Pretty Baby

Nobody knew when the invasion began. One day, they were all just... here.

Maybe 'invasion' is a strong word. Appropriation? Overrunning? Occupation? Let me start from the beginning. My name Is Theo Harper, I live in Washington DC and work as a bicycle courier for HQ Deliveries, the number two delivery service in the DC metro.

'HQ-- We Try Harder'

Washington is a crowded city and normal, car-based delivery services are subject to the whims of traffic. Not so with bicycles-- we can go anywhere; between car lanes, on the sidewalk, down narrow alleyways-- whatever it takes. HQ also has an incentive plan for speedy deliveries, and that's why I mounted an electric motor and lightweight battery to Ugly Baby. You see, the hills are a killer for incentive cash. You need a game-changer and that was mine. My cool riding goggles equipped with lifesaving rear-view mirrors were another. But I sidetrack.

So I have my routes, right? The company has accounts, taking packages between two remote businesses over and again. This one route, where I bring two-foot-long cardboard cylinders about three miles right past Capitol Mall, I noticed something strange the other day. There was a guy, tall and thin, with a mop of blonde hair, just standing, staring away from the Capitol building as people walked past him going about their day. I saw him there on my way to the drop point, and he was still there fifteen minutes later, on my way back.

Now that in itself isn't strange. Hayseed types visit from farm country all the time and are astounded by the monuments in our nation's capital. You see them standing around and gawking pretty much every day. But this guy was different-- he wasn't gawking at all. He had no camera around his neck, no tour info clutched in his hand, no backpack... and no stupid Hawaiian shirt. He was a monochrome sort of guy, wearing white linen slacks and a long-sleeve, wrinkle-free white cotton shirt. He looked like one third of a Benneton ad. No, it was obvious that he was no tourist.

But later that day, I saw him again. Twice! Each time, he was standing at the entrance to another famous Washington building. Motionless. Alone. And looking away from it. It was strange because these buildings were far from each other, with no time to get from one to another without some traffic-defying device like my motorized bicycle.

And the next day I saw him again. Three times. In one delivery! Now I knew there must be more than one of him... no human could move that quickly. But twins? Triplets? Just standing on public steps, staring out at the city, tall thin mop-haired men wearing the same white outfits? It was weird, and it was piquing my curiosity. I promised myself that when I wasn't in a killer rush, I'd stop and ask a few questions.

I got my chance at the end of work today. I was on Ugly Baby, heading home. Other delivery companies have their own bicycles, mopeds and mini-cycles, but my rig was my own. I took it with me everywhere. On my way home I usually cut through a park, one with a pretty cool stairway I ride down. My fat balloon tires just bounce on those steps; I needed indestructible hardware if I was going to make any real money in this job.

Well, he was on those steps. I didn't notice until I was almost on top of him; I swerved to avoid collision and the knobby tires I depend on slid sideways, dumping me unceremoniously at his feet. He looked down at me, offered a hand and pulled me up. He was surprisingly strong for a skinny guy, but then I figured, most farmers were pretty strong.

"Thanks." I brushed myself off. I wasn't injured at all; I have catlike reflexes and actually landed on all fours. "Say, haven't I seen you around here for a couple of days?"

He returned to gazing outwards and then spoke, enunciating each word like reading from a list. "Most... likely."

"We get a lot of visitors here in the nation's capitol. Where are you from?"

Still staring. "Not... from... around... here."

"Well, that's pretty obvious. You look around with such intensity, it seems as though you've never seen Washington before."

"I... have... not."

"Well, how long is your vacation? I could recommend some interesting, out of the way places if you like that kind of thing."

"It... is... open-ended." His eyes met mine. I then noticed how odd they were, deep and soulful, like staring into infinity. There was no color in the iris... well, okay, black. All black. They also seemed to be unusually large, almost filling up the white sclera the way a dog's eyes do. I was compelled to ask more questions-- I didn't want to leave his company just yet.

"I also saw your twin brothers earlier, standing-- always standing-- in a few other parts of the city."

"Yes." That was it. Just yes. No other explanation.

"Do you always vacation together, yet separately?"

"I suppose." 

Wow. He was stoic! "My name's Theo. What's yours?" I held out a hand.

"Rath." He looked at my hand, and then clasped it. No shaking, just holding. It began to get a little uncomfortable and I drew my hand back ever so slightly. He got the cue and released. Then for the first time, he initiated conversation. "How... do I meet the president, Theo?"

That seemed an odd question for another American to ask but I went with it. "You don't. The president is very well protected. Only other politicians and important people get to meet him. If they are, they get put on his schedule."

"I see." He returned to the hundred-yard stare. He said nothing for a while and I realized he was finished talking to me.

I collected Ugly Baby and hoisted myself up on it. There was a new bend in the fork, but nothing I couldn't fix. "Well, I'd better get home. Thanks for the assist. Nice to meet you, Rath."

"Likewise."

As I began to leave he spoke again. "Did you make that?"

I stopped. "Make what?"

He pointed at the motor housed within the triangular pipe frame on my bike. "That."

"Um, yes. It helps with big hills. I'm a courier and use it all day long."

"I see." That was all; he was done. I drove away, waving. He ignored me.

The next day, I was heading out for work like I always do. I hopped down the five flights of stairs to where Ugly Baby was chained on the first floor-- no point in bringing it all the way up every night, since I used a secure Kryptonite lock attached to the locked building's sturdy metal stair railing.

The bike was gone.

Frantically I looked around. Stolen? Why? It was basically a cobbled-together piece of crap, made from the parts of half a dozen bikes I had cannibalized from the dump. I never even bothered to paint it one uniform color, so the fork was metallic blue while the body was a hideous lemon yellow. It was scratched and dented and the seat was torn, and of course it had the weird, ugly motor and black battery clamming up the works. It was, as I liked to say, 'an Ugly Baby'. But it was my Ugly Baby.

I bounded back up to my apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. My asshole roommate Dwayne must be fucking with me. He knows where the spare bike key is and he is exactly the kind of guy who would end up getting me fired from a job while trying to be-- in his words-- 'Mista Funny Man'. I met him after I'd answered an ad on Craig's List for apartments to share-- I hated him immediately but the price was excellent for the center of town so I signed on, figuring this would just be my place to crash at night. 

He was in the kitchen, drinking my orange juice. Again. I yelled, "What did you do with it?"

"I threw it out. It was ugly. Everything you own is ugly. You're ugly."

"Fuck you. I need that bike for work, scumbag! Give it back!"

He giggled, an unusual high-pitched trill that sounded weird coming from a tall fat man with multiple chins. "Your bike? I wouldn't touch that stinking piece of garbage! I thought you were talking about that stained and torn rag you call a jacket! You left it on the floor again so I tossed it out the window. It's in a mud puddle in the back yard."

"You're an asshole, you know that? I hope you die of AIDS."

I ran back down the stairs as he called after me, "It's not a death sentence any more... douche!"

I burst through the front door, looking left and right down the street for the perpetrator... and stopped. At the foot of my stoop, standing unassisted, was Ugly Baby! Sort of.  The seat was the same, but there were no rips. The fork was still  from a Schwinn and mounted on a Hoffy body, only now it was free of scratches and that ugly rusted scrape from a confrontation with a wayward fire hydrant last month. Last night's new bend was gone as well. The paint color now matched, and was a deep blue-green that defied focus. But the biggest change was my electric assist conversion-- it was gone! The gearing attaching it to my pedal hub-- gone as well.

And standing next to the bike, clean and white, was Rath.

He turned to look at me, face impassive. "Your device."

"What did you do to it, Rath? And how did you move it? That lock is impossible!" I was upset that he had messed with my bike, but simultaneously pleased at how un-ugly she had become. "And where is my assist mechanism? I need it!"

"You do not." Rath motioned for me to climb aboard and I did, reluctantly. He handed me my lock, now open. "Drive it as normal."

I was pissed, sort of, but was late for work and really didn't have the heart to yell at him. He was weird but benign, and it looked like he had tried to do me a favor. Even if the favor was going to make it hard to work without the mechanical assist. Even if my suddenly attractive bike would now be a target of theft. Experimentally I pushed on the pedal, pointing Ugly Baby-- I suppose I'd have to rename her Pretty Baby now-- uphill. But rather than encountering the expected resistance of a steep hill, she just took off like I had been pointing downhill! One revolution of the pedals and she zoomed unassisted to the end of the block! Even my gadgetry hadn't provided that kind of help!

I turned back to thank him for whatever it was he had done to her-- those farm types really know their way around machinery!-- but he was gone, visible nowhere on the block. Odd! I got off and inspected her more carefully, but could see no mechanisms which would aid me the way it just had done. It must be something in the hub, I reasoned, with batteries in the frame tubing. Shaking my head I climbed back up and continued to HQ, marveling at how every push of the pedal felt effortless, how balanced she felt even on rough road and even how much faster she seemed to go. In fact, even starting late I arrived at work early, and the entire day's ride was effortless! Normally I'd be panting after a crosstown jaunt; hot, red-faced and wet with sweat... but though today was warm, I whisked about with ease, cool and comfortable! What had Rath done? 

When I returned from my first delivery the boss rang the bell reserved for record breaking and asked, "What did you do, hitch a ride on a helicopter? You beat your best time by seven minutes!" Then he looked at the bike, confused. "A makeover? How did that help your time? Where's that ugly lawnmower motor? Where's the city bus battery?" 

He was joking... I of course had used much smaller parts, but his point was valid-- it was basically a new bike. Well, I couldn't answer because I didn't know, so I told the truth. "A friend worked on it last night. He's a miracle worker with machinery."

"Well, you should kiss him right on his shiny ass. You're gonna double your income if all your deliveries are this quick." He handed me another package and finished, "I'm timing this one to the second. Go!"

I hopped on and put oomph into my first pedal. My rear tire spun like a funny car at go, shooting blue smoke into HQ and laying rubber on the painted concrete floor. "Sorry, boss!" I shouted, zooming off with a blur. I was loving Rath's changes!

Returning from the delivery I spotted him again. He was standing in the street, on the yellow line, at the top of a hill, looking at the horizon. He was weird, there was no doubt. I pulled alongside and said, "Hey, Rath! This bike is amazing! What did you do to it?"

His gaze never faltering he replied, "Upgrades."

"Well, hell yeah! But I mean what upgrades? I can't see any mechanisms, anywhere!" He was infuriatingly vague.

He changed the subject. "Theo, how can I see the vice-president?" He was a one-trick pony, this guy!

"That won't be any easier than meeting the president, Rath. They're just too important and too busy. If you have your heart set on meeting any official, you'd probably have to start much further down the chain of command. A councilman, maybe, or a judge." I wondered why he wanted to meet them and asked as much.

"I have to change them." Not "I have to change their minds" or even "I have change to present." Rath wanted to change them. 

I took the bait. "Why do you want to change them?"

"To fix this."

"This? Which this?"

"All of this." He was still viewing the horizon, and the way he said it, it seemed he was considering changing everything.

"But why?"

"It's all wrong."

"What's all wrong?"

"Chaos must not reign."

'Chaos must not reign'. Rath was cryptic as all get-out and I was beginning to wonder if he was a farmer at all. I looked at my watch and realized if I wanted that bonus I'd better get back to HQ. I said, "No it must not," and turned to go. He lay a hand on my handlebars, effectively clamping Pretty Baby in position. He turned to me and gazed into my eyes with his fawnlike depth; I became buttery.

"Stop the motorcade." Then he released her and I was free to go.

The rest of the day was one ringing bell at HQ after another. My name advanced on the incentive list, boss said, faster than anyone's ever had, skipping three positions in a single day. I was at number two now, a dangerous position because it threatened Frank at number one. Freak, as he was never called to his face, had commanded that top position for months. Anyone who got close to usurping the coveted first line usually ended up damaged... or their bike was. Fingers were pointed but there was never any evidence linking the incidents to him... and accusations didn't stop him from claiming the $500 prize each month. And now here I was, just two record-breaking deliveries away from becoming top dog.

Leaving work I got an eyeful of daggers from Freak, not a comfortable place for a little guy like me to be. He was heavily muscled for a biker and liked to use them for impressive and off-putting feats of strength, like tearing phone directories or squashing cans between his palms. Not thin aluminum soda cans-- beefy food tins.

So on my way home, when I noticed through my rear-view goggles his bike following mine at a suspicion-avoiding distance, I knew what fate would befall me, were I to allow it. One eye on the road and another on him, I made my way casually home. This was my turf... I knew every shortcut, jump and dead end around the city. DC was a sketchbook of routes in my mind, and I knew how I was going to shake the Freak... if I could get there before he made his move. I laid on the pedals and again thanked Rath in my mind-- Pretty Baby shot forward like an arrow from a bow. I noticed Freak was not falling behind as predicted... he must have a secret weapon in his bicycle, much as mine did.

Speaking of weapons, a projectile sailed past my ear at that moment, skittering away on the pavement in front of me. It was a smooth, rounded river rock, perfect for pitching and the right shape to dislodge a wheel and upset a smooth bike ride. So that's how he took out the other riders! What a piece of work. I had to shake my head at the smallness of his world; all that was in it seemed to be... him.

I wouldn't be so lucky a second time. Freak's aim was impeccable-- the next rock he threw would almost surely bean me good. I took a sharp left into a narrow ell-shaped alley, hoping the large wooden packing crate at the end hadn't been thrown away yet. It was unlikely since DC's large item disposal only came around on the first and fifteenth of each month, but if it had been taken by someone else I'd be trapped. I turned to face the dead end and thanked my guardian-- the crate hadn't moved! If I timed this right I'd be gone before Freak would see me, and if he didn't figure out the weird ledge I'd be home free. 

I should explain about the ledge. The adjoining building forming the alley's right wall had been modified at some point; another level had been added to it. But not perfectly, I was thrilled to discover one day; the builders had left a two-inch ledge dividing the old roofline from the new wall thrusting up from it. Add to that the odd angle from its original modern design and you were left with a thin ramp of sorts that rose from ground level to about six feet... the perfect height for dropping onto the oft-appearing wooden box and over the dead-end fence. Then a quick bounce off the dumpster on the other side, a skid and a turn and I'd be out of sight, leaving the muscled bully scratching his head.

Getting extra power from Pretty Baby I hit that stone ledge like a bottle rocket and rose smoothly. I imagined with a grin what it must look like to a window observer-- me riding up the side of a smooth cinder-block wall, apparently defying gravity! I flipped onto the box as planned and sailed over the razor-wire-capped chain link fence, keen edges missing my tires by an inch, and descended onto the big blue dumpster...

...Which wasn't in position! It had been moved by some maniac and now sat skewed from its normal spot! I tried to compensate but my front tire missed the dumpster entirely, sending me and the bike careening past the sidewalk and row of parked cars, out of control yet still miraculously balanced, and into the wide intersection! I was dead!

I slammed on my brakes, trying to straighten myself out and maybe turn in the direction of traffic, where I'd stand good odds of avoiding a life-ending collision... but in this case I had to curse my new friend Rath, who had also apparently modified my brakes. I stopped with such finality I became airborne, heading over my handlebars and onto the tarmac. Again, my reflexes saved my sorry ass as I touched down in a Spidermanly three point landing, one hand flailing to garner leverage, toes balanced on the white line.

Pretty Baby was not so lucky. She remained exactly where I had braked her, and was somehow balanced, standing... until she found her home, Bavarian style, under the grill of a beefy black car. It shrieked to a halt beside me, bouncing and lurching as it folded and chewed up my bicycle, turning it into recycling. Steam shot from the radiator, narrowly missing my face. Not so for the suited man in dark glasses who tackled and pinned me to the ground, size fourteen sole crushed against my cheek.

"Threat contained. Repeat, threat contained. POTUS O.O.D." The man spoke into his lapel, shielded eyes scanning me for potential. Other men ran up and surrounded me, raising me and patting me down. Before I could speak a pair of plastic handcuffs had contained me, bound hand and foot.

I looked around. Back at the alley, Freak was smiling and chewing on a piece of jerky. He laughed and waved and rode off, mission accomplished. But the realization of my situation was dawning on me. The car I stopped was no ordinary black car... it was a long limousine, one of five. By the complement of black-suited burly guys surrounding both me and the vehicles I realized I had just interrupted a very important procession.

But in the middle of all this blackness was a sight I'll never forget. Standing by the third vehicle, as fair of hair and white of cloth as always, stood Rath! Oddly, nobody was tackling him, and he quite casually stepped into the vehicle and disappeared. Bizarre and unlikely to be sure, but the part that freaked me out was that he had never even opened the door. It was as if some Hollywood magic was at work, editing at the correct moment to make him seem ghostly. But it was real.

I again opened my mouth to speak but was dragged rudely to the sidewalk and dumped there. Two of the men reached beneath the car and grabbed my beloved Baby, another motioning the driver to back up. With a sick grinding the two were forcibly separated, my poor bike now resembling an Outback Steakhouse bloomin' onion. One of the Secret Service agents tossed my tortured Baby next to me with a shrug as the other snipped open my restraints. "You're free to go. You might want to invest in bicycle lessons. Oh, and a bicycle." He chuckled and returned to the lead limo, and the motorcade drove off without another word.

I stood up and watched them leave with my mouth gaping. How did I not get thrown into jail? How did Rath get an audience with the president? And how the hell did he walk through the president's car? Things were adding up in my head, except that two and two was beginning to equal three point one four one five nine. I lugged my bike for about fifty feet before realizing there was nothing I could do-- she was never coming back to me-- tearfully, I laid her to rest in a street bin. Time for a trip to the thrift shop. Maybe I could find an old ten speed or a Stingray to use for work tomorrow. So much for my incentive pay. I will somehow return the favor, Freak, you prickiest of pricks.

An hour later I dropped into my apartment, exhausted. I wasn't home for ten seconds when Dwayne the pain lubbered in with a raucous 'Haw!'

I did not want to deal with his nonsense and complained, "Not now. I've had a bad day."

"I would agree. Threatening the presidential motorcade and having your chief means of income and transportation destroyed all at once is a bad day, all right."

Again my mouth dropped... but only for a moment. This was the presidential motorcade we were talking about. Of course there would be news coverage of a bike crash. There was probably chopper footage. I facepalmed myself. I would be chewed up at work for this, maybe fired. Certainly I'd be the butt of many jokes for years to come. My solution? Sleep. I locked my bedroom door and shut out the misery for eight disturbing hours.

In the morning I made a list. Call boss and see if I still had my job. If so, go get a bike. If not, go get a job. Oh, and OJ.

I made the call. Apparently I could still work if I wanted to-- since my spill yesterday was determined to be a complete accident, I was considered by the viewing public to be nothing but a harmless buffoon who worked for HQ company, the one that was mentioned on every channel all day yesterday. Business was pouring in and boss was so pleased he even gave me a bonus out of it. He told me I'd have to sign the T-shirts he was selling, created from an image of me flying off Pretty Baby, captured on the television with the caption 'The K Street Klutz'. I was glad I didn't need to find a job but was so not pleased about the rest.

I poured the last of the orange juice quietly, letting it drip down the inside of my glass. Dwayne was asleep and I wanted him to stay that way until after I left. Bracing! Refreshed, and also a little intrigued by how orange juice always turns toothpaste remnants into little bits of rubber cement, I dashed down the stairs, sliding down the last handrail at ground level, and ran to the door.

And stopped.

And turned around.

And hollered.

Latched to that railing, with the same Kryptonite lock as always, was Pretty Baby, looking the same as she did yesterday morning! How? I kissed her and gave her a big hug, which must have looked odd because she's a bicycle. Then I fished my bike key out of my pocket-- and realized I had thrown it away when the lock was mangled with the bike... great! I turned to go back upstairs and get my diamond grinder, which would make short work of a lock that even Superman couldn't get into-- correction, that only Superman couldn't get into-- when I ran nose-first into Rath, standing inches behind me. It was like smacking into a brick wall, so little did he yield.

"Your device."

"Rath! Thank you thank you thank you!" I had never loved anyone quite so much as I loved him at this moment, and threw my arms around the tall, wispy man. He accepted my hug impassively, without reaction... and I released him, feeling a little bit foolish.

He said, "Thank you."

"Thank me? Thank you! Wait. What are you thanking me for?"

"For stopping the motorcade."

For stopping the...? It returned to me in a flash, and I connected all the dots I had been too distracted to remember yesterday. He had asked me to do that, but at the time I had no idea what he was referring to. But I hadn't planned on stopping anything! I was trying to get away from Freak and the motorcade thing just happened...

Or did it? I was in a rare moment of clarity and realized there was much more afoot with this man than I had suspected, even from the beginning! "Rath! You met the president!"

"Yes... I did."

And how he did it was the real story! I'm not a superstitious guy, or even very religious... but Rath was new, and different, and able... and almost certainly not from around here... not from DC, and not from the boonies... and probably not from Earth, either. "Well? What did you say? What did he do? Why didn't the Secret Service guys tackle you? And how did you pass through a solid metal limousine door? What are you?" I was frothing with curiosity-- I had to know more!

He placed both hands on my face in a caress, and for one uncomfortable moment I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he stared into my eyes and I went passive, my limbs heavy like iron, and warm syrupy tranquility ran through my veins. How did he do that? His eyes widened and I was abruptly flooded with emotions... his emotions. Deep sadness. Painful frustration. And even, down deep, the tiniest inkling of anger. In that moment, I knew what he was trying to accomplish and I knew that he would succeed. Only, I didn't know how.

"The president does not speak the truth." I could feel his disappointment coursing into my body and I suddenly felt like crying. He continued, "I said it all must change. I told him this path was defective." He released my face and I leaned against the wall for support, my legs as weak as a newborn foal's.

I summoned my strength to speak. "You... did? How did... he react?"

"He said he would see what he could do."

"That's good, right?"

"But he was only thinking about killing me."

That disappointed me. I had voted for the current Chief of State based on his promise of rational debate and positive change, and up until now had been bitterly disappointed by his actions or rather, his lack of them. Now my hope was gone. "What happens next?"

"Now it is up to me."

The words were ominous and I was glad he had broken our emotional connection... the attachment had been so strong, I feared his ire would have killed me. "But how, Rath? How?"

He didn't answer me, but changed tack. "What... would you... repair?"

I stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"If you could. What would you... fix?" He spoke that last word experimentally, separately pronouncing every letter, giving me time to absorb it. I balked... I had thought about this very question for years! I had been in an ivy league school, well on my way to becoming a theoretical physicist when the recession hit, destroying my father's real estate business. The money dried up and I had to drop out, taking this courier position to help them with bills. It was a hiccup I figured, but the years were slipping by with no sign of relief. I knew what I would change about this world!

"Oh, where do I start?"

"At the beginning." That was funny but he wasn't laughing, so I held my laugh in.

I said, "I think our biggest problem is fear. We need to stop the fear."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Everything! We're afraid of dying. We're afraid of getting hurt. We're afraid of anything happening to the people we love. We're afraid of starving, and freezing, and drowning, and getting shot. People who are different scare us. We fear the loss of our money, our cars, our homes. We shy away from bad weather and tempestuous oceans. We don't want our emotions bruised. We fear wild animals. We're scared of bullies and rapists and thieves and murderers. And our fright is so complete, we even fear things we don't know about yet!"

"I see. How can fear be stopped?"

He was asking some big questions! But, questions which deserved answers, and so I tried. "Uh, it can't. Not all of it. It's a fact of nature that people all die-- we can't stop that from happening. But all the rest can be diminished or even eliminated, I think, by changing how we're organized."

"What would you change it into?"

"Into a benevolent direct democracy."

"What is that?"

"A benevolence based, individually represented alliance of every mind."

"Elaborate."

"We change focus away from money. We don't concentrate on personal earnings or business growth. Our attention would be on the individual-- seeing that they are educated to their potential and placed into a field which complements their abilities, making certain that their needs are guaranteed and that plenty of potential for creativity exists-- and on the planet, restoring it to its pristine state, guaranteeing a clean home for future generations. We aim for continuity of design and conservation of energy. It would be a political system without politicians, where each human represents instead themselves, their families and friends and neighbors, their towns and cities and countries, in a true symbiosis with the rest of humanity."

"Why isn't that done now?"

Wow. Really good question. Rath was beginning to remind me of the little boy that responds to every explanation with 'why?', attempting to learn the way of the world in one sitting. I chuckled at his naivete. "Because, for whatever reason, the population is usually fairly evenly divided on any concept, no matter how sensible an idea is presented. For some reason roughly 50% see imagined scenarios in which the good idea would become bad, even harmful, so vote it down. I personally believe that many of the detractors actually believe a benevolence plan would work, but can't imagine a world which would allow such a selfless, generous plan to come about. Fear of the unknown causes them to vote against their own self interest."

"Thank you, Theo. I know what to do now." He stepped past me, heading for the door.

"Rath?" I had one question, logical or not.

"Yes, Theo?"

"What's your deal, Rath? Are you an angel or something?"

"Angel. Hmm. A flying representative of the deity from your mythology?"
So Rath viewed religion as folklore! I guessed his answer immediately but responded, "I suppose."

"No." He walked out without another word and I congratulated my acumen like a schoolboy. Got it! 

That talk left me somewhat uneasy. So did looking down and seeing the Kryptonite lock mounted in its storage clasp on the bike and feeling the key now back in my pocket. I thought about my conversation with Rath as I rode to HQ. What was he? Alien? Extradimensional? And what ideas had I given him? How would he implement them? Would he encounter resistance? If he did I doubted it would last, after the easy way he rendered me passive on several occasions now. And surely not with his extraordinary ability to walk unobstructed through walls!

Turning right at the corner I saw Rath again. He was talking to a woman on the street. I waved but he didn't react. Two blocks later he was speaking to an older couple sitting at an outdoor cafe. Taking the next left he showed up with some kids in a schoolyard, holding the skipping rope. This continued all the way to work... I must have seen him fifty times. Or were they his identical brothers? I hadn't received a definitive answer. He was everywhere!

Pulling into HQ I could see we were swamped. Boss's desk was covered in order sheets and riders I'd never seen were flocking the place. Boss didn't even have time to talk-- holding two phones, he just pointed to a large pile of packages, delivery tickets attached. Wow, pandemonium! I read through the tickets and pulled out three deliveries in the same neighborhood, loading them into Pretty Baby, and took off immediately. I didn't want Freak to see me on my bike, especially after witnessing its total destruction yesterday. There were questions I didn't want to answer... couldn't answer.

Everywhere I went, all day long, it was the same weird thing. Rath appeared on every block, talking to individuals or groups, never acknowledging me. I could never see two of him in my field of vision at the same time, but I'd see one of him constantly. What the hell was he doing? I imagined he was probably interviewing others the way he had me, but even with his double (or doubles) I couldn't imagine he would get a very large sampling of viewpoints unless he did it for years... and I didn't think he would wait that long to execute his plan, whatever that plan was.

Oh, great. Freak was a block ahead of me, in that deceptively fast, ridiculously designed bike of his. It looked heavy, with all its extra metal tubing and wings. Perhaps it was his strength which allowed him to zoom around, breaking all of HQ's records... but I doubted it. Especially since I just figured out how he did it! He was on a pretty serious hill now, and rather than stand to produce more inertia, he just reached under his seat... and two puffs of smoke and flame shot out of those extra tubes, roaring him up that hill in moments! His bike was jet-powered!

I turned the corner to avoid being seen... and ran into Rath! He was waiting for me and stopped Pretty Baby with a hand, using the other to contain me on the seat and keep me from flying off. That was getting old.

He said, "Go home."

"Why?"

He widened his eyes and repeated himself, and of course I went right home. Fat Dwayne was all over the couch, junk food bag on his snoring belly, chips all over the furniture and the floor. Disgusting. The TV was on and I went to change the channel but stopped. The news was on and a picture of Rath was onscreen! I turned up the volume.

"... very unusual. Once again, numerous phone calls have been logged in recent hours; complaints involving this man, appearing in many parts of the city, approaching strangers and asking disturbing questions."

The scene changed to an interview with a pair of teenage girls. "He like, asked if we liked our school and teachers..."

The other piped in, "... Yeah, and he asked me if any of them were mean or bad..."

The first cut in, "... No he didn't! He asked you if the subjects were boring or pointless!"

"Well, yeah, but he also asked about bullies..."

Another interview cut in with an older man in a buzz cut. "He asked what I'd change and I said we needed to kill the terrorists, kill the commies and kill the jews..."

Again the scene changed to a middle aged housewife. "We just need to believe in the good lord Jesus to wipe this vermin out!"

From some college kids, "I said we should legalize drugs, man!"

An African American woman added, "I kicked him right in his nuts! Those rednecks need to learn a lesson about talking to strangers!"

The news then cut away to a current, emergency press conference with the President. "I urge everyone to remain calm and not to speak to any of these men, who have shown up all across America in the last 72 hours. They appear unarmed but are here without proper identification or paperwork. We may have an insurgency of sorts. The National Guard has been called into service, to round these men up and detain them..."

My head pounded. All across America? What was Rath? He seemed so harmless! Strong yes, but non-violent. I hoped nothing would happen to him, but also, that nothing would happen to us. Looking back at the screen I lurched because as the President spoke, Rath appeared out of nothing, right beside him!

A dozen Secret Service rushed him, while others spirited the President away. The large men, rather than bringing him to his knees, bounced off Rath as if he were a tree trunk. Seeing that, others drew their service revolvers and pointed them at Rath. I was sickened by the sight, at the idea of him getting hurt, but angry with Rath for putting himself in the middle of such a high-security meeting. Then shots were fired. A lot of them.

The press conference erupted in screams, people dashing away and ducking for cover. The camera operator was jostled and it now displayed the ceiling, then swung wildly around the room before steadying, and pointing back at the podium. I couldn't look, but then heard Rath's voice.

"Please be calm." He was standing behind the bank of microphones where the President had been a moment earlier. He was uninjured but there were quite a few bullet holes in the backdrop behind him. The Secret Service contingent which had been slated for his destruction were now standing alongside him, calmly, their weapons holstered. The room quieted down abruptly.

He began to speak at length, which was a surprise since to me he had always been so monosyllabic. "I am Rath. Your world is in chaos. Countries fight for control, directing soldiers to kill and destroy. Many people are starving, or homeless. Most are unhappy. The planet's living layer is damaged and is at risk. You create products you don't need or with built-in flaws to guarantee a short life of use followed by a long time in garbage heaps which are approaching mountain status. You spend your lives chasing after profit, and then use it for extreme luxury and hoard the rest, hurting others that might need it simply to survive. You create dirty technology that damages your planet, which you keep using even after newer, better, cleaner technology exists... and again, you do it because of profit.

"I have come to help, but in order to help I had to learn, and so in the last day I have asked almost every one of you what it is that is wrong here, and how it could be made right. Many of your answers surprised me, being completely contradictory to each other. Many of your solutions were incredibly violent, wishing to eliminate an entire country, or an entire group of people. Still others seemed uninterested in your society's path at all."

I whistled. All of us? Himself? So Rath really was everywhere at once! All those times I saw him... everyone in the world must have had a similar experience! It blew my mind how he was able to carry on so many conversations, and process them, all at once. I figured he must have an enormous potential in his brain and wondered if we did as well, since we were similar in design. But then I thought he might have manipulated his look to fit in, and he might not look anything like Rath at all, really. I didn't know what to think.

He continued. "The most helpful responses came from the most innocent and naive of you. I have learned that the further up your business and political hierarchy one goes, the less truth comes from your mouths, until the ones at the top speak almost no truth at all... even to themselves. I have learned that the further up the hierarchy you go, the less you care about your fellow man and the more self-absorbed you become. I have seen how your leaders of countries and leaders of business empires view themselves as kings and as omnipotent beings, and view their dangerous and lethal solutions as somehow wise and beyond reproach.

"Even now, your American President has made a poor decision by ordering a strike upon this building using thermonuclear technology. He must see how this would turn the nation's Capitol into a scene of horrific carnage yet believes, truly believes, that this the right thing to do. Not for the people, not for the nation or the planet... but to insure his re-election. This is insanity."

I shit my pants right then. Nuclear strike? Here? What is wrong with the people in power? I answered my own question as I had answered Rath's this morning... fear. They were scared of Rath, scared of the change he represented, and would perform any unethical maneuver to stop it. Well, I hope Rath had a solution because fast bike or not, I wasn't escaping the blast radius of a nuke on DC.

Dumb Dwayne was still asleep on the couch, snoring his life away. At least he wouldn't know how he died.

With his surprising announcement the news cameras were now searching the sky, and sure enough, one picked up a sortie of five B-52 bomber jets on an intersect course with the press conference! In split screen we watched them approach as the conference again erupted in panic. I yelled out, in the loudest and longest scream I could muster, "Nooooo!"
My yell woke Dwayne as he shouted, "What the fuck, asshole?!" but all I could do was point at the screen, trembling. He listened for a moment and then yelled again, "What the fuck?"

My voice came back. "They're trying to kill Rath, but instead are gonna kill all of us."

"That asshole? I told him to fuck off and die, with his stupid questions. Now I'm gonna die? Not without my revenge!" He ran out of the room. Good riddance.

Rath then performed his second feat of inhuman ability onscreen. He now became a hundred Raths and stood before each member of the audience! He held their heads much as he had mine and they calmed down immediately. Then all of the Raths disappeared, including the one onstage.

The bombers released their payloads and arced away. It was done! We were dead!

Now the screen was split on two separate views of the falling bombs. If I remembered correctly, they would detonate before hitting the ground, for maximum destructive force. I went to the window and searched for them myself. I wasn't hiding from the blast-- I was not going to be one of the ones left alive, only to die horribly of radiation sickness. I wanted to be atomized immediately.

I spotted the tiny specks in the sky just as Dwayne the Insane came back into the room. I almost didn't recognize him-- he was now wearing so many guns and had so much ammunition wrapped around him he looked like Rambo after a convention.

"If I'm dying I'm killing all the motherfuckers I hate... starting with you, bitch!" and he leveled a shotgun at me and fired!

I didn't think about it. I just reacted, bounding sideways behind the huge concrete column next to the window. Again my reflexes saved my life as the window glass shattered and I could hear dozens of pellets clinking into the column.

"Get over here, you pussy!" He ran to where he thought I was, but he didn't realize that, being as graceful as a water buffalo, I heard which direction he chose and went the other way, around the three foot square post. He turned and fired into empty air... and that's when I smashed into him from the other side.

He was big and fat, and I was small and lean. Even with three steps head start I really just expected him to lose his balance and fall, and then I would knock him out with a General Electric iron I had grabbed. But he teetered and clawed, trying to remain upright.. and then he spun on one foot, and levered himself right out the window!

I scrunched my eyes in horror, waiting for the sound of him to smash into some parked cars five stories below... but it never came. Instead, everything went white.

EPILOGUE

I woke up at 630 as always for my 8am class. I liked to be prepared and have food in my belly before  classes. Professor Rath imparted a lot of information and expected us to learn; I was fully prepared but it had been my experience that the slightest distraction and I would miss some valuable fact which would screw up my understanding of these new subjects, which were incredibly new, difficult and subtle. I was glad to be back at school-- package delivery really was never my thing, even though it was fun while it lasted-- because of how much it all had changed, in just a very short time. 

I thought back to the final day of the old world, or should I say, the first day of the new world. The blinding flash of light that I thought had spelled white-hot nuclear doom for me fortunately wasn't; it was Rath, performing 'a reset'. At that moment we were all nowhere; out of phase, floating and carefree, invisible and sightless, all knowledge irrelevant, all worry displaced. Slight swaying was felt as each conscious mind of man floated through a swirling spray of clarity that washed away the pettiness and fear pervading human life, like the accumulated crud on a road-weary coach. We became lucid, aware, serene.

Then a peculiar movement rushed past us all, a swirling blur of things familiar and strange; the sky and clouds, buildings and streets, faces and places whizzed past in sharp coherence like a rewinding video. My own path retraced, a rapid-fire review of my last moments and then I was back, we all were back, to the place we all were just a few minutes ago. The president was on the television, back when he was speaking to the world about a frightening new menace. Now he stopped. We all did.

Rath appeared beside him now, smiling, and the president smiled back, a broad grin of acceptance. Rath also stood beside each of us, caressing us, enveloping us in a blanket of still calm. The president cleared his throat, and with a confident puff and in a distinct ringing tone he declared, "It is clear to me, as it is to all of you, that we have been organizing humanity completely wrong for as long as we've been sentient. It is time for a major change, and with this next action I hope to correct our course." He took the time to look at each member of the audience then, nodding encouragement. "Beginning today, our world is changed. Your health and well-being will be guaranteed, so that you may each begin your path to enlightenment, as will I. Our focus shall be universal and our resolve will remain solid. With that last proclamation, I dismantle our ineffectual political process, and then resign as your president. I know we will at last succeed. Rath, if you will?" He yielded the floor and left the podium to a crowd of emotional well-wishers and devotees.

Rath took a breath and began. "You were a young race and were left to find your own way, as all races must. In many regards you succeeded beyond all expectations, but in others you fell way behind. The human race is too valuable to allow it be damaged or destroyed by inexperience, which is the cause for my arrival. I came here to unlock a piece of you which has lain dormant since civilization first fell, a vital part that will help you on your journey of discovery.
"This I have now done. I have given each of you a key to your lost past, one which you will need for the difficult road ahead. Use this restored gift to reach your destiny as creators and leaders and designers. This universe is vast yet empty; in the future of man I hope to see a rich vibrancy emerge in your infinity, a textured contour reflecting your best traits, as countless other universes are doing and have done."
He gave the audience time to absorb the enormity of his words and then finished with:

"The way to without is through discovery within. Learn this... do this... be this."


From that moment we were a changed race.

Gone were the lies, the fear, the selfishness. Enormous social change had simply fallen into place as greed evaporated and was replaced with accomodating transparency. He had given us an awesome ability... perhaps two awesome abilities, with that single bright light. All at once, as each of us felt his incredible emotional depth and were swallowed up in it, we became able to feel as others did. We became empathic.

Along with the amazing array of human changes made possibly by empathy, Rath gave us serenity as well. Or perhaps it came as a natural flow from living with empathy, I don't yet know. But however it sprang forth, it changed us as a race. Some of which were difficult yet necessary purges, scrubbing white the stains of our collective consciousness.

Many people that had spent their lives suffering crushing sorrow were unable to forgive themselves for their lives of duality, which split their selfless love of family with a coldblooded business acumen that traded lives as a function of dollars. They knew they were responsible for a great amount of human suffering and death, and many of the worst could not be brought back such was their torment, and they slipped into the black night by their own hand. This was tragic but could not be helped.

However for the great majority, they felt the warming hand of clemency laid upon them; with forgiveness came invigoration and a bright new goal, and the joy of this undeveloped future swelled their hard and shrunken souls, creating from them the most benevolent ones of all. It would be among these ranks from which the finest ideas would spring. The great human healing had begun.

We are on an important path now; at last, we are searching for something which is so much greater than any one of ourselves, goals which have the potential to change us in a very real way. We have been instructed to find our inner all, my maximum me, and this I will do if it takes me the rest of my natural life. It is all I want to do. It is all I can do.

It is all any of us can do.

Copyright 2011 Bruce Ian Friedman

Magic Tune Finder

The Internet has become an exciting testing ground for new artists. In an area reserved formerly for the fortunate discovered or the inexhaustibly driven has opened up to allow a place for, amazingly, the purely talented.
Several questions rise up, because of this prolific new source:

How do you find new musicians out of all those new videos? And once you find them,

How do you know if you will like them?

We all know about Youtube, where every artist puts a video of their music-- hell, I'm no musician and even *I* have a song on Youtube-- but have no way of knowing their names or what they will sound like.

Fewer of us, but still many, know about the wonderful source: Allmusic.com. Think of it like the IMDb-- the Internet Music Database. Every artist who has made a CD, record or tape will be listed there. But there's more!

Allmusic is truly a repository for some great information. Of course it has every album the band has done, including compilations and singles (no, no bootlegs... these are official recordings only)... and it also has a list of every song the band has ever done. It has a list of every artist that ever played with the band, and a detailed biography of them, from humble beginnings.* Small potatoes.

*But not ALL artists. Some are just getting started, some haven't supplied any information, and some don't know about Allmusic.

But perhaps the most valuable information available for audiophiles like us are the various lists on the overview page. Lists like 'Influenced By' and "Followed'. Lists like 'Similar Artists' and 'See Also'. And lists like 'Genres', 'Styles' and 'Moods'.

The reason why these are important lists are because they help us find musicians to embellish our musical tastes, basing it on music we already love. 

Influenced By-- are all the musicians your fave band attributes to helping them create their unique style. They came before your band, so it's likely you know most of them. Read down the list and make note of any band you aren't familiar with.

Followed-- are all the bands who list your fave band as an influence. They came after your band and you might not know them. This category is a continuation of the first one; it's how the long line of musical styles are created.

Similar Artists-- are what they sound like. Bands that sound in one way or another, like your fave band.

See Also-- is a category that tells you if any of your fave band members have ever been in any other bands. Looking at the Beatles, for example you might find Wings in See Also.
Genres, Styles and Moods-- are more generalized lists, each which will produce dozens if not hundreds of similar artists. A band will be listed in multiple categories, each one determined by using a magical formula involving unicorn poop... or maybe they just use surveys. I'll be honest and say I'm not certain how Allmusic arrives at them, but I know they can be amazingly accurate.

And realizing how easy it has now become to find new favorites caused me to think up a great new 'game' for music buffs like me. I'm going to call it

Magic Tune Finder

Here's how it works:

STEP 1: Go to Allmusic.com and search for any one of your favorite artists. Stop when you get to the Overview page. Read the overview page categories mentioned above and assemble a list of bands and musicians found on those lists that you aren't familiar with.

STEP 2: Now go to Youtube and search for those bands names. You will find them. Remember, Youtube has everything. There will probably be multiple songs from each band. Good.

STEP 3: Create a playlist called (the band you chose), putting all the songs you found by the other artists into it. Don't be shy... I've seen playlists with over 100 songs.

STEP 4: Listen. You can bring other audiophiles that love your fave band to a listening party, or have a more intimate get-together involving one. But in either case, what you'll be hearing, hopefully, is song after song of unfamiliar songs that you LOVE. Or like. Or dislike. It doesn't matter, because when are done you'll follow

STEP 5: where you rate all the new songs by these new bands, and resolve to add their music to your iTunes... or you can choose never to hear them again. If you love them, great! But if you're not sold on buying the song yet you can move to 

STEP 6: where you obtain a free app called something like 'Youtube Downloader', and once it's set up you'll be able to grab any music you hear on Youtube (or anywhere), enabling you to have it in your computer forever. But if you want to put the music in your iTunes however, you'll have to buy the full version... but if you don't, you'll still be able to listen to them any time you open the app.

So play Magic Tune Finder and find tunes you like, like magic!

It's Em-Pathetic

Our society isn't perfect. But it tries. And it's by and large the best standard of living ever found, for the largest breadth of society... so I'm not referring to the wonderful lives of Roman emperors, the few, made on the backs of thousands of slaves. Most of us have heated homes with electricity and running hot water. That is an enormous accomplishment on a scale which has never before been matched. 

And it will keep improving, continually, wherever on the planet. 

This enhancement in comfort gave us the ability to think about things other than survival, and ultimately brought us to the focus of this rant: Empathy.

Or use any of the other synonyms-- they will all work: compassion, caring, concern, commiseration, consideration, kindness, pity or sympathy. They all mean the same thing-- becoming expansive enough to give a shit about others.

Living creatures outside of humans on Earth keep their compassion tightly reined in, saving it mostly for their babies and, to a lesser extent, the other members of their community. We humans are alone in the sheer volume of compassion we are capable of producing.

And it is that volume which causes the conflict I bring before you.

See, the Earth is a wondrous, beautiful place. It is alive, both in the sense that it houses myriad living creatures and in that Earth itself is an ongoing process full of movement and reaction. It rotates on its axis causing day and night (and he heating and cooling processes which result) and revolves around the sun, causing the seasons (and the heating and cooling processes which result). The Earth itself is internally heated and is a huge magnet, having an iron ball 4000 miles in diameter at its core. Then there are the tides, the weather and geological movement. And just for fun... volcanoes.

So the Earth is always moving. It's also very dangerous. Everything on Earth is always evolving, being born and living and dying and decomposing and ending up in a million new living things... which then die, decompose and you get the picture. Animals eat plants or other animals, bugs eat plants and some plants eat bugs, big fish eat smaller fish that eat tiny fish... it's a gore fest.

And knowing this, I wonder how it is that some people can cry out for the plight of the poor animal. Now don't get me wrong. I understand this feeling. I watch Animal Planet. Seeing the lion make his score is both thrilling and torturous, imagining what agony the last few seconds of life must be for that poor creature... but I also know how its death will contribute to the lives of so many others, all the way down to the insects that pick the bones white and the plants which are nourished by the fecal matter left all around it.

So here's my problem. The people with the 'most' compassion have formed a group called PETA. PETA stands for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Whoa, practically a holy name, it sounds so good. But here's the rub: PETA's ultimate goal (if they get all their demands) is to see that all animals be treated as royal subjects, to be protected from harm by any and all human intervention, and to release all captive animals into the wild. That includes pets.

Yeah. Sounds dumb to me, too.

Maybe the group started out logically enough. One day, on a tour of some animal testing facility, a sensitive, politically active person saw a live kitten with its brain on the outside and recoiled in horror, resolving to stop these Frankenstein doctors from creating any more monsters. Apart from the emotional response, it is hard to reconcile their actions until we realize that this test ended polio (for example... no fact there). And I agree we shouldn't make animal's lives horrid just to find out what eight pounds of lipstick pumped into a chihuahua's stomach will do. 

But PETA's initial mission statement seems to have gotten corrupted, and they can no longer see the chickens for the drumsticks... (ugh. Maybe I'll stick with 'forest for the trees'-- the other one seems awkward) They seem to have not thought it through that if they let all the animals run free, they will soon die because: 

• They are ill-prepared to live in an environment full of predators

• They were not raised in that environment and will not know how to find food

• They don't know how to protect themselves from harsh weather

They seem not to recognize that all the animals which are used for experiments are well taken care of, well fed and when necessary, are killed painlessly. They promote science tremendously which betters life for all of us, humanity and the animal kingdom together-- where do you think animal vaccines get their approval from, anyway?

They find the raising of animals with soft fuzzy fur to be a crime as millions of these animals are slaughtered in their prime, only to be used for linings in warm jackets. I find that industry unnecessary, especially as technology produces ever more realistic artificial fur. But as it is done now, don't think these dead carcasses are thrown into the trash to rot in a landfill somewhere. No. The company would be ignoring a prime source of revenue if they did. Those carcasses are used in animal food production and for a wide variety of other uses. So their little lives aren't wasted, either. Call it recycling if you will.

They also complain about food animals being raised in poor environments. Now this is one thing I can appreciate. Nobody should have to live their lives in a crowded, dark place, and if the poor things could be given a little more breathing room and maybe had some Beethoven pumped into their pens they'd have it better until they were killed for our dietary enjoyment. 

But something the PETA people never mention is that animals living 'free' spend every moment of their usually short lives on edge. In fear. Nervous about their survival, knowing that at any moment they could be attacked and eaten. Even if they are blissfully unaware of their fates (which I doubt because of the instinct to run when approached), that still shortens their lives as the predator descends, with a very undesirable finish. 

Why doesn't that fate bother the PETA people? 

At least all the factory farm animals have abundant food and comfortable temperatures and no fear of predators-- they have a life free of concern-- until that last second when they do their service to humanity, repaying them for their not unpleasant life, free of danger.

As a matter of fact, I feel I could compare PETA and their desire to keep animals 'safe' from humanity by cruelly releasing them into the predator-filled wilds, with the religious right's desire to keep all unborn children safe from abortion so that, once they are born, they can be ignored and left to fend for themselves in the cruel, uncaring world.

It just makes no fucking sense.

Sure I think we should not go overboard with our testing. Keep in mind though, that a lot of testing came about because of an overly litigious public... the corporations ordered the testing to eliminate dangers in their products, and thereby avoid lawsuits. But if that hadn't happened, people would instead be dying of untested products. Then there would be lawsuits, and... well, you see where I am going. 

So don't go overboard with the testing. Test only those products with the potential to do human damage, and not unnecessary tests whose answers are easy to discern. Like, you don't need to throw lawn darts high and into a pen full of chickens to know that if it hits one, it'll kill it. Now there's an unnecessary test.

I also agree that it wouldn't kill the factory farms to let a little fresh air in, some light... even some room to move. I doubt the meat would get very tough if the contributing animals lived in a larger pen. We really do have to be on the lookout for people who ignore cruelty for the sake of the bottom line. When you think about it, that happens in our society, now, to people, by a number of sociopathic businessmen calling themselves bankers, CEO's and politicians... but that's a topic for another rant.

As a matter of fact, I'm thinking we wouldn't fare so badly if we were to create another watchdog group, and giving it the acronym PETU.

"People for the Ethical Treatment of Us."

The first order of business: Making sure that the mission of PETA doesn't violate OUR civil rights.

Surprise From the Past

Leland sifted away packed sand from the newly exposed, hard metal cylinder with his stiff horsehair brush. The hairs on his arms were pointing, tingling with excitement. This could be it! He had eagerly signed on to this archaeological tour; exploring the site of Earth's Termination of Tyranny Movement was something he simply had to participate in firsthand. He had been assigned a ten foot by ten foot grid coordinate in a huge valley at the foot of enormous old Elder Rock, with its crumbling but intact carved message 'from the saviors', and a set of tools, along with 100,000 other volunteers. In two months he had found nothing of interest other than a small carved stone with fifteen even edges and five symbols sculpted finely into its face, and a small, curiously notched piece of metal encased in some type of impenetrably hardened honey, which he had turned over to Discoveries clerk Mout for recording and storage. Now, his brush slowly revealing the lengthy tube, his heart pounded with unbridled elation.

The Movement was a critical moment in human history as it led to the Great Enlightenment, an effort which ripped power from the steely clutches of the tyrants overseeing Earth's final Modern Dark Age. History books described a monumental effort by an enslaved population struggling against the backwards teachings of an eons-old book, fighting the pain of jagged binding collars to bring down a corrupt and powerful theocracy despite overwhelming odds and ushering in an age of logical thought and education. Millions were thought to have perished in the wars but as yet, not a bone had been found.

This ground, dug some fifteen feet below the valley floor, was thought to have been the site of the resistance headquarters and later, after victory, it was supposed to have become a museum housing all the technology from earlier ages, successfully hidden from repeated theocratic destruction sweeps. Many pieces had been found so far; most were smoothly rounded boxes of various palm-sized shapes encased in that same unbreakable amber material, and until a method could be discovered for removing them safely from it, none had been examined. Eager anticipation was pervasive.

Leland waved his hand rapidly, using the circular 'Found Something!' signal that he had been taught. Would this be the sought-after solution, or just another impenetrable secret that would end up covered, deep and dusty, on some remote warehouse shelf? The lead archaeologist Ginther hurried over, peering at the cylinder through oversized spectacles. With a smile he communicated the news-- this piece was different! Not a small box, and not sealed in amber! A crowd of volunteers stopped working and gathered to watch the unveiling.

Ginther clapped him on the shoulder, encouragingly. Leland smiled back and returned to uncovering the cylinder. Soon the ends were in full view; he outlined top and bottom with the brush, revealing ever more circumference. Ginther motioned to a few volunteers, who took up either side of the artifact, ready for its inevitable release. Leland brushed, quickly and carefully, avoiding any contact with the piece. Soon he had crested the cylinder's top arc; Ginther and the volunteers applied gentle downward pressure as Leland swept, then blew away the rear dust with a bubble syringe. Brush, brush, blow; brush brush blow.

The artifact released; with the gentlest of turns, it fell into their waiting hands. It was surprisingly light, completely cylindrical. They walked it over to a transport, which moved it smoothly to the pattern establishment area, depositing it gently into a waiting tray. Moments later, information about its every nuance began appearing, cross referenced with every one of the other remnants from the dig. A match would indicate a high probability that any pieces somehow belonged together.

There was a match! The Discoveries clerk, Mout, ran into the dim warehouse and returned minutes later with the potential mate; Leland looked closely in the man's hand and was surprised to see the metal sliver he had uncovered months earlier! He was about to identify it when a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him; Ginther shook his head slightly and returned to watching history being made, as did Leland.

Mout now placed the cylinder in the observation chamber. All sides were magnified and brightened; he began the search with many eyes upon him. Beginning at one end, he turned the cylinder over and over, scrutinizing every bit, moving slowly towards the other. Exactly halfway through his search, he stopped. Something was different. In the otherwise featureless cylinder's face was a mark, a kind of squiggly line, of a smooth and hard material different than the cylinder. Leland thought it looked like the hardened honey. Mout brought the encased metal sliver up for inspection, and held it up to to magnifier, turning it slowly.

"Aha!" He beamed with pride of discovery, pointing the sliver directly at the magnifier. Leland saw it too but was denied first announcement when Mout said, "this edge pattern matches the crooked line, in reverse! I think it fits in there!" and he pressed the sliver's end onto the line. It did not slide in.
But something remarkable did happen. A square section of the artifact, several inches on a side, with the crooked line at its center, glowed a pale blue! Symbols appeared within the blue field that were finely crafted and neatly placed, nine in all; five on top and four below. Leland recognized the symbols as language phonemes from the culture but had no idea what it meant. Ginther had more experience with the language and offered a translation. "This top one is a directive. It says 'Enter'."
"Enter? Enter here? How can we enter?" Mout protested. "It's too small! And, there is no way in!"
"The second word," Ginther continued, somewhat irked, "is 'Code'. Enter Code." He looked at the audience of intrigued faces and asked, "Does anybody know what that could possibly mean?" He was met with vacant stares. Mout ran back to the warehouse.
One man offered, "Could it be 'cold'? Enter cold?"
Ginther thought seriously. "Hmm. I don't see how we could 'enter cold'. You mean chill it and try it again?"
"Maybe."
"No, the words would likely not be similar in this language the way they are in ours. Good try, er..."
"Safton."
"Good try, Safton. Anybody else?"
An older woman spoke up. "Lynet. Could a 'code' be something we have to give it? Like a food?"
Ginther's lips fought to hide the smile. "You think the cylinder might be hungry, Lynet?"
Seriously she responded, "Well, it's spent a lot of years underground, right?"
"But it isn't alive."
"But doesn't the blue glow mean life? We have insects and animals that glow."
"Well, yes, but..." the lead archaeologist searched for the appropriate phrasing but was interrupted by the again-returning Mout, out of breath and lugging a large tome.
"A dictionary. It was found on a shelf in a sealed, airtight stone room. It's suffered no degradation at all!" He brought it to Ginther, who flipped through the pages and eventually landed on the correct word, then read for a long time, silently. Restless murmurings had begun when he held up his hand; it became quiet again. He began to read aloud.
"A 'Code' is a series of symbols designed to keep access of something limited to the holders of the code. It works by unlocking an enclosure containing the information when the correct code is input." Ginther whispered to Mout, "Unlocking? What does that mean?"
"Look it up. You're using a dictionary."
"Oh, of course." Moments later he said, "Oh! Unlocking. Opening with a key or some other mechanism to make what is on the other side of it accessible." He sighed. "And what's a key? This could take awhile." He looked up the new word and straightened. "Well, look at this! There's a picture of a key in this book... and it looks the same as this metal sliver!" He held up the artifact, but then scowled. "This is a conundrum! We need a 'code' which is like a 'key' to 'unlock' this cylinder... but we tried unlocking the cylinder before... and the key didn't work!"

Leland excused his way to the artifacts. He looked at the blue screen and noticed something at the bottom: a series of five evenly dashed segments in a line, evenly spaced, parallel to the bottom of the screen. Additionally, there was one finer line over the leftmost segment, perpendicular to it, disappearing regularly and then reappearing moments later, over and over. He stared at it for a long time, transfixed, but then suddenly remembered something and shouted, "I have it!"
Ginther started and looked up from the dictionary, which had begun to occupy a lot of his time. "What do you have, Leland?"
"The code! I have the code!" He was almost hopping now, his toes flexing inside his boots.
"You do?"
"Yes!"
"What is it?"
"Not what, where! It's in the warehouse! It's the stone object I found with the... the key! The object had five symbols on it! I bet they will work!"
Enthusiastically Ginther turned to instruct the clerk, but Mout had already left, this time returning much more quickly. He was holding the small stone and placed it in the center of the blue field, over the jagged line. The tent held its collective breath.
Nothing happened. He turned it several times, but there was no change. Leland had an idea and asked, "Permit me?" Ginther nodded and Mout handed Leland the stone.
Leland inspected it, turned it in a way he felt was face up, and placed it onto the first dash segment. His finger brushed against the field, over the leftmost line. A symbol appeared, replacing the dash! There were shouts of surprise. Leland noticed the symbol was not the same as the first one on the stone. Experimentally, he touched the screen with his finger again... and the symbol changed! But it still wasn't the same, so he pressed again. And again. He worried that he might have mistaken the symbol when, with his next press, it showed up! It was a pair of piled circles; the upper one slightly smaller than the bottom. But it wasn't exact; he looked closely and determined it was upside down from the symbol on the stone. In a flash of inspiration he realized it was the stone which was upside down and flipped it. Now there was an entirely different symbol on the left. Leland was fearful that he had already passed it, but kept pressing anyway. Then he noticed the first symbol come up again, and with relief he knew that the designer of this pad had wisely allowed the symbols to cycle. He found the mark and stopped.
Applause broke out and Leland grinned. He pressed the second dash and the first symbol changed to red. He was not concerned, and kept pressing until he saw the correct second symbol; then he began the third. Now the second turned red, joining the first. At the fifth symbol he stopped and said, "Ginther, this is your dig. You must be the one to enter the last symbol."

The group applauded again. Ginther thanked him and moved into place, pressing the screen. When the last symbol was entered all five glowed red, then flashed blue. Now a large picture appeared, of the key artifact encased in hardened honey, filling up the screen! Then it shrank until it was the same size as the actual artifact, centered over the jagged line. Ginther slid the key over its picture.
No sooner did he pull his hand back than the screen went dark. However, the picture glowed brightly beneath the key, and as they watched a change began to occur. The honey was melting! But rather than pool under the key the amber goo simply disappeared. In a moment it was gone. Then the cylinder became inert, and dark.
Ginther looked around as if searching for a next step, and Leland supplied one. "Pick up the key." Heeding his advice Ginther did just that, holding it up in the air. Everyone's eyes were trained on the gleaming metal; all except for Leland, who had only wanted to see the crooked line beneath it. Just as he had suspected, it was now a slot, no amber in the way. He tugged on the older man's sleeve and pointed. "Hm? Hm?"
Ginther slid the key in without a moment's hesitation. Nothing. "What next, Leland?"
Leland looked closely at the point of entry and thought he could see a fine circular seam circumnavigate the keyway. Basic engineering kicked in and he said, "Try turning the key."
Ginther did. A small click was heard from inside the cylinder... and then the end swiveled open with a hiss of air! A roar of victory came from the tent which could be heard all throughout the valley, and Leland's shoulders were gratefully thumped by a dozen hands. He blushed shyly and nodded.
Light was trained into the cylinder's opening gloom and after checking for explosive traps (one had been found, once, may the volunteer rest in peace), Ginther reached in and pulled out a large thick envelope, crisp and crackling. It could have been packed away yesterday and not thousands of years ago, so pristine was the paper.
Inside the envelope was another, smaller envelope, and a smoothly rounded box of a palm-sized shape about as thick as a hand, much like so many others which had been found at this site, but with one important difference: It was not covered in amber, which meant that its secrets were close to being revealed. So far, the key was the only amber which had ever been removed, and they had as yet no idea how that had been accomplished. Had it been the brightly glowing light? Whatever the mechanism, his was a fantastic find, and quite possibly held the answers they had been searching for! Leland was ecstatic... if it were true, his name would be forever linked to this discovery. He could not have felt more proud.
Ginther opened the smaller envelope and pulled out a notebook of sorts; two hardbound covers which, when opened, sprang forth a thick sheath of handwritten pages. On top of the front page was a heading. Ginther could make it out and translated: "To the Future Inhabitants of Earth."
"That's us!" One excited voice stated the obvious, and amused titters ran through the tent.
Ginther laughed with the rest and then announced, "And with that comment we can see how tired we've  all become. I think it's time to head back to our encampment, have a good meal and get some rest. We'll begin anew in the morning." Disappointed groans mixed with hungry banter and the crowd thinned quickly. Ginther went back to his tent, notebook in hand, to begin the arduous process of translation. Before he started there was a rustle at the tent flap. "Yes?"
Leland stuck his head in. "I was wondering if I could stay with you as you work."
Ginther shook his head. "Thanks, but this is really the kind of work I prefer to do alone."
"I actually have a little experience with this language. I took several courses at university preparing for this dig."
"Well, that's commendable, but still..."
"Ginther, please. It was my discovery and I had a lot to do with the cylinder even being open. I won't make a sound, I promise. It would be the highest of honors for me."
Gither mumbled, "More like the highest of horrors."
"What was that, sir? I didn't hear you."
The older man sighed. "I seriously doubt that it would... but if I can't dissuade you, then please, have a seat." He looked seriously at Leland and finished, "But don't blame me if the outcome is not what you anticipated."
"I don't see how that could be possible, Ginther. Thanks for letting me do this."
"Don't thank me."
Leland had a question. "Shouldn't we also have brought the black box along?"
"Experience has taught me that the box will be useless until it feels the morning sun. Another box like this was discovered in a cave years ago, and it sprang to life quite by accident when a ray of light coming through a window played across it."
"Solar powered?"
"Yes."
"Even back then?" Leland mused. But Ginther was already poring over the first page; soon, he began reciting:

To the Future Inhabitants of Earth:

I, the last free man of my age, have taken the solemn duty to leave you this record, hidden beneath the soil, as a factual rendering of the events of this time. Regardless of what your history books may now say, know that what you are about to read has been witnessed by my eyes. As further evidence I leave you a device which displays moving images, a copy of events as they unfolded. It is not magical; it is simply a product of science. Leave it in the sun to grow strong, then press the light which appears when the device is ready. It will not hurt you. But first read this accounting.

"Who did he think would find this... cave men?" Ginther chuckled. "'It is not magical'... that is funny! But see what I mean about the box?"
"I do. So I guess it's like a holoengrammatic emitter?"
"Not nearly as advanced, Leland. We've had a few millennia to improve on the old technology, after all. Still, it will give us a fantastic view of history. Early archaeologists have had to piece together entire civilizations from just a few chunks of broken pottery. We have it easy." He fell silent for a few minutes and Leland thought it best not to disturb the man's concentration. Soon though, Ginther began reading, smoothly, uninterrupted, as if channeling the man on those old pages:

It was not so long ago that humanity was on its way to becoming sophisticated and mature; advanced in every area of science, technology, the arts and humanities. Somehow though, religious zealotry gained a foothold and spread its influence worldwide, until every major country was ruled by one overriding theocratic body, the Government Church. Books were burned, education was criminalized, science stagnated and its practitioners were rounded up for being 'heretics of nature' and jailed, or much worse. The world is now in a civilization-killing Dark Age much like the one which shut down Europe for 800 years, reinforced by the schizophrenic application of forced prayer, and the retained technology of televised evangelism and careful Orwellian scrutiny. All citizens are forced to wear a steel collar that is painfully welded around the neck as a method of control and torture. All of humanity is opressed, as slaves in the military or the mines, in the fields or the manufacturing plants, while the young fertile women are impregnated by decree.

One morning words were found in 50 foot letters burned into the lawn at the unparalleled World Vatica Church, saying cryptically "Judgement Is Coming" with a date one year hence. Nobody witnessed how the letters had been formed; guards reported to the Church Elders on seeing but not hearing a series of lightning flashes, bright and long, occur during the shadow of night. When their eyes had readjusted the words were present, still smoldering.

The lawn was quickly uprooted before sunrise and all knowledge of this event was hurriedly covered up. The guards disappeared, never to be seen again. The ten Elders were certain down to a man that they had been contacted by God and that the end times were near. They made preparations to transition themselves into the next world, preparing their trunks of gold and fine linens and feeding their sacrificial virgins for the trip, but kept their actions secret. No point in alerting a downtrodden enslaved people that their evil church, which had strayed far from its biblical teachings, planned on leaving them all behind to suffer in the fires of destruction. Pain collars or not, there were just too many of them. Best to leave them in blissful ignorance.

But there was one person outside of the church who knew the world's fate, though. He was a heretic, a practicing scientist in deep hiding, a keeper of the flame. The last of his kind that had remained underground for centuries, he was now the sole curator of a well protected and vast underground bunker bursting with the final advances of civilization, saved from theocratic cleansing by ignorance or sheer luck, a regime which descended like an iron fist to pulverize any human knowledge which did not further their cause. He was the last hope for restoring the world to its former glory. He knew what the cryptic lawn message meant... and he also knew in advance that it would happen.

Meanwhile the Elders, who had wisely not destroyed all modern technology, directed their manufacturing plants to build formidable telescopes that reached deep into the night to warn of God's arrival, and terrible weapons of cruel design yielding awesome power should He not wish to admit the Elders into Heaven. These they distributed and pointed into the night sky all over the globe, like the buzz-cut hairs of a petrified field general.

Despite these preparations and unfortunately for the Elders, messages from above continued unabated, burned into the ground at strategic locations near large population centers, guaranteeing worldwide knowledge of coming events. 'Arriving Soon', 'Prepare Yourselves', 'Your Fate Is Nigh' and other frightening predictions blanketed the globe for a year, each accompanied by the date and time stamp '6/6/2666, 6am'. The people grew nervous and amassed at the gates of Vatica Churches worldwide, fearful of the reprisal coming from an irate and vengeful God. Undeterred, the powerful Elders and their army of indentured soldiers pointed weapons at the public, who were driven back into to their simple mud homes, preferring subjugation to a painful death, yet quaking over the expected eternity of torture.

Meanwhile, the scientist worked busily, manning machinery and continuing preparations.

The day the world feared arrived at last; humanity held its collective breath, awaiting the crushing hand of God to smite them mightily. At dawn the sun rose to a blue sky, but soon that sky filled with thick clouds that formed out of nothing, deep iron-grey billows with angry edges that hung low, pregnant and threatening; oily black clouds which obscured the telescope's vision and made useless the missiles' targeting systems. The Elders were blind, and feared for their lives.

And then the mighty sound came. Softly at first, as if arriving from some vast distance, the vibration soon became deep and throbbing, a drumbeat against cotton skins, a steadily approaching locomotive, swelling until it was all which could be heard. Televisions were drowned out in the throb; conversations were hopeless and the physically driving thump-thump-thump made it impossible to maneuver or do anything besides hold on for pitiful life. Then the thumps slowed, like a helicopter's dying whine... a moment apart, then a second; then ten. There it remained for seconds; minutes. Then, in between the slamming pounds a deep, resonant voice begun, heard round the world in the global language of the church and therefore understood by all. In the smudged pitch blackness it began:

"We are disappointed. You have been led astray. Your glorious drive to world enlightenment has been curtailed by the selfish desires of a greedy few, who would gladly doom the world for five more minutes of luxury. It may be easy to corral the masses, at first, with soft spoken lies and bright sparkling promises... but ask yourselves if the life you lead now is the one you would choose for yourselves. If the answer is 'no', remember it is within your ability to be the catalyst for change.

"Now power is being held by liars and thieves that think themselves gods, who maintain their power with the threat of pain, imprisonment and death. They keep you at the edge of despair and use you as slaves. Your distant parents could choose their own paths and make of their lives what they would... but you are not able even to choose to turn your televising devices off.

"They have stolen your lives from you, and they have done so without fear. They say they know how this world was formed, and by whom... and they claim to communicate with this creator in order to direct all your paths towards a glorious future. But this statement is a baldfaced lie. They do not know anything. They cannot speak to the creator, and they have no power that you did not give to them."

The Elders heard enough, and reacted as violent oppressors often do-- they attacked with all the power at their disposal. The violent warheads tucked into missile heads flicked into life; countdowns began. One by one they lifted skyward, filled with the aggression and ego of certainty; one by one they punched resolutely into the inky clouds... and one by one they disappeared from existence, their payloads unexploded, with nary a poof of protest. Eyes wide and conviction crushed, church leaders awaited their doom with tearful tremors as the enormous voice continued:

"Their powerful weapons you just saw being launched, themselves a holdout from the Big Destruction, have had no effect on today's outcome. They have now been rendered back into the molecules from which they were derived. The actions of your oppressors are selfish and criminal; their leaders will be severely punished. Today is the day to set you back on the path of progress and intellectual enlightenment. You cannot help yourselves do this if you are enslaved and tyrranized. 

"To that end, action will soon commence. There will be no more weaponry on Earth-- it will all be eradicated. Pay close attention, those who serve the Elders. All soldiers carrying weapons and ammunition, put them into a pile and back far away. Do not retain any individual weapons. All soldiers manning larger weaponry, leave the area immediately. All plants making weapons must be emptied of all workers. Do this now. You have five minutes."

The thumping sped up until they came one second apart, and raised pitch to sound like a ticking clock. Across the globe soldiers stood confused; aware of their standing orders not to relinquish their weapons, but also faced with a power unlike any they had seen before, they were frozen in fear. Despite shouts coming through walkie talkies to ignore the mega voice, that worldwide throbbing tick countdown gave most soldiers the push they needed to toss anything remotely weaponlike into a pile-- guns, knives, pepper spray, batons, keys, bottles, belts, shoelaces... anything-- and bolt in the other direction.

Now the sound again changed, this time into a screaming siren, louder with each tick until the entire world had to cover their ears. Then, silence. Suddenly, every weapon in piles all over the globe stood at attention as if grabbed by an invisible magnet from above. A vibrating buzz like a hive of bees welled up within each pile, around each large weapon, through each factory. A mist began swirling at the buzz, around and around, faster and wider, obscuring the items within.

Several soldiers were loyal, however, and refused to relinquish their arms. When the buzzing began they looked about wildly. When the swirling cloud surrounded their weapons (and them) they began to scream, bloodcurdling and shrill... but soon fell silent.

The clouds grew thick, tall and wide, a deep brownish grey. People too close were slammed with dust and stumbled backwards, blood welling from tiny holes puncturing their skin. They watched the weapons being dismantled back to ever smaller component molecules, molecules which were being flung at high velocity around the cloud like a storm of pepper.

Then came an enormous 'pop' which sounded as though a blimp-sized balloon had burst, echoing up to the clouds and back, and the whirling dust shot skyward, spread outwards and merged with the low oily clouds. The piles of weaponry were now gone, missile launch pads devoid of even the slightest particle. The ground had been polished into smooth circles. Every weapon and machine was gone. Not a stone from any of the factory walls survived. Neither did even an atom of  the few loyal soldiers that had retained their weapons... they had been dismantled as well. Friends sniffed sorrow. The booming voice returned.

"The Elders will now gather on the Church Vatica central dais."

Assembling before automated cameras on the platform, urged in place by a throng of glowering, silent citizens, the Elders filtered onto the Church Vatica platform, sitting heavily in their arc of thrones, heads bowed and bodies slumped, defeat telegraphing across their faces. Undeterred, the Great Lead Elder now asserted his command and approached the raised speaking mound. In typical Saintly fashion, with a confident scowl, he spread his hands and took a breath to speak... and disappeared in a flash of cruel lightning, a wisp of smoke all that remained. Moments later the other Elders received the same fate, shock to a man splashed across their faces, and they too dissolved into nothingness, thrones cleaved and smoking.

Mouths gaping, television viewers worldwide tried to make sense of the violent images, tried to explain it to their confused children. But many more were smiling, reacting to the sudden notion of freedom and the bliss of gleeful unencumbrance. The booming voice began again.

"Good riddance. Soldiers, put on your street clothes and return to your families. Jailers, release all prisoners. The rest of you, tear down all signs honoring the Elders and their beliefs. A bonfire in the center of every town will make a fitting re-entry into your lives of freedom. Celebrate with your neighbors and friends.

"With this final act we return you to your world before theocracy. Soon a plan will emerge-- your plan-- for returning to, and surpassing, your former glory. We leave you with one gift so that future generations will know what has happened here on this day."

Televisions switched at once to a view of Elder Rock, the world's largest religious icon. Visible for 600 miles were enormous busts of a thousand holy Elders through time, a thousand holy oppressors of the people, emblazoned on a perfectly cleaved mountain one mile tall. It was an impressive feat of man that had claimed the lives of thousands of enslaved stonemasons in the hundred years of its making.

Abruptly a glaring white light seared the picture on every television screen; nothing at all could be made out. When the dazzle diminished, all the world could see that the gargantuan stone monument had been scrubbed free of iconic carvings and was now smooth as glass! Not a crooked face remained, not an evil leer, not a glaring eye. It was a literal blank slate. 

As quickly as they had come, the clouds now dissolved into blue skies. Popping into insubstantiality, not a trace of them could be seen. The sun warmed the ground and bathed Elder Mountain in a loving caress. As it did, a thin blue-white line of bright light shot through the sky, directed at the top of that glassy-flat monument. Rock burst away at the point of intersection, hurtling to the ground a mile below in a cacophony of chuckling crashes. The bright line moved, then flickered and moved again. Then without a sound, without a fuss, it disappeared. Globally transfixed observers viewed the result with awe. A title had been carved finely into the highly polished vertical face, in clear, calligraphed, hundred-foot-tall letters. It chillingly read:

-≈«∞§•  Heed Us!  •§∞«≈-

The blue-white carving light returned, moving faster this time, completing its message in no more time than it would take to hand-write the same words. Again it stopped, allowing the dust time to clear. When it had, what remained was nothing less vital than The Answers to the World's Largest Questions:

-≈«∞§•  We Are People Like Yourselves  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  You Are The Same As Us  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  You Can BECOME Us  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Therefore Believe In No God  •§∞«≈-

Again it stopped, glowing hot carve lines cooling into glassy smooth outlines. But the amazement of creation dulled beneath the shock of those final five words. The planetary oxygen dropped momentarily with the sharp intake of fifteen billion breaths... no god? Blasphemy! Then realizing this information was coming from people who knew the truth, incredulity spread faster than sunlight and a release approaching bliss escaped their lips as one.

Once more the intense thin light began carving, leaving a gap this time between sections. This group had a different tone; though there was no title, the font etched deeply into the stone commanded obedience:

-≈«∞§•  Hurt No One  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Maintain Respect For All People  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Do Not Overpopulate  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Learn New Facts And Teach Them To All  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Remain Transparent  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Treat Stories And Fantasy With Caution  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Limit Power of Leadership  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Keep The Planet Clean  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Decide As A People  •§∞«≈-

-≈«∞§•  Share All Resources Equally  •§∞«≈-

Near the bottom, in smallish letters but thicker, important, there came an addendum:

-≈«∞§•  We Will Return On Occasion And Desire Progress  •§∞«≈-

When the final flourish was completed and the last bit of dust had blown away, all contact by the saviors from above ceased. The camera panned the monument slowly from the top, taking in every answer, stopping on every commandment. Then it faded and for the first time in centuries, viewscreens worldwide showed no religious material of any type. Instead, on every channel, kind and smiling people were teaching the knowledge of the world, knowledge which had been kept from the planet's people for centuries. Science of every stripe, the arts, humanism, social structure and ten thousand more subjects, complete in breadth and pellucid by design instead filled every home, commanding attention by their very unfamiliarity, absorbing into eager thirsty minds. In days to come, armed with new knowledge and following to the letter the immense guidelines from above, society reformed.

The scientist, deep in his lair of banned scientific devices, shut off the machinery he had been using for the past year. It had been difficult to hide the solar panels that had created enough needed energy to perform his world-saving plan, but he managed by using disguised panel design and surreptitious placement. The fact that most parts of the planet were off-limits helped as well. He was thankful that the Elders had not bothered to destroy the dense network of satellites circling the globe, preferring to find and destroy the land-based controls instead. This they had done... with the exception of one instrument bank, which was fortunately in the hands of the scientist. Powerful laser defense and gamma bombardment satellites, and precision planning, had done the rest.

Convincing an illiterate world they had just received freedom from above was not difficult, but killing the men responsible for allowing centuries of human enslavement was a painful duty for a moral man. What was hard as well was the knowledge that he was now an old man and could not guide the world much longer. He would need to find and train a student, a Keeper of the Secret, to carry on the charade after his death... and do so before he died. He could observe learners at their televisions; computers could determine the most knowledgeable candidate. But would he or she have the right temperament? He knew that the temptation of power was difficult to resist; he, as an impassive experimenter for much of his life, disliked power but saw the need and method for change and did what demanded doing. Could he find another him?

I assert that the preceding passages are true by my word, and by the evidence contained in the player. I am privy to all this information because of one reason: I am that scientist. It is my fervent hope, whenever this is found, that a new and better world has emerged as a result of my actions. 

--Thaddeus T Thackery 

Ginther had been speaking nonstop for over an hour and now exhaled noisily, leaning back in his chair, an indecipherable look on his face betraying an unknowable emotion. Leland emitted a low whistle, and then another. Finally he said, "Our society was built on a scam."
Ginther replied simply. "It would appear so."
"There was never any big battle."
"There was none mentioned."
"No millions of deaths?" Leland understood now why no bones of the slaughtered had ever been found.
"Only a few, by this accounting."
"And the intervention by benevolent aliens..."
"Was an intervention by a benevolent scientist."
"Whew. That's a big piece of news."
"Maybe too big."
Leland considered the other man's thought and then posited, "So there IS a god, then?"
"No..."
"Then there ISN'T a god."
"No... err... yes. I mean, all our knowledge in that area has just been uprooted. We've believed from the carvings on Elder Rock that an advanced society gave us absolute truths to follow, as a whole and down to a man."
"And now we find these are only the words of a single man."
"Well, yes... but apparently, a very well-educated man. We've followed these words for millennia and look at what they've done for us! Our advancement! Our peace! The reverent way we treat our planet! Surely it doesn't take genius beyond our own reckoning to design an infallible system?"
"Well see how infallible our system really is when this information gets out..."
Ginther grabbed his arm and held it in a surprisingly viselike grip. "Leland, I'm not sure if this should ever get out. Ever."
"But... Ginther... one of our chief provisions requires us to 'remain transparent'. I can't be a party to this kind of--" Leland slumped over on Ginther's bunk, look of shocked incredulity on his face, dead. Ginther removed the glassine syringe of poison injected into the younger man's ear canal and crushed it underfoot, into dust. He covered Leland with his blanket and waited until the camp was quiet and moved the man next to the cylindrical artifact, with the notebook. With a rapid motion he ignited a hot charge and ducked behind the metal table to protect himself against the initial burst of white-hot flame that turned everything, even steel, into smoke, then made his way back to his tent. It would be his sad duty to inform the camp of the tragic discovery of a new kind of booby trap, one which incinerated itself and anything nearby, and the loss of a valued member of the team along with his findings, but it was understood that this was one of the perils of modern archaeology.
Like the scientist, Ginther hated having to kill an innocent, yet again, to maintain society... but it was his sworn duty as 94th Keeper of the Secret, a duty he enforced with deadly serious intent. He got to work on the official translation, which he will have 'fortunately' made during the night, which confirmed all the information generally known about the Termination of Tyranny Movement. Leland would of course receive full honors posthumously and his story would be told in museums worldwide, how he tried to ressurrect the black box, only to trigger its destructive fail-safe, and how he gave his life for crucial information from that time.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when the first volunteer discovered the carnage.

Copyright 2011 Bruce I Friedman