“Lady, you’re off your granite!” he said, his hand reaching furtively for the duster buster.
Caught in the eye of her cousin’s logorrheic storm, Astellaria was buckling down (or up) for the great escape—preferably with the falso (not fatso!) Diva. After all, Victor’s deep-rooted loyalties were evident and unmovable. “Well now that we’ve had this delightful little chat, it’s time for us to go,” she said sprightly tugging at Pharaona. But hell no, Pharaona was harder than a rock. Wholeheartedly adamantine. She stole the rest of Chaplin’s speech unashamedly and with great fanfare! “Let us fight to free the world! To do away with greed, with hate and intolerance! Let us—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but as the saying goes, ‘silence is golden’!” Astellaria shook her lustrous booty and Shazam! Her electromagnetic light field made them both invisible—and mute.
Silence. Connection lost.
Victor was left with a blank expression, staring at his grisly walls. His rebellious golden girl was indeed more than just a glittery object.
CHAPTER 13 - Puzzle Pieces In A Fish Bowl
“It’s so awful here, I can’t stand it anymore! I’m having a meltdown!” Astellaria wailed repeatedly, flashbacking Pharaona to earlier tantrums and crocodile tears that eroded her stone to the point where she lost her marbles and succumbed to her cousin’s flimsy and perilous wishes. That’s what happens when you flinch before a bratty, wilful wishing star; you end up on an improvident star trek through strange worlds.
“What a scrape we’re in!” thought Pharaona as her inner crystals crackled with simmering indignation and trepidation. Needing time out, one night she slipped into the Dreamtime Aquarium leaving an automatic reply for Astellaria’s messages: “Need quiet time in my think tank. Back soon. Stay out of trouble!”
Of course, Pharaona’s automatic reply was ignored. Astellaria kept knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door[45]... to no avail. “I want to go home! That diabolical wish that lured me into this disaster was on the beam! Ra! Come out of there!”
Silence.
“You can’t leave me here on my own!” Little Miss Glam blazed up. Pharaona refused to come out. There she was, partying with old friends and reminding Shakespeare of her ancient musings. “Wiley darling, you do remember I was on your side when those horrible snobs called you an uneducated plucky playwright, don’t you?” Wiley turned away and tittered as he swirled his nose inside his warm cognac-filled glass. “And you do recall how I helped you untwist the knot of the plot in Hamlet?” Wiley’s face became flushed. “Sometimes you remind me of Gertrude,” he said, his tone implying that this wasn’t a compliment. “Spill it out Ra. What d'you want this time?” Pharaona was mortified; her hidden agenda was not so hidden after all. “Nothing Cream Puff, it’s just that I’m in a rocky situation... As you said once, what a piece of work is man!” she bemoaned with an irritated eye-roll.
“Don’t go twisting my words!” Wiley jumped in, ripping back his words. “I said ‘What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties... the beauty of the world, yadidada—and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?’ Here’s a copy!”
“No, no silly! I’m talking about—”
“Not another romantic disaster! Ra you’re not cut out for that kind of thing... The last object of your adulation is still swimming the seven seas trying to get away!”
“Nooooo... I’m talking about the ‘quintessence of dust’ part.” Pharaona’s own dust glowed bright. “It’s all about dust, isn’t it? Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the whole sludge being recycled through the labyrinths of the One Infinite Dusty Mind.”
“Oh, pox of the devil! That soulless villain has geneticised everything... into that which sleeps, and never palates more than dung! Amarantis is a psycode sewage system. What quintessence? It’s all dung dust!” Wiley shook his head from side to side in disgust.
“You’re so right Wiley! But now we have an unbelievable window of opportunity!” Pharaona glimpsed the spark of hope in the tunnel of despair and all her rubbles scintillated with joy and excitement.
Wiley stopped Pharaona with a raised palm. “Have comfort, sandy lady, for I know your plight. As Olfus said in his war speech, ‘A problem without a solution is a poorly stated problem’. Now let’s restate the problem.” Pharaona nodded in agreement. Wiley sank into his oxblood chesterfield armchair, while his dark eyes stared into the faraway dim mirror over the mantle. Pharaona held her breath in anticipation of a crescendo moment of enlightenment. Wiley drummed his hand on the side table for a while. The suspense was unbearable. Then, quite suddenly, he spoke again. “What do we know? We know that all GROMs are psycoded only with skills, memories and imagination necessary for their Class. And we know that at the time of the famous Pokémon hunt, Bions were synchronised with mainstream psycoding.” Pharaona, the delighted observer, scintillated again; the magic solution was about to roll off Wiley’s lips.
Then, badaboom, thud! What was meant to be a ‘eureka!’ high turned into a ‘what-the-hell’ crash.
Cheshire Cat grin pasted on, Wiley finished off with: “Of course, we know that there are things we don’t know, even though we don’t know what things we don’t know... but one must always leave room for unknown things unknown. Yes, it’s important to know unknown unknowns.”
Pharaona was agasp and aswim. “Sorry Wiley, but you’re muddling my grains!” She restated the poorly stated problem in her own way, hoping for a clearer solution. “Psycodes have been destroyed! For once, that booby listened to his Belladonna! Logically, that means that most Amarants now have at least some latitude of thought. But they can still be played through their EmotMems—you know, those biomolecular recordings loaded in most Humans and all GROMs. He will forever continue to steal their lives. How can that be turned around?”
“I was getting to that!” said Wiley, in an attempt to excuse his previous rumbled digression. “Well, let’s deal with the most vulnerable Olfus forces, the Bions. Hack the Kill-Switch and in one swoop you cull one third of the labour force, police and military.”
“You’re not on the ball today pumpkin!” sputtered Pharaona. “Olfus has already flipped the Kill-Switch!”
“Madam, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend,” Wiley said calmly as Pharaona shot him a dark glare.
“If you want something done right, do it yourself,” she muttered as she threw on her Fleet Admiral’s hat. She scrambled through her own ‘Operation Awful Olfus’, mumbling incomprehensible nothings until: “Of course, there is that one PrΩHMethean Bion that wasn’t kill-switched, but—”
“Hold onto your sands! Temperance, lady! Temperance and prudence! One, you say? Are you not disquieted by that One? The deed of the One, was it a deed by chance? Human and technical error?” Wiley reminded Pharaona of Victor’s 60 Minutes interview.
“That deed, indeed!” Pharaona interjected. “Victor did say, that Amarantis, had been very cautious regarding Bion evolution. I remember now!”
Wiley’s eyes deepened and his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper: “Come hither, come! Come closer. You know there’s been talk around here about all that. Our waters in the Dreamtime Aquarium are troubled!”
“I understand not,” retorted Pharaona. “We know that Bions had fewer EmotMems, even synchronised Bions, like Victor’s Bion-parents. They were manufactured to be intuitive, but without self-awareness. I suppose that explains why they’ve done nothing to disable the Kill-Switch, but then how—”
“Do you have rocks in your head, Madam?” asked Wiley, exasperated. “I just told you how disconcerted we are by ΩHM’s heroic deed. If a robot can act autonomously to save lives, then surely it must be capable of destroying them!”
“Don’t get plucky now, darling! Assuredly you know, that Bion-ΩHM knew that had it not crushed Heller’s finger, it would’ve ended up as molten metal. It was probably acting out of self-interest.”
“You see Ra? Now you confirm our suspicions. ΩHM stole the e
ye of the soul. That’s precisely how it became the One that was able to destroy its own Kill-Switch without being detected. As central processor of all SkEyeClops data, it processed every exchange, every thought of every ‘person of interest’, and not just in Amarantis! What’s worse is, that no one knows where it is, or what its intentions are.”
This time Pharaona got the message. Sledgehammered, she stuttered, “Right! So we have to factor... an infinite unknown unknown! I guess that’s what History is all about—unknowns revealing their steely little hand... at unknown moments. I don’t know how to deal with that. Do you suppose that the ‘O’ to ‘Ω’ prophecy relates to the ‘O’ in One becoming the ‘Ω’ in ΩHM?”
Wiley sighed and stared into the faraway mirror again. “I’m a poet not a scientist,” he announced; “I deal in mortal coil, not steel coil”. Then he spun off into a potpourri of citations. “Grievously prodigious, is indeed the human being; its relentlessness disturbing, the range and variety of its powers disorienting. To die, to sleep—To sleep—perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come...”
Pharaona slapped him hard. “Wiley! Baby, sweetie, come back to me... Forget Hamlet. Forget ΩHM. Let’s talk about Dorion!”
Wiley’s head spun back into reality. “Great Scott, woman! Was that necessary?”
“I don’t know,” said Pharaona, “I don’t have time for Hamlet reruns. So, what about Dorion?” she insisted.
“What about him? He’s a double whammy unknown unknown. How would he react to the truth about his real identity?” Wiley rubbed his pained cheek, topped up his glass with more cognac, and looked at his time-dimension watch impatiently. He was running late for the New VIP Arrivals ceremony and had to eject Pharaona from the Aquarium; his cordial hospitality and goodwill had gone far enough. Sanded to a frazzle, Pharaona went into whingeing mode. “E=mc2 is a cinch! My problem is riddled with x, y, z to the nth degree, and I’m only using one alphabet”.
Wiley looked drained. “I have spoke. Thou hast a job to do. Go put it to the haste. And when thou hast done this, I'll give thee leave to play till doomsday.”
Pharaona was not amused.
Cue for Wiley. “Look here my dear, if I give you all the answers, where’s the fun? You’ve already stuffed up the show by driving Olfus to the brink of suicide. That’s not how it’s meant to end. We need our ‘tragic pleasure’. Now go out there and give us our catharsis! By the way, all my bets are on you!”
Suddenly, shrilling screams swam through into the Aquarium.
“By the dog of Egypt! Ra, come out!”
“Your starlet cousin is blowing up quite a storm! Well, get thee gone, farewell. As for that poisonous bunch-backed toad... the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril!”
“Gee whiz Wiley, calling him names isn’t going to help!”
Wiley put his arm around Pharaona shuffling her amidst her protests, towards the exit. “That bunch-backed toad is planning to take Dorion’s head... actually the whole Dorion. And the Code forbids me from direct interference—”
“A plague on him!” Wiley said.
“Very helpful darling,” she muttered sarcastically. “I'll take my leave, then.”
Wiley shoved her out the door bidding her Shakespearean salutations: “Good night, sweet lady. Good night, good night.”
Pharaona skidded off with a song (yikes!), a dance and a prayer. “So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye...”
CHAPTER 14 - No Exit
“Eureka!” cried Pharaona, as she quantum leaped back into Amarantis. “Actually, dear cousin, that poor fellow Epicurus wasn’t alone when he made that ‘grant NOT’ wish. As you must’ve guessed by now, I was at the bottom of that,” she touted, as Astellaria rubbed her temples in a ‘please let this pain stop’ motion.
“You know I’m allergic to dandelions, right? Well, a few thousands of years ago—”
“Stop jumping all over the place Ra! I’ve no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Well dear, that’s why I’ve gone back to the very beginning!”
“But my blast coincided with D-Day... Year 0 Amaranthine Time... It couldn’t have been Epicurus! He didn’t have the time or the opportunity!” said Astellaria impatiently.
“If you stop interrupting me dearie, you’ll see the whole picture. Epicurus is just one cog in the One Infinite Dusty Mind. Now, hear me out. About four thousand years ago, I accidentally breezed through a golden dandelion field, got the sniffles, sneezed into a dandelion puffball and lo and behold—my ‘grant NOT’ wish-seed blew into the wind!”
“And then what, Ms Smarty Sands?”
“Emerald Science, Ms Twinkle Toes!”
“The answer, my friend, just blew in the wind?”
“Precisely! It blew in the wind, took root, thrived and... hundreds of years later, it popped out of Epicurus’ mouth like a burning bush!”
Astellaria swirled her discontented dust and decided to foil some of Ra’s bravado. “And that’s how Bob Dylan got a whiff of it too, I suppose. Your puffball is still blowin’ in the wind?” Pharaona carried on unflurried. She pulled out a harmonica and continued to toot her own horn: “How do you think he came up with that hit?”
Astellaria waved her dust in protest, “No, no... don’t!” Pharaona cleared her larynx. Caution: Those with sensitive ears may wish to use earplugs. Here we go!
“Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind”
“Great balls of fire! So you admit it! You had a hand in my dismemberment!” Clearly vexed, Astellaria shimmered and spurted out intense electrical hisses. “And all this time you’ve been acting ‘holier than thou’, the saintliest sand in the world. Wow!”
“Good example of be-careful-what-you-wish-for! Thousands of years later, by the light of the super blue blood moon, Dorion was promenading and reflecting on Epicurean wisdom and kaboom... you know the rest. I won’t name names, but extra-terrestrials were blasted out of the sky and excrement hit the fan! And hey, don’t put it all on me! You are the one who transgressed. Me? I was just merrily floating in the Dreamtime Aquarium, singing my song, tapping my shoes and sowing my wild wishes. Epicurus was always a fan of mine, you know; even before he crossed over.”
“So he’s tone deaf and a misanthrope?”
“No and no. Good singing is a matter of perception. You aren’t hearing the notes correctly. He, on the other hand, has the hearing of a bat out of hell! As for his relationship with humans, it’s a ‘loves-me, loves-me-not’ thing. He’s just a stickler for the good life; even in his Afterlife his motto is, self-control and moderation.”
“Hah! That puts a new light on the Epicurean Delight column!” Astellaria chortled.
“Indeed! ‘Epicurean’ and ‘Gourmet’ juxtaposed? Heretics! If he hadn’t moved to the Dreamtime Aquarium, he’d be turning in his grave.”
“So let me get this straight! Humans just don’t get it, do they? Black is white, white is black, I’ll believe what suits me so hit the road Jack!”
“Yes and no. They choose. At least in Amarantis they did, at a time where a U-turn was still possible. I spammed them with the Emerald Tablet—I warned them. They ignored all my riddles and signs! And the serpent’s egg hatched, and with every little bite, that little viper grew more and more mischievous. In the words of Brutus... ‘twould have been better to kill the creature in the shell. You have read Wiley’s ‘Julius Caesar’ haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t read it you show-off! Besides, I’m not so sure that that Caesar is the real Caesar,” said Astellaria. “Luna told me that Shakey got it wrong... that Jules wasn’t such a bad guy after all. She said his assassins were racketeers and profiteers. And isn’t it interesting that in Dante’s ‘Inferno’, Caesar is in the relatively pleasant Limbo, while Brutus is in hell with Judas
?”
Pharaona heaved a long and dusty sigh, “Well, Wiley and Dante still divide the world. Wiley just went with the official narrative.”
“Yeah Ra, but you know, in Olfus’ narrative you and I are dangerous gorillas. Well that’s not true, is it? We don’t look at all like gorillas!”
“Guerillas dear. He’s the gorilla! Look at what he’s done. The rest of the world moved on, but Amarantis fell into the abyss of a Dark Age. Spectacular technology, immense knowledge... unfathomable stupidity!”
“Revolting! But why didn’t anyone revolt?”
“Because dear Aria, none are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.[46] The Rats caged their minds but nobody minds. Why? Coz the candy store promises sugar and spice and everything nice.”
“Too bad someone left the cake out in the rain,” Astellaria hooted.
“Yeah, ‘No strings attached to this honey trap. Make your own strings, oh free people of Amarantis’. And they did; and that’s how they were roped in.” Pharaona’s sands turned red and shook with sadness.
“Hang on Ra, didn’t the Rebellious Six plan Olfus’ extermination before they got recycled?”
“Indeed, they did. But did anyone stand up for them? No. Even now, how many have the courage to cut loose and run from the puppet master? It’s a sad sad situation, little cousin, but you can bet your bottom dust that the same ones who might fight tooth and nail for no strings, will loop their strings around your neck if you rock their head.” Pharaona’s heart sands almost melted into a heart of glass. “Remember poor Galileo?”
Astellaria goose-stepped and goose-quaked: “Obey the High Priests! Sign the Faustian pact and you shall inherit the Earth!” Then she paused for a while, before asking the most important question of all: “So, please remind me; what the hell are we doing here?”
“All things are made from One, by the thought of One, so all things were made from this One thing. Get it?”
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