“I understand, sir,” Grant said in a stoic monotone, “There are people out there…like those people in The Evil, with ideas that are dangerous to the system. Their ideas are not only radical, they are dangerous because they are based on an ideology that is not only illogical and impractical…it is selfish and unreasonable. Our system works because it keeps the common man fed and satisfied…”
“Does it?” Loko shouted as he sloshed some of his drink onto his chin, “Are you sure that there couldn’t be something better? How do you know for sure, that everything you have seen around you is nothing but a farce? How do you know that your world…which has provided you with a life of systematic comfort…is not just one big lie?”
“I guess…” Grant said as he adjusted his tie, “I don’t…but with that said, history has shown the alternative…and although our world has a long and complicated history, our present situation, is good enough to warrant protection from those who wish to destroy it out of misguided hatred.”
“Misguided hatred?” Loko said with a slur, “That could mean a lot of things, Grant. You do realize that it is entirely possible to reap the benefits of our society…without having done anything to truly deserve them? You do realize that in a democracy such as ours, the power of perception, and the ability influence and sway public opinion is sometimes even more powerful than being someone of high moral character, who happens to be creative and ambitious?”
“Sir?”
“Take for instance…what if there was a creative and extremely intelligent man, or woman…whose integrity and ego driven ambitions, allows them to invent a better mousetrap…is it possible that they could be a threat to someone who sells the most popular mousetrap? Especially if the most popular mousetrap, is defective and unreliable, since it was designed and built in a collective fashion that made everyone involved in its production feel happy about it?”
Grant thought of the mice he had seen running around his own apartment as he said, “Yes, sir…I suppose an independently thinking man or woman who dared to dream of something better would be considered a threat.”
“That is essentially what Ailana is about, Grant…there are certain people, who enjoy a status quo and they did nothing to deserve their lofty status within our planet’s social structure. They were not more creative or more intelligent than anyone else…they were average, mediocre…but they had the ability to win friends, impress people and manipulate them. These people realized early on that they lacked the talents and skills to build a better mousetrap…and thus they lied and cheated and bribed government officials to ignore how shitty their mousetrap was, just so they could obtain what they believed this world owes them.”
“Alright…I see where you are going with this,” Grant said as he tried not grin.
“And to make matters worse, these people are able to hold onto what they have because the public does not know the truth of who they truly are, or what they really did in order to obtain their fortunes and fame.”
“Misguided people?” Grant said, “Are you referring to the populous who has been fooled into believing that the most popular mousetrap is the best one, even though it isn’t?”
“Yes, Grant…and those misguided people are the reason why we are here, doing what we are doing. Ailana is locked in an eternal struggle between the talented and the untalented. It is a struggle between those talented individuals, who deserved the fortunes they were denied, and those untalented individuals, who simply influenced the government to pass laws and regulations, which allowed the bailout money to flow so that they could keep ill-gotten fortunes that they do not deserve. That is basically what Ailana is all about…and people like us, who hold the ability to influence public opinion…well, we determine which mousetrap gets bought and used.”
Grant felt his teeth grinding as he said, “So the mousetrap, it could be something as small and insignificant as a com, or something as big and important as a source of energy production, a food production system, a financial system, a health care system…the beliefs of a political party…or even an entire kingdom…I understand what you are getting at.”
Loko shook his fist as he said, “This is power, Grant! It is the most destructive of all power! The power to convince people that the defective mousetrap is the one to invest your money and faith in…this is a force so powerful, that it is worth killing for!”
Grant pretended as if he was still interested, “I see.”
Loko appeared as if he were on the verge of tears as he said, “But let me tell you, Grant…it is not enough to have power. There have been many examples within history that have shown people with power, doing nothing than driving their society right off a cliff with the power they welded. Ailana is a planet on a path through space and time…and that path could be changed for better or for worse…we could continue towards disaster and destruction, or we could do something to turn back the tide. But I am a man with blood on my hands, because nothing that I have done to prevent the brave new world, which we are about to face…has ever been enough. I thought I was doing the right thing…I thought what I was doing was best for everyone. But sometimes, Grant, sometimes you realize that aching feeling in the back of your mind, at the core of your heart and the pit of your stomach is telling you that you have been fooling yourself all along!”
“Sir?” Grant seemed genuinely confused as he looked at Loko with soft eyes.
“I did what I did because I was incredibly selfish, Grant! I’ve sold my soul to the devil…and soon the devil will come to collect his prize. I thought I could beat the devil…and I did something that I was not supposed to do…all because the world is not enough! I needed more! More money! More power! And I hatched a plan to obtain all that which I so desired. But if this plan of mine fails…the consequences…oh gods! I don’t want to even think about what will happen!”
Grant tried his best not to appear bored as an idea for a television show that one of his writers had pitched to him, suddenly started running through his mind as he tried to ignore Loko, a man who Grant had decided was boorish and unbefitting of his company long before this conversation even started.
In order to combat the desire to become angry, Grant found himself escaping into his mind. He began remembering a meeting he had with one of his staff writers this morning. He remembered how the writer looked as if he were high on drugs as he said, “Cyber-warfare, man…that’s what it’s all about now! The ability for people to use the internet or social networking tools to mobilize dissent or sway public opinion…or even change the results of elections…it’s the next big thing, man! Governments, who do not believe that they are ultimately accountable to their citizens, need to live in constant fear of those geeks with computers and social networking skills, not dudes with big muscles, huge guns and bombs! Rambo, is just so yesterday…dude.”
Grant felt his jaw getting tighter as he remembered how he had asked the writer, “And the story? Tell me about it. How does it go?”
“I’m getting’ to that part, Grant, cause ya see, that’s what happens to our hero in this new show! It’s a story about how this bewildered suspect was kidnapped, in the middle of the night, by a man in black…or maybe brown…the color of the kidnapper’s suit doesn’t matter…what matters, is the fact that the guy, who got kidnapped, was a dissenter and the government wanted to get rid of him because he was about to tell some dude, who’s like a spy from an enemy country, about how some scientists had screwed up some DNA…and made a monster…or maybe, they were about to set off a doomsday device that dumped carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and made the entire world uninhabitable because of global warming…or is it global cooling? It doesn’t matter…what matters is that some bad shit is going to happen and the spy dude has to stop it…”
Grant remembered how he had sighed and said, “You see, here’s where I’m getting lost…at this point in the story you just keep rambling on with all these pointless details…right
now, you just have all these characters committing all these acts of violence…where’s the plot? What the hell is happening? What are the characters’ motivations?”
“Just hold on, Grant, now here’s the part where the spy dude bangs the secretary from the spy agency office before he goes to save the world…I like this part, cause ya get to see a green chick’s tits!”
Grant remembered how he fired the writer for lack of focus as Loko’s grating voice said, “The world, as we know it…is going to end, Grant! But I’ve got an insurance policy! Oh yes, I do. I’ve made several arrangements. I’ve made several deals and struck several bargains with the lesser of many evils. You might not know what I am talking about, but soon, everything will be made clear. This world that we have known, this world, which we have taken for granted, is about to end…and this empire I have been given, will be taken away so that it may be used for an entirely different means to an entirely different set of ends. And when that happens, there will be only one man left standing…and the arrangements I have made, and the deals that I have brokered, shall net me a great reward. We do what we do on this world because there is no point in sharing and being generous. We all have to kick and fight for our share of the pie, and when the shit finally hits the fan, Grant…I will have won a tremendous portion of that pie! And if the devil doesn’t discover what I’ve done…I’ll be rich! We’ll be rich!”
“I understand, sir,” Grant felt a tremendous feeling of relief as he realized his own plan was finally coming to fruition and all the lies he had to live with would soon be worth it.
“Sit down, Grant,” Loko said with a drunken smile. “Pour us another drink. I’m going to tell you all about what is going to happen on Ailana…and if we play our cards right, I am going to tell you how we are going to come out on top of it all when the shit really starts to hit the fan.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grant said as a dubious grin crossed his lips. Grant’s mind was soon flooded with malicious thoughts, “I know all about what you did, you overfed piece of shit, I know all about what you are planning to do. And the funny part…you have no idea that I have a plan of my own…let the game begin…and when it’s all over, let the best man win everything!”
CHAPTER 13
Location: EMS Rousseau…327th Deck….Officers Wing.
Standard Ship Time: 1700 Hours.
“Have you ever done something that you regret? Something you can’t forget?”
In the dream he heard a loud gunshot, and the screaming and wailing of police sirens.
In the darkness, his father’s voice echoed, “You’re not a very talented little shit, are you? Boy…I swear I’m going to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours…even if it kills ya!”
Another voice from a cloud of smoke said, “Why don’t you tell me something about a friend of yours…someone named Moke Kalapana?”
He heard himself yelling “GO TO HELL!”
The demonic voice from the cloud of smoke then said coldly, “he just handed you over to us.HE BETRAYED YOU!”
“Some choices we make with our life…cause us nothing but strife…”
Without the medication, his mind dreamed wildly as memories flew past him like screaming demons, turning his dreams into complete recollective bursts of events his pills were supposed to make him forget. He remembered the spaceship, and the pain he felt, as the people wearing surgical masks, covered him in the components of the black, armored spacesuit. He remembered how he panicked as they began locking him into the metal monstrosity that he would wear into battle. He remembered how his heart was pounding as they fixed his helmet into place.
He remembered the voice shouting at him, “Now ya just gotta trust me, and do what I say!” He remembered how his company of soldiers was strapped into the landing pod, and launched from the side of the ship. He remembered how the darkness soon engulfed them, and how they couldn’t see anything. He remembered the heart stopping crash landing.
Without the medication, the nightmares came quickly, and a demonic voice began hissing, “Looks like you got just what you deserved.” There was the sound of a shock wave.
Boom!
Harris opened his mind’s eye, and found himself trapped in the middle of a terrifying flashback. He took a shallow breath that did not fill his lungs, or given him enough oxygen to fully wake him. The memory seemed incredibly real. He found himself lying on his back, watching the explosions above him through the scratched visor of his protective battle suit. He soon realized that he had been shot several times, and that his guts were spilling out of his torso.
The flashback became darker and more frightening as he realized that he could hear the screams of terrified soldiers all around him.
“CAPTAIN! HELP US!” A scared voice screamed, “We’re all gonna die!”
Harris remembered how the fear had been bound inside his chest. He remembered how he mustered the strength to lift his arm, in order to aim his rifle straight up to the sky. He fired and three seconds later, a flare went off. Harris remembered the smile on his face as an approaching StarFighter used the flare to target the enemy soldiers that were pinning his squad down, and destroyed them with missiles.
The dream changed, and the scene in his mind flashed to a blue room. A woman’s voice said, “They tell me that you are a war hero. They tell me how you, despite being mortally wounded, were able to save your men during a crucial battle with Terraxakors in the Nexus system. You’ve received awards for honor and bravery, why do you feel the way you do?”
Harris heard himself say many words, in choppy sentences, that were the pieces of many past conversations, all sewn together like an ugly, confused quilt. “At one time, I might have been a hero…but I’m not…I never have been very truthful with myself…when I really think about it…all I’ve ever done…were evil things…to help evil people.”
“What did you do that was so evil?”
In his dreamy state of mind, Harris remembered how heavy his black, armored suit felt on his shoulders as he walked through the remains of a recently destroyed building complex. He remembered seeing fires burning, and how the faces of the dead all were stained black with dirt and soot. Many of the dead bodies were so small in size. Harris remembered how he began to choke and gag. “OH MY GODS! WHAT HAVE WE DONE?!”
There were hundreds of them. Most of the dead children couldn’t have been more than eight years old. Some of them had died with their eyes open, and their innocent, little faces seemed to have a fresh, glossy look to them. Harris remembered hearing voices inside his helmet.
“Base, this is Eastern Six, the target has been destroyed.”
“Base, this is Skyward Six! We failed to retrieve the bombardier! We think he went back to the target!”
“GET HIM! GET HIM!”
In the dream, the dead seemed to be contorting the burned flesh on their faces in order to look angry. “GET HIM!” Their dead voices were like banshees. “GET HIM! GET HIM!! WE CAN’T LET HIM GET AWAY!”
Suddenly, Harris began to feel like he was being deprived of oxygen. His brain signaled a panic response, and his heart fluttered wildly. He woke up after taking a deep gasp of the cabin’s cool, dry air. He flapped his arms as his body convulsed. He reached for his desk, and grabbed the long-bladed knife. Bare-chested and in his underwear, Harris felt himself drenched in sweat as he leapt off the bed.
“Son-of-a-bitch…I can’t sleep…I can’t take this anymore!”
The dreams wouldn’t stop. Ever since he dumped that medication down the toilet, he had been wandering around the nether regions of his mind like a madman, trying to find his way out a darkened tunnel, looking for a ray of hope. As it turned out, the light at the end of this tunnel had been an oncoming train.
“AHHHH!!” Harris screamed and fell to his knees. “That’s it! NO MORE! Is this the answer to the questions I seek?”
Harris had a bitter sco
wl on his face, as sweat ran down his brow. His finely chiseled torso was soaked with sweat as it glistening in the dim light. His muscles flexed as he positioned the knife blade just centimeters from his stomach. His hands and arms flexed, and his veins pulsed with anger.
He was on the verge of crying as he said, “To hell with this life! I’ve seen my victims! I know who they are! I know who they will be! And I will have nothing more to do with this!” He began hyperventilating as the inner rage caused him to cry out, “Oh God, or whoever you are! If you want justice, you are going to have to do it yourself! Your angel of death is coming home…to spit in your face!”
Milliseconds before Harris was going to drive the knife home, a soft pinging noise came from his cabin door.
“AHHH!!” He shouted and dropped the knife on the floor. He began to whisper angrily to himself, “What am I doing? What the hell is going on?”
Feeling shamed and confused, Harris quickly picked up the knife and stuffed it into his desk drawer in an attempt to hide it. He put on a pair of gray workout shorts, walked a few steps toward the door, and answered it. The door slid open about a quarter of the way. Harris saw a short, pudgy man with thick black hair that was cut very close to his scalp. The man wore a blue jumper that signified him as a steward. He seemed to have a down turned mouth.
“Captain Harris?” The pudgy man said.
“Yes?” Harris said respectfully as he tried to catch his breath.
“Sir, my name is Patrick, and I have been instructed to inform you of an emergency that needs your immediate attention. Please get dressed and meet me out here in five minutes.”
Harris abruptly closed the door. He showered quickly, and got dressed even faster. When he opened the door again, the portly steward was still standing there.
“Follow me, Captain Harris,” The steward said, and together they took two steps across the green passageway and stepped into a cabin that was exactly the same design as the one Harris was staying in. Harris felt his eyes becoming wide as he noticed how a tall man, in a doctor’s examination coat, stood next to the bunk with a serious look on his face.
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