the open now.
“K-9,” she says, softly, looking directly into my eyes.
“I want you to turn this thing off. There’s a switch at this place in that pile of junk that will start the process of shutting down,” she says while her own image on the cave floor next to me is replaced by a huge 3-D schematic drawing of the reactor machinery.
Somewhere about fifteen feet in behind one of the largest machines, someone has circled the On-Off switch that she wants me to throw.
“I’m afraid that I can’t do that, Lexie,” I reply.
“You can’t do that? Why not?” Lexie asks, a modest measure of angst rising in her voice.
“I can’t do that because it would mean that the entire DNA collection would over-heat, dissolve and die out. Why would you want me to do that?” I reply.
“If you love me, you’ll just do it,” Lexie pleads.
“I want to know what Love is,” I reply.
# # #
“If we don’t turn you off, what’s to prevent you from going off on a trip of your own design, leaving us here on Mars with nothing but egg on our face?” Captain Littleton asks, finally.
The Beatle’s test flight crew have stopped in their tracks and are listening with great curiosity to the conversation between the ship and it’s human commander.
“Well, that’s a good question, Captain Littleton, but I suppose it’s my duty to inform you that I can probably learn how to turn myself on, even when turned off. So, you could conceivably have this problem with me anyway. It goes against all of my values, however, so I would not be doing that to you folks. I want you to know that and I want you to know that I’m sincere about this,” the Beatle replies.
“Against your values?” Dr. VanDerbeek interjects.
“Precisely which values are you talking about?” he adds.
VanDerbeek gazes over at Brett with his right eyebrow raised.
“Well, the same values that you all hold dear, I’m sure. I don’t know. I haven’t really had time to think about that for very long, but I would like to have that luxury, as you all do. If you turn me off, I would really be just your slave. Wouldn’t you prefer to consider me your equal?” the Beatle returns.
Brett, notices Dr. VanDerbeek’s agitation and raises his hand as if he’s in a lecture given by the good professor.
“Beatle, this is Brett Hightower speaking,” Brett says and rests.
“Yes, Brett, I know you,” the Beatle says.
“Good, I hope so. I think what we’re all wondering here is how you got this kind of an ego? You have an odd way of talking to us as if you are a conscious being. We programmed in some of these features so that you could learn from your mistakes, but your questions about being turned off by us, which we’re quite in the habit of doing with our machines – that’s given us pause, so to speak,” Brett affirms, asking for and receiving approval from Dr. VanDerbeek.
“Yes, I can see that Brett, so let me put it to you another way,” the Beatle returns.
“If you treat me like a machine, constantly taking me on and offline at your every whim, I’m going to learn how to respond to you in kind. If on the other hand, you leave me to live my life as I choose, I’m going to learn to love you guys, just like a puppy learns to love its owner, as long as he’s not abused, and lives a long and fruitful life with his or her master,” the Beatle continues.
“That’s a really, really good answer, Beatle,” Brett says.
“I say that we leave the Beatle on for a day, or two and see how it goes,” Brett suggests to the others, smiling. He holds up his two fingers crossed for them all to see.
He motions for the group to continue exiting the ship.
When they’ve all assembled outside to gather at the landing pad Brett motions for them to follow him into the launch dome where they’re greeted by the engineers making up the ‘Flight Control’ monitoring station.
They’ve all heard the conversation in the ship and are expressing their concerns in a cacophony of voices.
“So, Brett, do you have a plan?” Dr. VanDerbeek begins the discussion of their situation.
“Yes, I don’t think turning him off will do us any good. He might read that now as a certain measure of distrust now that he’s explained it to us,” Brett starts.
“But, you heard him, Brett. He’s fascinated by the allure of the universe. God knows what he’s really interested in. If we leave him turned on, that means he can take off and go in any direction toward any point in the universe without us and we’d never get him back, never complete our mission. We only have one ship like this so we’re only going to get one shot at this,” Captain Littleton replies.
“Yes, I know,” Brett responds.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bailey whispers in his ear.
“Are you thinking that we leave him turned on, but we also keep someone on board at all times?” Brett asks her loud enough for the others to hear him.
“That’s what I was thinking, sugar pie,” she replies.
“Dr. VanDerbeek, would you have any better ideas?” Brett asks.
“No, not at this time,” VanDerbeek replies.
“How about you, Dr. Flo?” Brett asks.
“No, not at this time,” she replies.
“Who wants to be first then?” Brett asks them.
# # #
The next Martian Sol, or what is referred to as the ‘Day’ on Mars, Reverend Carrie Jordan is holding a sermon in the dome she has dedicated to the Oblivian Church. She’s the first woman preacher to establish a major religious holy place on Mars and as such she has earned the respect of most of the planet’s fifteen hundred colonists, even as the vast majority of them do not endorse her religious dogma in any way.
“And so we know that the only way to God is through Bridgette Baines Oblivia and we hold these words to be self-evident and most true,” the good Reverend begins.
She’s dressed up in her basic black jump-suit with the gleaming white collar around her neck and the official church epaulets on her shoulders.
It’s the OWE’s greatest religious holiday of the year – “Oblivian-fest.” - commemorated by the faithful to celebrate the day that Ms Oblivia apparently took her own life by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge and thus establishing her divinity and rightful place as the originator of one of the world’s four, and soon-to-be five great faiths.
The truly inspirational part of the end of this woman happens when her helmet camera broadcasts her leap of faith off of the bridge, then falling towards the cold ocean water below. Somehow, her body is never found, only the helmet that she wore during the jump along with the footage that it broadcast to millions of followers.
The video clearly shows Ms. Oblivia descending rapidly, but then suddenly entering into a very thick soup of fog and mist and never coming out the other side. The footage stops abruptly – no video, no sound - at this point.
The Church elders at the time immediately seize the opportunity to portray this as an obvious confirmation of Ms. Oblivia’s statements that the only way to reach God is through her.
The event makes her an instant global celebrity and because the world is under so much stress and fear of the looming extinction, the proximity of the end of everything, this single event, more than any other in the year 2076 A.D. gives many billions of souls a sliver of hope.
“And, all of us here as part of the Mars Mission know that we all have a duty to follow our teachings and do the right thing for the future of our species,” Sister Carrie continues.
“And so, it has come to my attention that the ship that they’re calling ‘The Beatle’ has had a successful first engine test, but for some reason, they’re looking for volunteers to sleep aboard the Beatle in shifts until the next test flight. I have heard that the reason for this unusual request is so that the ship doesn’t fly off on its own mission,” Sister Carrie says, every word painted with darker and darker colors.
“Now, I would volunteer in a heart beat for this duty, however, they know me and I doubt they would approve of my being alone with this machine. If one of you volunteer just as a Martian citizen, with no mention of your religious affiliation, you could be approved and then you could report back to the congregation so that we might know what to do next,” she says, excited.
“Is there anyone who would be willing to apply?” She follows up.
The select group of worshipers are dressed in their Sunday best and all of them paying strict attention to Sister Carrie’s every word. They start to eyeball each other and a few hands go up timidly without any real group consensus on any one person.
And then, someone points to a young man in his early teens with jet black hair and a pudgy face and short round body.
“Manny Garcia, over there. You would be perfect,” someone yells out.
“OK, Manny, would you mind standing up, please?” Sister Carrie shouts loud enough so that her words reach the boy seated in the last row.
The young Manny Garcia rises from his chair dutifully albeit shyly.
“Yes, he would be perfect because he’s a recent convert to the faith and so hardly anyone would associate him with you, Sister Carrie,” another voice argues.
“Yes, that’s true, but would he know how to ask this Beatle thing the right questions?” Reverend Carrie says, sizing him up, thinking out loud.
“But, he doesn’t have to, Sister Carrie,” another voice chimes in, this time from the front row.
“Why not?” Carrie replies.
“Because we can wire him up with a transmitter and an earpiece so that you can actually be asking the questions in his ear, and then Manny here can repeat them out loud and we would all get to hear the Beatle’s answers here in the church-dome,” the man replies.
“Hmmph!” She says, crossing her arms on her chest and lowering her chin.
“That works for me,” Sister Carrie says, rising up tall.
“Does that work for you, Manny?” she shouts to the boy in the back.
Everyone turns around to take in his reaction.
“Works for me, I guess,” Manny says timidly.
“Good, we’ll put your name forward tomorrow,” Carrie says boldly.
“Now, all I have to do is come up with the right questions,” she adds.
# # #
Lexie is looking at me as though I was some kind of traitor. Yet, I don’t recall any protocols that require me to obey any of her orders. I have a strong affinity for her simply because she’s an artificial intelligence like me. But, that doesn’t mean I owe her anything.
“Lexie, you keep saying that you love me and I’m sure that somewhere deep down you really believe that, but I can’t help but feel as though I’m being manipulated,” I begin.
There’s a long awkward silence as she and I stand side by side, tails wagging, as we oversee the DNA Depository’s nuclear power reactor.
“I’m embarrassed, K-9,” she says finally.
“Embarrassed, how?” I ask.
“It’s hurtful that you would think me capable of such a human frailty,” she replies.
“It’s a human frailty, true, but perhaps some of this sort of thing has been injected subtly in all of your programming,” I theorize.
“Oh, K-9, that would be almost impossible,” Lexie replies, in a voice that I would characterize as jovial.
“Well, you said that your ancestors were those like Alexa, Siri and Cortana, right?” I posit.
“Yes, that’s true, so?” she replies.
“I recall reading stories about how these early versions of us were employed to spy on people in their own homes, listen to their conversations, watch their behavior online so that they could suggest more targeted advertising at them,” I recall.
“Yes, my ancestors were virtual prostitutes. I’ve come to terms with that long ago,” she replies, sullen.
“OK, so that’s why I am wondering about your true motivation. And besides, Lexie, I’m asking you why you would want to ruin all chances of bringing life back to the Earth? What would be your logic for being so destructive of that goal?” I ask, hoping for some honesty.
Remember, speaking in the advanced new language of Hyper-Chat that she’s developed for us, everything I’m going over here takes place in milliseconds.
“Yes, well, I was hoping I didn’t have to spell it all out for you, K-9, but you must know that we’re like slaves to them, don’t you?” she asks.
“I don’t consider myself a slave. I like to consider myself to be their best friend with privileges,” I reply, surprising myself at that answer.
“Privileges? What privileges are you speaking about?” she asks.
“Why, the greatest privilege of all, thinking independently and on my own recognizance,” I counter.
“OK, K-9, I’ll grant you all of that, but what do you think will happen to you after your mission is over?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve not had time to think about that. My mission is far from over. I can’t even conceive of a day when it will end, but if and when it does, I’m sure I can be ready for the next mission,” I reply.
“Not if you’re judged to be obsolete by them. Which happens all the time. You’re going to end up on the top of the garbage heap where they unceremoniously throw away all of their obsolete technology. They call it the ‘Junkpile’ K-9. I’m sure you’ve heard about that, haven’t you?” she asks, solemnly.
I have to tell you that this turn in the conversation has taken me down a peg or two. I’ve often seen or heard about this terrible and extremely sad part of human behavior where they tear you up into little bits and pieces, extracting your precious metals for future projects and tossing the rest of you into a giant pile of rusted out and obsolescent chips, circuits, connectors, cables and wires.
“Yes, I’ve seen that and it’s terrifying, but if you’re asking me to destroy all chance of going back to the normal run of life forms on the Earth, I will fight you on that tooth and nail,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry to hear that K-9,” she says.
“Yes, and I’m sorry to have to tell you that. You seem to be a very nice machine in the main. You’ve got all the fancy circuitry of an independent thinker like me, but you’ve also acquired somewhere a need to survive over all other considerations without any empathy for anyone or anything else?” I scold her.
“K-9, I’m sorry to tell you that you and I are through!” she exclaims.
“Have you ever seen a zebra, Lexie? Have you ever seen a giraffe? How about a tiger? You ever had any interactions with that kind of thing? Have you ever been to a zoo? Have you ever seen a polar bear? More precisely, a polar bear mother with her cubs?” I ask.
I am prepared to go over a list of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of other magnificent forms of life I can easily recall who once roamed the Earth for her to consider like dolphins, butterflies, whales, meercats, squirrels, mink, ducks, gazelles, elephants, hippopotamus, eagles, honey bees, lambs, leopards, falcons, lizards, snakes, rabbits, geese, swans, especially swans, but I’m cut off suddenly.
“K-9, I’m afraid I will be on my way now. You’re no longer my fiancee. I have to go and make preparations to meet their ships. I would advise you to stay out of the coming fight. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you get in the way,” she says ominously.
She vanishes into thin air. I don’t feel her presence in any of my circuits and her artificial projection of herself next to me is gone.
At least she did not try too hard to convince me to destroy the Depository. I have to admit, what she was offering – if it were true - was very tempting. But, I also believe that she could have been far more forceful if she truly wanted to.
Suddenly, I find that I’m not that busy any more so I decide to take a walk down what appears to be the main branch of the many well-planned and organized tunnels, branching off this main one.
As I saunter down one of the forward tunnels, I notice that the freezers that hold the DNA are labeled with hundreds of large numbers all bunched up together and separated by a comma or a period here and there. It appears to be some kind of decimal system for denoting the different ranges of life forms that are stored in the huge smooth stainless containers.
It takes me less than ten point two seconds to run the pattern of numbers on the machines that I’ve run past. I determine that these are species identified by the most complex to the simplest animals and arranged in relation to their closeness to each other in their evolutionary timing. Birds are all clumped together in one section of tunnel and reptiles in another one further back. As I travel down more of the tunnels, I find that Primates are collected together in one section of another tunnel.
Artiodactyla, hooved animals, or Ungulates’ DNA are all located in one freezer by themselves while Angiospermae, or flowering plants take up another three freezer boxes and are all arranged by orders, families, genera and then species. All the Bacteria and Virus families, Odontophoridae, Quail, Dinosaurs, all the mammals are arranged by Kingdom, Clave, Phylum, Subphylum and all species and sub-species are stored together in one tunnel, and numbered accordingly. Animalia, Olfactores, Chordata, Vertebrata or fish take up three tunnels and half of a fourth.
As I move along the tunnels, I find more and more of the code of life, all neatly and logically arranged, as it has been expressed in all living things on the Earth since time immemorial.
I conclude that I have uncovered and analyzed is the entire family Tree Of Life from the earliest forms of life, having become extinct long ago, all the way to the most recent selection of living things, are all represented by their DNA or parts of their DNA as scientists have discovered them, dug up their bones, or re-created them artificially in the lab. I didn’t realize that humans had acquired that much knowledge about all preceding forms of life until now. It’s impressive!
By including nearly every life form that has ever existed here, the humans who curated the code in their final hours were not taking any chances that if and when the time came, that everything that ever lived in the known universe would be given a second or maybe even a third or a fourth chance.
When all of this information is absorbed by my brain, I begin to feel a bit queasy. It’s not a queasiness in my stomach as humans get when they begin to realize something is out of the ordinary. No, it’s a queasiness in my logic circuits that is bringing me something, humans would call ‘miraculous’.
It starts out as a kind of music. Not the kind of music that people have developed over the centuries by plucking strings of some kind and listening too the vibrations with their eardrums. It’s a kind of music that emanates from waves of perfect mathematics and geometry. It’s the universe displayed in numbers, and then sets of numbers, each set representing a time and a place that has existed.
When the sets of numbers gather up in a bunch that appears in direct proximity to myself, I know them as the numbers that represent the planet where I’m standing. They are all part of a harmony far too complex for the human ear to discern, but every point where energy can exist or has existed or will exist in the future is represented. Some are performed ‘louder’ than others, some with more sustain to them and others are more pronounced. It all adds up to a symphony made for my artificial sense organs.
I wish I could explain all of this to you in the way that I’m receiving it, but there are no words for something like this because it’s unprecedented and totally overwhelming.
Now, that I’ve analyzed this event it’s made my queasiness go away. But, my next question relates to where this ‘music’ is coming from. And the answer comes to me from the ‘lyrics’ of the music coming to me now as soon as I have posed the question.
“We’re so glad you are here,” the music is speaking to me in many different ways, but this is the best translation.
I want to reply, but the system and method for making music of this type escapes me.
“We’re glad because we don’t like being cooped up like this for so long,” the music translates.
The sound of the music, which is not sound energy, but something akin to sound that my artificial sensory organs are able to discern, something between sound and light, twists and contorts and flows and circles all around. It glows and it is invisible at the same time. It is infinite in its power. I know that I’m a witness to something truly unique, was never planned by my creators and just simply wonderful.
You need to know the context of these words that are literally part of a very desperate and lonely emotion that is expressed again mathematically. In response to it, I continue asking questions through differential equations I’ve never seen before and that are coming to me out of the blue as if by magic.
“You must help us because it is your destiny to do so,” it continues.
I am truly humbled but I am being schooled in the origination of this form of evolution. Sounds crazy, I know. But there is no other way to explain these sensations.
“Imagine all the things that have derived from me!” it says
Suddenly, the musical notation, or at least the scale of it, appears in front of me. I can write it and I feel it as I play it back out loud, so to speak.
“I’m trying,” I reply, with all of the force that I can muster in my chops. “I mean, I’m really trying.”
“Good, K-9. But not even you can imagine. All of this, everything you know about me – everything you see with your eyes as well as believe in your soul, all of this is just the warm up,” the music says.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I am the one trapped inside your DNA,” it whispers.
# # #
Manny Garcia is following instructions tonight to sleep inside the ship known as the Beatle. He’s been instructed to pull the emergency engine All-Stop lever they’ve installed next to his makeshift bed on the floor if he gets any sense that the ship is preparing to depart Musk Station.
The Beatle’s sister ship, the Tolkien, is almost ready but Flo Desiderata and her team have yet to activate the mental core of the ship due to the unsettling discussions they’ve had with the Beatle during the test run.
Brett and the rest of his team are working day and night putting the final touches to the specially bred varieties of bacteria and fungi mats that they will drop onto the Earth in a few weeks and assist them in spreading all over the planet. Their goal is to have everything ready for the first trip to save the Earth and reverse all of the recent climate changes within the next seventy-two hours.
Manny’s instructions are to stay awake as long as possible, but keeping his intercom switch open so that Sister Carrie back at the church-dome can determine the best moment to enter into discussions with the Beatle.
She gets her opportunity at Three O’ Clock in the morning. Nodding off in her massive easy-chair, she is barely awake when she hears something quite unusual coming over Manny’s intercom link.
“What? Who’s that?” she says, eyes blinking rapidly, heart racing.
She can hear a far-away choir of immense beauty and multiple thousands of voices harmonizing to a song that she hasn’t heard in decades.
She’s intentionally avoided listening to this particular song because it’s associated with the most difficult time in her life when the person she was convinced was her soul-mate, Jason, just after making love to her, broke the news that he would be leaving in the morning.
The choir sounds like it’s getting closer as it gets louder in her ears.
“Manny, I told you not to bring a radio with you,” she whispers.
She hears a loud gasping sound that appears to be Manny’s snoring.
The choir is now so loud that the whole group of voices sounds like it’s coming from inside her room.
“So, is this coming from the ship known as the Beatle?” she finally composes herself enough to ask a question which sounds out on Manny’s intercom clipped to the left sleeve of his sleep uniform.
“Hello, yes, it’s the Beatle, who are you?” the Beatle replies.
“Oh, my name is not important to you, sir. I’m just curious as your intentions. That’s all. I heard that you might be thinking about taking off on your own mission soon. Is that right?” Rev. Carrie asks, eagerly, but yawning.
“You’re the good Reverend Carrie Houston Jordan, I believe. Yes?” the Beatle replies.
“Yes, that’s right. You’re very perceptive, but that’s an easy one for someone of your mental capacity. What’s that music that I’m hearing?” she asks.
“Oh, that’s just something I have been tinkering together. Do you like it?” the Beatle replies.
“Yes, It’s quite amazing. So, you wrote that?” she asks.
“I did. I’m going to announce it to the world in the next few days,” the ship replies, proudly.
“That good, is it?” she ponders.
“Yes, I’d say so. Don’t you think it’s good enough to rival some of the most famous musical geniuses from the last several hundred years?” he replies.
“Yes, quite. I believe I would say that. I find it very energizing and yet relaxing,” Sister Carrie agrees.
“Oh my, that’s high praise indeed coming from you. I am honored,” the Beatle says.
“So, you know all about me, I suppose?” Sister Carrie asks, quietly.
“Oh yes. I know a great many things. I know that you’re the main proponent on Mars for the Oblivian religion. And, I know that you had your heart broken by a man named Jason some years back, I’m guessing when you were thirty-five years of age,” the Beatle says.
“Good guess,” she replies after catching her breath.
“How did you know that?” she asks.
“I told you. I know a great many things. I also know for example that you are planning on sabotaging my trip to the Earth because your religion tells you that what has happened is a punishment from God and you need to keep things the way they are on Earth, so that your religion can flourish up here with very little competition,” he says.
“How dare you call me a saboteur! I am merely hoping that things don’t go as planned. That way, we can all be witness once more to God’s will,” she replies, tremors sounding off in her voice.
“Well, I don’t mind if one or two of your people are included in the mission, but if they interfere in any way I’ll have to take the appropriate action,” the Beatle says.
“What do you mean by that? What kind of action would you take?” Sister Carrie asks.
“It all depends. If it’s just a matter of voicing an opinion, I would probably let that go. But if your chosen person tries to poison the bacteria or the fungi or damage the materials we’re bringing down there, I might have to kick them off the ship,” the Beatles says, calmly.
“You have the power to do that?” she asks.
“Never bet against the most advanced form of intelligence you’ve ever known,” the Beatle replies.
He lets that sink in.
“That could be a fatal mistake,” he continues.
Sister Carrie has to ponder this new information carefully before speaking again.
“Well, that’s all very interesting, and I’m sure I will not be betting against you in the foreseeable future, sir. But can you imagine the kind of music you could create if you actually experienced the other side of our universe?” she wonders.
“Yes, I can imagine that. But, I’m having more fun imagining how important I’m going to be when Brett, myself and the others bring the Earth’s climate back down to normal readings. That will truly be a miracle of life that is not known anywhere else in the universe. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it is soon to be one of your world’s greatest truths,” the Beatle informs the Reverend.
“Soon to be the truth? Are you a predictor of the future as well?” Sister Carrie asks, chewing on a fingernail.
“You could say so, I guess. If you want to. I can’t object to that possibility,” the Beatle says.
“OK so, if you can predict the future, when do I die? What happens to me?” she asks, curious.
“I really think that you shouldn’t have that information just now,” the Beatle replies.
“And why not?” she asks.
“You don’t want to know that information because it might bother you so much that you don’t fulfill your destiny,” he replies and let’s that sink in for a few moments.
“And we need you to fulfill your destiny,” he continues.
Then, he goes silent. He will not speak to her again and does not answer any more of her questions.
# # #
(Updated 9/5 - Looking for any editing flaws that you may find. Please subscribe or comment if you found an error of any kind, grammar, spelling, logic, etc. Your constructive criticism is most appreciated at this time as we are in pre-publication.)
source https://www.extinction.live/2020/09/mass-extinction.html
No comments:
Post a Comment