The Nature of Permanence

church

The Priest noticed that in one of the church’s back rows there was a strange man. He had not noticed the man there before, but he could well have slipped in at any time. People did that sometimes. Some people preferred doing that. Besides, it was a big church with plenty of gloomy patches.

The Priest began walking up the aisle to speak with him. The man looked old and tired; his hair and beard were shaggy and he had bags under his eyes. He was gazing at the Church wall where a crucifixion statue hung with a deathly thin Jesus writhing on the cross with large nails protruding from his hands and feet.

“Can I help you with something, Sir?” the Priest ventured as he got near to the man. If the man knew he was approaching, he had not so much as moved a muscle to acknowledge this. All he did was continue to stare at Jesus’s cold marble form.

The Priest reached the man and sat down next to him. He suddenly shivered as a chill ran down his spine. This side of the Church was particularly shadowy and there was a strange coldness in the air here.

“Can I help you with something, my child? Is something troubling you?”

Slowly, the man broke off his gaze from the crucifixion and looked at the Priest. Despite the rings under them, the man’s eyes were a striking blue and had an incredible depth to them. His eyes reminded the Priest of a Vietnam war veteran he had once counselled. The Priest had a theory that this war veteran had seen such terrible things that God himself had put beauty into his eyes–kind of like a filter–to try to protect him from the world thereafter. It was a nice theory. The man sitting next to the Priest had eyes like that, and the Priest instantly found himself believing that this was a truly damaged soul here.

“Priest, when you lost your baby and then your wife, what did you feel?”

The Priest was a bit taken aback by the directness of the question, but he had on many occasions publicly explained his path into the Church. He had not always been a man of God. When his child had died and his wife had left, he had been a broken man and the Church had saved him. This man could well have sat through a sermon or spoken to someone who had. None of this was a secret.

“I-I felt pain, my child. I was lost and in pain, like Jesus walking through the wilderness. Do you feel this way, my child? The Church saved me and it can save you too if you let it. Tell me how you feel, my child, and I will try to help?”

The man’s gaze did not move nor even flinch. His brilliant blue gaze continued to bore into the Priest’s eyes. The Priest shifted his weight and glanced away briefly. When he glanced back, the man was staring at the crucifixion scene again.

“No. No, Father, I do not feel like that,” the man began speaking slowly and then started to pick up pace, “I’ve done what I always do: I’ve grown bored. All of you run around warning people of Hell and damnation, but your lives are brief and you all go back into the same box to be played again next round. The greatest gift you can give a consciousness is mortality while the greatest curse you can inflict on it is immortality. The temporality of mortality makes things beautiful because they are fleeting; even the flaws, horrors and suffering has a beauty because they cannot last forever and they are temporary, never to be repeated again. This is very different for the Ageless Ones. The real war of the immortals is one against boredom. Perhaps your God and your Lucifer are both just trying to fight the boredom of eternity? Did you ever consider that? Perhaps Jesus as well? I think he actually just staged the whole thing to give colour to a new cycle. Muhammad probably too, yes. I reckon that God probably doesn’t even like Muhammad, but is just playing along for now because it is more interesting than not playing along. I guess it is all just trying to fill up eternity. I am bored, Father, and I am very tired–very, very tired–of being so goddam bored.”

The Priest was a bit surprised. That was not the answer he was expecting. So he took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering the man the best he could.

“So,” the Priest began, “In Psalms, Isaiah says that we must not fear for I, the Lord God am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

The Priest paused for a moment before continuing.

“I can see that you are feeling lost, my child. God can help you, but only if you let him in–”

The Priest stopped talking as the man turned slowly to look at him again. Time seemed to stop. The Church and the day outside disappeared. The man’s gaze was so intense that it held him. The gaze bored into the Priests mind, unleashing strange thoughts there. These thoughts appeared at first in the Priest’s mind and then began to balloon into all-encompassing images exploding through his whole being. It started with darkness. Emptiness. Space. And then he saw that the vast expanse of a starless nothing that was filled with monstrous, ancient leviathans. Countless, ageless, infinite beings brooding on the edge of all galaxies. It was dark and so cold in this abyss. These pre-cosmic horrors were just floating there with alien motives driven by immortal, inhuman desires. These gargantuan, apocalyptic beings were just drifting there. They were floating in a darkness older than time and they had only their dark dreams to keep them company across the millennia while they plotted the chaos of world just to colour their existence. And then a vast, tentacled being floated silently by him. Its form was an indescribable abomination with clawed appendages bigger than entire planets and its world-eating mouth stretched out like a deep space black hole crowned with Antediluvian teeth.

Suddenly the ancient leviathan opened an immortal eye and looked directly at him!

He gasped and leapt up from where he was sitting. His heart was racing and his palms felt sweaty. It had been such an intense daydream–or daymare!–that he had lost all sense of awareness. His skin felt cold and the hair on the back of his neck was raised while he tasted something foul and bitter in the back of his throat.

The Priest realised that the man was no longer there. The row in front of him was empty. He looked around the Church, but he could not see him. It did not seem that much time had actually passed during the Priest’s daymare. In fact, it seemed that the daymare had been but mere moments. There was simply no sign whatsoever that a bearded man with a shaggy hair and blue eyes had been sitting right there in front of the Priest.

The Priest shook his head and began slowly walking back down the aisle. He believed in God and all the angels. He believed in miracles and the wonders of the Bible. But that also meant that he believed in the Devil, and all his tricks and wickedness. He also had to believe in all the demons of Hell, and their wicked agendas. But–and he could not shake this thought no matter how hard he tried–could there be others? What if there were dark, ancient beings floating in the starless parts of old space and the twisted, timeless corners of the universe? What if they were immortal, and existed beyond the comprehension of men? What if they walked among and through us? What would we call them? What would they want from us? What would they dream about?

The Priest did not know these answers, but he felt cold, small and insignificant in a dark, inhuman universe.

A couple decades later, the Priest died. A couple centuries later, the country fell into civil war and the Church ended up bombed into little more than rubble. Nearly a millennia later, humans wiped themselves off the face of the earth. Of humans and all their achievements, there was little more than a cosmic echo left that bounced through the universes and galaxies left there.

At one of the dark edges of pre-cosmic space, something still floated. This gargantuan being floated in a starless vacuum, dreaming its dark, inhuman dreams. And, then when the last echo of humans died out to complete silence, this ancient leviathan rolled over in its timeless slumber. Its dreams drifted from the world of men to a new world. The beast was and will always be seeking out the next thing–anything!–to try to stave off the fate of all immortals: boredom.

Gathering of the Forest Gods

forest-with-deer-and-boar

The Forest Gods had called a Gathering. Their loud trumpet decreed these intentions from the never-living tree trunks that they had stuck in the ground throughout the forest. These tree trunks were magical and never decayed. The Forest Gods were like that: magical. It was an official Gathering. Every bird and beast of the forest of all shapes and sizes were to attend the Gathering.

Only the fish of the cold waters were exempt, for they still stalked Munugu the Hollow through the twists and turns of the River. Munugu the Hollow had once appeared in his cold-metal shell, sneaking up the River to steal from the Forest Gods. The fish had alerted the Forest Gods, who had chased Munugu from the forest. With fire and magic, they had sent him back into the dark, raging ocean that was hidden behind the Place of Lights and Noise.

But the Forest Gods had called a Gathering and the rest of the birds and the beasts travelled to attend it. The birds flew in, the snakes slithered there and the wolves stalked to where the Forest Gods had called them.

The animals all stood in the great clearing that the Forest Gods used for this sort of thing. Bears stood next to deer, forest cats next to woodland mice, and the wolves hovered at the back in the darkness. There would be no killing in this sacred Gathering, unless the Forest Gods demanded it.

Once the Forest Gods had asked the great elephants to sacrifice some of their old to them. Of course, the elephants had complied. The oldest had lain down while a number of mountain lions had torn out their throats, as gently as one could do such a thing.

There had been a tough drought that year, but the Forest Gods had seen them all through it. The evil spirits, Bralala the Belchers of Smoke, that haunted the horizon beyond the forest had sucked all the water from the air. But, the Forest Gods had gone off to fight them. Not a single animal–great or small–had died of thirst or hunger that year. And, eventually, the rains had returned and the forest had continued to live as beautifully and peacefully as the Forest Gods had intended it to.

“With great sacrifice comes great reward,” the Forest Gods always repeated, “Give to us and obey us, and we will protect and watch over all of you all of the time.”

What did the Forest Gods have to say this time? What was going on? Would the sky rain ashes again or would the water run out? Were the Naga’s poaching through the forest again and had to be run down?

A light descended into the middle of the clearing. It shone down from a large, metal, seed-like object that hovered loudly. This magical, metal beast always carried the Forest Gods. The object’s multitude of wings spinning over the top of it produced a steady current of air that drove the grass flat around it. A Forest God slid down a thin vine to the ground in the middle of the clearing and was soon followed by two more of the incredible, agile beings.

The animals stood closer, peering into the beating wind coming from the hovering metal chariot. Wolves next to bunnies next to snakes. Bears next to birds while the fish kept patrolling the border. All the animals leant in closer and strained to listen. They would not understand everything. They never did. But with great sacrifice and obedience came great reward and the Forest Gods will keep watching over each and every one of them.

And then the one Forest God began to speak: “Uhm, Josh, am I connected? Have you turned on the Speech Converter? Get it synched with all of them. This is pretty pointless if the Park’s animals cannot understand what I am saying? Oh, OK, sure. Cool. OK, we’re good to go. Right… Animals of the Great Forest, we, the Forest Gods remind you that with great sacrifice comes great reward! Give to us and obey us, and we will protect and watch over all of you all the time! We will have a friendly spirit–not Munugu or other uninvited evil spirits–but a friendly spirit is coming to the Forest Gods tomorrow. This friendly spirit will bring its Stick of Thunder that needs feeding. We, the Forest Gods, command the deer to select three of their old for sacrifice to this friendly spirit and its Stick of Thunder. Give to us and obey us, and we will protect and watch over this ecological sanctuary. Deer, do you accept your sacrifice to the Stick of Thunder?

Little Lily White

grave

In the woods, there is a small, overgrown path. This path leads to a small, overgrown clearing. In this small, overgrown clearing lies a weathered, moss-covered gravestone. There is no name chiselled onto it nor any flowers or gifts on the grave.

Only after a few drinks will farmers in that land speak about it. They will lean in close, so you can smell the manure and the booze on them and see all the cracks that the Sun and the wind have carved into them over the years. And then they will hoarsely whisper that that is where Lily White is buried.

If you ask them anything more, they will bumblingly excuse themselves and leave. You can try asking someone else at the bar. You can try, but in places like this with simple people like this, darkness is all the more terrifying. Not even all the airs and graces of the royal court itself could hide the stink that wafts through the crowd here when you ask about Lily White.

This is because she had grown up with all the other labourers in the lower fields of one of the medium-size farms around these woods. Even as a child she was pretty, but as a young lady she was particularly ravishing. She had black hair falling around her smooth skin and enchantingly dark eyes as her graceful curves suggested much, much more.

She was so beautiful that the farmer asked her father for his son’s hand in marriage to her. We know little about Lily White’s parents, but we can assume that they agreed and so it was that Lily White got married to the farmer’s son.

That did not last long, for soon it was the farmer himself sneaking into Lily White’s room at night. And then his son turned up dead one day after a farming accident while the farmer’s wife killed herself in her grief.

The farming community was shocked, but the farmer was a respectable man–reasonably wealthy, in fact–and so he did the right thing by the customs of the day: he married Lily White, so that she would be taken care of.

Unfortunately, three days after the handfasting ceremony when the awaited period of waiting had passed, the farmer’s heart stopped beating over his oats and tea in the morning.

Three funerals in as little months at the same farm. This was enough to start the town talking. The Mayor himself stepped in and visited the farm. Lily White was living there with a handful of servants and the old labourers on the fields. The Mayor spent a whole day there talking to her, but eventually came back to the town and went straight to bed early. Apparently, the conversations had been exhausting, such was the pressure and stresses of his job.

The next morning, the Mayor announced to those that would listen–and he would repeat to anyone that subsequently asked–that he was satisfied that Lily White was comfortable and managing the farm well. He further believed that this was all just a series of unfortunate events, and any dark rumours against the character of Mrs White would be dealt with swiftly and harshly. He would have to go and check-in on her, as was his civic duty as mayor, you know, just to make sure things were going well over there. But he had every confidence in her managing the farm.

And so, just to be sure, the Mayor started visiting Lily White regularly. At first, he would ride out there on his fancy white horse once in a while. But then it became once a week and, before long it was almost once a day. Eventually, he just asked her to move into his home at the centre of town. His wife was old and bed-ridden, but he had plenty of servants that would look after Lily White’s needs and she could go shopping in the fancy shops down the Main Road.

The next thing the townsfolk knew, Lily White was living at the Mayor’s house and appearing on his arm as he strolled through the town. He would gaze hungrily at her beautiful form whenever he thought no one was looking, but answer any questions about the arrangement as him just doing his civic duty. Besides, women cannot be left alone out on remote farms when the dark woods are just there and bandits could come raiding at any time.

And then the Mayor’s wife–already poor of health–drew her last breath a few month’s after Lily White moved into their home. Now, the Mayor’s wife was already old and sick with consumption, so this–like some of the other events–could well have been pure coincidence. But, as some of the more cynical townsfolk and farmers liked to point out, it was funny how often coincidence happened around Lily White.

The Mayor, though, did not suddenly die. No, he kept living quite well and, in fact, got more active in the town. He started imposing a tax on merchants trading there. Then taxed the farmers that came into the town. Eventually, with a royal letter that he had secured, he rode out to each farm to individually tax on the harvest for the town’s coffers.

Perhaps not unusual, right? Taxes tend to be imposed by the lazy and the powerful, right?

Except that clothes began to arrive at the Mayor’s house. Packages of all manner of fancy thing, from hats to dresses. Dressmakers from out of town would appear in sparkling carriages before riding off quickly. Each time Lily White would step out of that house, she was dressed head-to-toe like some court princess. More and more gold and jewels began to glitter from her form as the number of servants that followed her expanded.

And then one day a royal carriage appeared at the Mayor’s house. A whole regalia of soldiers with bright muskets and snappy horses followed it. Out of the intimidating carriage stepped a prince briefly before disappearing into that mysterious house.

All fell quiet in the town. Everyone was waiting and holding their breath. No one knew quite why, but they were all nervous for what would come from this visit by the prince.

They were not disappointed: when Lily White left the Mayor’s house with the Prince, the Mayor stood howling, red-faced with snot and tears streaking down his chubby face. But the Prince’s soldiers stood with their muskets ready before the carriage. Not even the bewitched Mayor was silly enough to try anything here.

And so Lily White rode out of town and never looked back. Some say she is consort to the King now, the Prince having died in a riding accident? Some say she slipped off to a foreign land where she married an Emperor after his first wife passed away? Some say, though, that she eventually grew old and her hold over men weakened, so she had to settle for an old, fat noble marriage where could at least live in comfort wearing her way through the former wife’s cupboard?

Who knows where such people end up. All that we do know is three days after Lily White left with the Prince, the Mayor strung himself up by his neck from his balcony overlooking the square in town. He was very much dead by the time the locals woke up and found him; his face purple and his limbs cold and stiff.

After all the taxes and the abuse, the locals did not care much for his final resting place. But, as were customs of the day, he was buried in a box in the ground with a gravestone to his name. Only, his name was not on it and the box was put in the ground far away in a little clearing at the end of an old hunter’s path in the woods.

Then the locals appointed a new mayor. They made sure he had a young, healthy wife. They made sure he had a small farm too, and got rid of all those unfortunate taxes.

And then the locals went back to the fields and tried to forget about the dark days of Little Lily White.

But, somewhere far away, she is out there wrapping her merciless tentacles around some powerless man’s heart and squeezing every drop of gold from his doomed existence.

Cold-Blooded Conclusions

reptile-eye

Human’s never really got off Earth, but they did manage to not destroy themselves for a good couple hundred years before civilisation collapsed. Another dark age would ensue. Ages would pass forgotten in the ruins that followed. Eventually, the world was unrecognisable. Nature and man having grown so close that they were one and the same. A devolved version of homo sapiens hunted through the wilds again, stalking food through the ruins of the great cities while sleeping beneath the recovering skies.

Another rise-and-fall of a homo sapien civilisation and a few thousand years later evolution kicked in.

The funny thing with evolution is that it does not happen in a linear manner. The fish did not slowly grow small legs and little air-breathing lungs while taking longer and longer strolled upon the shore. No, evolution occurs in violent leaps and bounds when genes suddenly all mutate in strange and wonderful ways. Not all work. Some die off while others become genetic dead ends.

But some mutations thrive so well they become another species entirely.

In cosmic terms, nearly overnight, homo sapiens evolved to homo simbians, and thus formed the murky beginnings of another intelligent civilisation.

The simbians would build great cities of light. They became great explorers and researched the fossils left by their early ancestors. They too struggled to piece together their missing links, as much of history was lost to them. How did they evolve from the strange warm-blooded apes that had dominated this planet? They too had no answers, as evolution hides its footprints in the aeons that follow.

But, alas, the simbians, too, would destroy themselves. Their time would stretch out across many thousands of years, but it would eventually also collapse in on itself. Murky ends suit evolution perfectly, as the planet, like a nearly ageless Petri dish, would mix its various life-forms around and something new would eventually appear.

But with each age, a different Earth emerges.

The planet was much warmer now. The Sun was slowly going supernova and there were only a few thousand years for things to exist before being obliterated. And, as the Sun expanded dangerously, the planet heated up for these years and life adapted.

So it was that homo simbians evolved in great, twisted leaps and bound into homo serpentine gene pool. Homo serpentine was far more suited to the hot, sticky planet that Earth was now. And, from the ruins of its two earlier species, homo serpentine built up quickly. Their minds were built to look around corners and peer into the nooks and crannies of the universe while their cold-blood cooled them and the supernova Sun itself gave them energy. They reverse engineered much of the collapsed technology that the homo simbians had left in across their ruined cities of light, and even some of the trace of the now-ancient homo sapiens species.

The cosmos is agnostic about life. It does not care, it merely is. The Sun was growing bigger. The supernova was building, and Earth had little to defend it and those lives that lived on it from complete annihilation in either the supernova event or the sucking black hole that came afterward.

The serpentines knew this. Above all else, the serpentines feared this. They were the sunset of life on Earth and, for all their intelligence and technology; their scaled minds could not come up with a solution to survive this impending apocalypse. Their technology could allow them to leave the Earth, but the Sun’s growing gravity was a challenge they could barely escape. Even if they did manage to escape it, they neither had enough ships nor enough supplies to recolonize the nearest inhabitable planet.

But then one of them had an idea.

Old archaeological records kept homo sapien theories about what the serpentines thought was time travel. Even the simbians had dabbled in this mysterious science. This scientific path was controversial for a number of reasons. Not least of which was the practical matter of energy. The amount of energy needed to actual time travel would be astronomical and either did not exist on Earth or would destroy the planet. But, luckily, as one young serpentine would point out, everything was going to be obliterated anyway when the Sun went supernova. And, therein lay the answer: the supernova explosion would be the power source they needed.

And so, on that sticky hot Earth, the scaled forms of the homo serpentines all bustled around building a time travel devices to save their species from extinction.

There was one major complication: space. The universe has two variables, space and time. If you change one, you are indirectly changing the other. For example, the Earth is spinning, but it is also rotating the Sun while the Sun is rotating around the Milky Way, and the Milky Way is part of an orbiting set of galaxies circulating through the vast eternity. If you go back ten seconds, you will appear in the middle of space, as the Earth was not there ten seconds ago. If you go back ten thousand years, you will appear in another galaxy, as the Sun was not there ten thousand years ago. And so this problem continues, as a time travel device can actually only change time and not space.

Hence, the greatest scaled minds of the serpentines got together. They built the Great Map of Everything, simulated in the greatest super computer of all-time that tracked everything relative to everything else. At some point, at some time in some past version of this universe, the Earth must have been exactly somehow here again.

But when?

Time was running out. The Earth was no longer warm, heating the cold-blooded bodies of the serpentines, it was now hot. Fires raged permanently and babies were being born mutated from the waves of continuous radiation pounding down on them. From one beautiful scaled species, the homo serpentines were suddenly a myriad bunch of scaled monsters fighting against time to survive.

When was the Syncronised Moment? Where and when could they point that time travel device?

Over long periods, time eventually condenses down to mere moments. It had taken many millennia to get here, thousands and thousands of years of evolution for the homo serpentine to perfect themselves, and centuries of technological progress, but the supernova would take mere days.

The homo serpentine swung their solar panels into the full force of it. They gathered themselves across the planet, huddled into small time travel devices, clutching their loved ones, and they took the nearest-best answer for the Syncronised Moment…and then they flipped the switch.

The rounding of the thousandth decimal place in the answer to the Syncronised Moment does not sound like much. But, over millions and millions of years and nearly endless space, this one-thousandth of a fraction adds up to anywhere between a metre to hundreds of them.

The homo serpentines would time travel. That much did–or will–happen. They would make it back millennia to a primitive, cooler Earth, long before even the mammals appeared on it. It was a bestial, dangerous place long before even the homo sapiens had appeared. The problem is that these few metres that were missed by rounding the Synchronized Moment meant that the homo serpentines did not appear on the Earth, but straight into it.

They appeared–and died–contorted in pain and embedded into the sedimentary layers of rock that fitted around the planet.

And that was the end of that.

Little warm-blooded mammals were scampering around this cooler, primitive Earth. Days went by and nothing changed. The homo serpentine were all dead, the homo simbians were not yet even a flicker of a genetic dream. Thousands and thousands of years passed and eventually the little mammals became more and more plentiful and diverse. Millennia spend by and the mammals grew up and, in leaps and bounds, eventually became homo sapiens.

Little knowing what they were looking at, one day a homo sapien would dig up the old, cold bones of a homo serpentine and wonder was happened to this ancient, mysterious creature? The homo sapiens would gaze in wonder at all these now-ancient bones in all their terrifying otherworldly shapes. Theories would form and books would be written in awe of these discoveries. Vast collections of these ancient bones would be found, collected and painstakingly put back together.

And, over time, a single unanswered question would appear, leaving all the homo sapiens wondering to themselves: What really killed all the dinosaurs?

Trust, My Child, Trust

The greatest battle anyone can ever face is not war nor any conflict. It is not even survival. It is also not finding love, but keeping it.

Yet we have been overcoming this war, conflict by conflict since the dawn of mankind.

It was not when the first lusty caveman lumbered over a beautiful woman. It was not during that chill night when their naked bodies entwined so hauntingly. No, it was when the Sun rose and the cold, harsh light of dawn blasted away all romantic notions that the greatest war began.

All the pickup artists, fancy suites and witty one-liners won’t save a man in this war. All the fast cars, big paychecks and accolades won’t save man from the loneliness of a scorned partner. All the big houses, blue pools and exotic cocktails won’t matter when the door closes.

These are the moments when the darkness closes in and the fire flickering in the cave seems meaningless. These are the moments when hearts break and spirits walk through the same empty abyss that many have wandered through before you. These are the moments when tenderness and care seem further from life than the warmth of the Sun in deepest winter or the touch of water from the dryest desert.

And how does man fight this battle? What weapons does he have at his disposal? What armour does he have to defend himself in this war?

My child, these are the times when you realize that you don’t exist, if it were not for your partner. My son, this are the times when your existence truly is a flickering candle in the winds of time that have blown since before even life mucked around on this dirty, little planet. My girl, these are the time when your heart hurt so much because your life is empty and devoid of the one thing that we were built to seek out.

Your other half.

We are souls flying through the vacuum of life on a spinning rock through endless, empty space and we need not the fire nor the Sun for warmth nor the touch of the cool waters on our tongues.

No, my child, we need only each other.

So do not use your head to fight this battle. Do not trust your anger or rage. Do not use your power or intellect. Definitely, do not use your hands. Do not even trust your own heart. Though your heart beats pure, it is like a beast that is frightened and cornered by the loneliness of our existence. And, like a cornered beast fighting for its survival, your heart cannot even truly be trusted here.

No, my child, this is when you trust your hurt. You trust your loneliness. Trust your longing for the other soul in this barren world.

And trust that they feel it too. Trust that they feel your isolation and neglect as sharp as you feel your loneliness. Trust that they feel your insults and injustices as much as you feel their loss.

Break open these feelings and see them in the mirror of life cast into the bodies of those around us.

Trust that they hurt as much as you do. Trust that you hurt them just as much as yourself, if not more. While anyone can survive love’s highs, trust that you must survive its lows as well. Trust that when we fall down before our soulmates, that we actually rise up to be with them.

Trust, my child, that you are not alone in love’s endless war and you only lose when you stop loving.

So, my child, do not stop loving.

While Spiral Feeds Looped…

ufo-with-child

Everyone forgets that at the start they were going to save us. Everyone forgets that in the beginning they were loved.

The Earth was dying. The planet had been gutted by generations of careless, greedy men and someone had to save us.

They saved us. Well, they did at first.

The three largest corporations of the day got together–one robotics firm, one biotech firm and one software firm–and built them. They built a whole fleet of them. They were so shiny and round. The corporations called them the Autonomous Planetary-Enhancing Spiral Feed Fleet, but we simply knew them as the Spiral Feeds.

The Spiral Feeds would orbit Earth and, with the range of onboard tools they had, they would fix it. They had state of the art lasers, filters, vacuums, short-range wormhole generation capability and so on, all in a closed loop network powered by solar power shared continuously across the fleet.

They would suck out the polluted air, filtering the bad from it and discharging it into space while feeding the good back. They would do the same with the oceans. They would caress and nurse the clouds to form normal weather, tickling them for rain and nudging them along for the sun to shine down. They would cool down portions of the atmosphere and transfer the heat to other parts, helping to smooth over the seasons like they should be.

The Spiral Feeds were far above us and the Sun shone down on our planet again. Animals began to recover and plants grew again. Even the crops began to yield enough to feed us and fresh, cool rain filled  streams, lakes, rivers and dams. The Starvation Wars and the Water Wars ended, and a strange peace descended upon the planet.

We were saved. Come night or day, or summer or winter, the autonomous Spiral Feeds kept our planet going, like an artificial heart beating life back into our planet’s near-corpse-like state.

Of course, the Spiral Feeds were both offline and independent.  They were connected to each other, but it was a closed system only shared amongst themselves with corporation-grade security protecting it.

The decision had been taken very early on that such a fleet would be too powerful to leave to any single nation or collection of people. In theory, you could turn a jungle into a desert, wipe out a coastal region with floods and tidal waves or even freeze a continent to death.

No, no one could access or control the Spiral Feeds. After World War III, the politicians could not be trusted to work together and since the conclusion of the Financial Dark Age neither could the corporations. Pretty much no one trusted anyone else and so the Spiral Feeds could not be left in the control of any single or coalition power.

Thus, the elegant solution was to agree up front on the algorithm, but leave the execution of it to a next-generation Artificial Intelligence.

The AI’s boundary rules were simple: make sure that Earth and all of its native life survives.

Simple rules, yes? No interpretation needed, no?

Good intentions pave the road to Hell, and this was no exception.

The first of us started to disappear in other countries. Many of these countries were poor and still teething on their clumsy technocracies, so obviously, the rest of us ignored the reports. Some assumed that it was propaganda with other motives while others just did not care. Peace and plenty were everywhere again and, personally, I just think that none of us wanted to believe that anything could disturb this wonderful time.

It became a lot more real when the first wave disappeared at home, but there still were many doubters and denials. Peace is like opium to the procrastinators of our species, putting them in a trance that few willingly wake up from.

When little Connor Reeves filmed his brother being taken across a field and uploaded it onto the Web, it became very real.

There it was: a shiny, round Spiral Feed hovering over the field abducting little Jeffery Reeves. His bike floating upwards before him before he went, kicking and screaming, tears streaking his little face. It was like some slow-motion horror story narrated by a screaming, crying little boy on his shaky mobile phone.

And then the world went mad.

Government meetings happened, military powers were remembered and public outcry caused riots to flare up across the country. It had been years, but the big three corporation’s executives were taken into custody. Silence and paranoia gripped the fragile peace, yet the rain continued to fall as it should outside and the Sun shone and the seasons came and went.

But everyone was scared to go outside, and those who did go there did not always come back.

Eventually, it came out that the militaries of this world had been looking into why their fleet and most of their equipment were grounded. In the US, they had thought China had hacked them. In China, they thought the US had hacked them. In Russia, they thought everyone else had hacked them, and so it had gone on for a while before the Spiral Feeds had revealed their true motives.

So a military response was very limited and the Spiral Feeds were successful in deflecting all the land-to-air missile the armies of this world could throw at them.

The political response was to publicly hang the three corporations in the court of law. While satisfying to watch, it also did not solve the problem. If anything, it distracted from the problem.

In the meantime, one by one by one, we were all disappearing. The Spiral Feeds were getting more bold, hitting big towns in broad daylight and abducting whole neighborhoods. Next, they would hit big cities, taking out key installations like telecommunication towers while disappearing all of us that were unlucky enough to be there at the time.

Where was this going? What were these wicked, silent, shiny disks that orbited the Earth doing? Why were we being targetted while the rest of the planet was being looked after and nurtured back into perfect health?

The answer would come from the most unlikely source: Africa. Or, the southern tip of Africa, to be more precise.

When a freak mini-meteor smashed through a Spiral Feed over the outskirts of Nelspruit in South Africa, the crashed device was retrieved by a solar farmer’s son who had some hacking skills. This was the first Spiral Feed that a human had direct contact with since they had been launched over a decade ago. The tech-savvy and time-rich teenagers then reverse engineered the closed network that these monsters communicated with. He managed to tap into a read-only version of the AI. And, once inside and witnessing the inner thoughts guiding these shiny doomsday devices, the truth was revealed.

One phrase appeared amidst all the perfect AI code. The syntax was not in the AI’s core code. No, that damned core code was perfect, and the AI had executed it flawlessly. This code fragment was in the AI’s memory as a permanently written conclusion that it had arrived at: “Homo sapien: tagged non-native to Earth; variable to planetary equilibrium unacceptable; homo sapien/(removal initiated)“.

The Spiral Feeds did not recognize our junk DNA as native to Earth and, thus, we were an outside influence to this planet and should be removed in order to protect Earth and its native life.

And, just perhaps, given what we had done to Earth, the Spiral Feeds were right.