by James Bishop
Chapter 3
The next morning, Latome sat on his observation chair and watched the tampered planet progress. Behind him, Frecarei managed to sneak through the cube door and get within feet of Latome. However, the unmistakable odor of Frecarei’s breath signaled his presence, and Latome turned to meet him.
"So, have you done anything yet?" said Frecarei as he turned to the universe and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, my planet has surged since I gave them new technology. They have even. . ."
Frecarei dropped his upper body towards the ground, grabbed his knees, and released a cloud of laughter and bad breath across Latome’s face.
"‘My planet,’ are you kidding me? You’ll never get anywhere dealing with one planet. It’s liable to explode or stone up." said Frecarei, standing rigid and proud.
"My planet has showed—"
"It doesn’t matter what they’ve done. Who will challenge this planet? Don’t you want them to have planetary wars? Alright, maybe that’s a bit out of your reach, but even you can do better than this."
Latome turned and faced his universe. Of all the black space, of all the insignificant light, his eyes focused on his little, blue planet, churning in precision.
"Why would I want to do that? Why would I want them to go to war?"
"Without war there’s no progress. It’s right in the instructions, didn’t you read them?" Frecarei brought his delicate hands to his hip, and released an exhaustive sigh. "When not at war, thee is no more. Rule sixteen, I think."
"But what about the. . .the creatures?"
"What about them?"
"Well-"
"That planet, and everything on it, will be gone soon enough. It’s time to look beyond them."
"I just wanted to-"
"Whatever, Father and I have arranged a meeting for one of my many quadrants. Twelve planets in total are required to participate, and recognize me as their commander. Father says that’s how he started his first multiverse, by doing just this," said Frecarei, walking away. "My people must be eager."
For several moments after Frecarei left, Latome sat quiet. Slumped in his observation chair, he stared at the floor. His bony, pale, unacceptable arms hung over the sides. He raised his head and looked at his hard-working planet: hundreds of satellites littered the outer zone, of both the planet and its moon; Permanent stations had been completed on the moon, and the red planet near them-terraforming in deep progress.
But, Frecarei was right, they would be gone soon. All of their progress would be lost, with no gain to the universe.
He stood from his chair and walked nearer his dead universe.
Surely you understand.