CHAPTER 1
5785 Years ago - somewhere on Planet Earth
With a slight puff of air and a smell of ozone, the tall, thin figure materialized in the shadow of a fig tree, blending in with the dark and light dappling. It did not move, merging with the branches and foliage, invisible to the slender woman whose attention was totally focused on touching and carefully examining the fragrant fruit of another tree, only feet away from the apparition.
The woman had waist length tresses of glinting, golden hair and was physically perfect, as perfect as if she was the only woman in existence. Which on this particular planet, in this creation, she was.
She suddenly balked and tensed, her concentration shattered upon sensing the presence of something unknown. She did not know that eyes were upon her, but could feel it. She looked about without fear, just curiosity, first scanning right past the being but instantly swinging back, the gaze of her brilliant blue eyes fixed upon it.
She tilted her head to the side a little and raised an eyebrow in question.
“Who are you?” Her voice was pleasant and lilting, with the crystal clarity of a running brook, her smile innocent and enchanting. Intuition told her that this thing did not belong in her world. “You are not part of this place. Where did you come from?”
The apparition cocked its narrow, scaly head to the side and stared at her silently through tiny, round black eyes that were ringed by vivid yellow circles.
She walked towards it without hesitation, intent upon examining this new living thing that had presented itself, with the same intensity that she had been applying to the fruit tree.
It spoke.
“I am Snake.” It whispered, its sibilant tones bringing a touch of something cold and decayed into the air, new in this world, and definitely not pleasant. “This place is wonderful,” it hissed, swiveling its neck and rolling its beady eyes around, “to whom does all this belong?”
In a galaxy far away.
A thought flashed across an instantaneous galactic neural entertainment network. “Hey! Who dropped that snake into the act? No direct interference in performances allowed. Rule breaker!”
A reply bounced back from a different galaxy, “I did. I had a wild card I won from the last World Game edition. So there!”
“The Universe’s Got Talent Rules say you can’t use a wild card without first publicly announcing. I say you forfeit the wild card and there is a set back to the performers by mind wipe and get rid of the snake.”
5785 Years ago - somewhere on Planet Earth
The woman raised her hands and looked about, shaking her head in wonderment and answered Snake. “It must belong to the Creator of all things. I have no knowledge other than this place and of my other who is like me, my man.”
“Who is this Creator?” Snake asked her.
“Creator made all this and put us here to enjoy all of His work. There is no other reason for us to be here.”
Snake cocked his head to the opposite angle. “So you will wander about this garden for eternity, thinking about the Creator, with nothing else to achieve in your existence?”
Her forehead puckered in confusion for a moment, then relaxed into an expression of wonderment, but also a little of being puzzled. “What is better than such an idyll? You too are part of this creation.”
It tucked its head under a stubby, yellow and black scaled arm, trying to stifle a snicker of disdain. A thought flushed through its mind, “That’s what you think, human!”
It looked up at her, now composed, and asked, “Wouldn’t you like something more in your life? Something to challenge your intellect and give you goals and ultimate satisfaction of success.”
“What do you mean? My man and I have one challenge that our Creator gave us. A simple rule, that if followed, allows us satisfaction in all else. We are grateful to our Creator for giving us this existence.”
“And what is this rule?” Snake sneered at her.
Having never encountered aggression, she was somewhat taken aback, replying “We are instructed not to eat the fruit of one particular tree. In fact not even to touch the tree.” She added, even though the latter comment was her own invention, intended to insulate the real rule even further from the apparently belligerent Snake.
Snake knew she referred to the Source Tree. The absolute instructions, burned into his limited psyche by his controllers, were clear: get one of the humans to violate the Rule. He had no option but to attempt to do so. “This is just too easy.” Snake chuckled to itself, thinking fast. “Lady, why do you think the Creator made this rule?” He paused a moment for effect. “It is because if you absorb the essence of this tree by eating its fruit you will become the equal of the Creator. You will no longer be a prisoner in this garden.”
Snake walked out in the open on stubby, hind legs. “Look here,” it said, pointing and approaching the forbidden Source Tree. The woman moved closer to see what snake was talking about. Snake moved fast and bumped her while she was off guard and she fell towards the tree, grasping the trunk to steady herself.
“See! You are touching the tree and nothing has happened to you.” Snake drew up behind the woman, too close to her for comfort. She was unable to move away from the tree without bodily contact with snake, which she instinctively wanted to avoid at all cost. “Now look closely at the tree. Do you see those small, silver things that are unlike any other tree? These are the things that make the Creator all powerful over this place - and over you! Take the fruit and hold it!” Snake used an imperative command expression as he had been trained to do, which invariably forced an intimidated subject to obey.
The woman hesitantly reached out to a fruit and touched it. After remaining motionless, but in contact with the fruit for a few moments, she opened her hand and grasped the fruit, holding it firmly. She looked beyond the fruit and saw things she has not observed before from the distance, small round, shiny spots in the tree bark, and tiny, silvery wires, poking out where twigs should have been.
“Go on, take the fruit and taste it. You will see what the Creator sees.” Hissed Snake.
In a galaxy far away.
“Don’t be a black hole!” The disdainful thought came back. “The wild card rule is that it can be played without warning, provided it was won during a Universe’s Got Talent program sector and there is a public posting of use notification within 72 hours after the play.”
“That means you can cheat on the betting, you overblown interstellar gas bag?”
“No need to get antsy with me you comet fart! The wild card player is not allowed to bet until after the 72 hours, just like anybrain else. Anyway, what are you watching? Any tips for a good bet right now?”
There was a sudden influx of attention on the galactic network as audience consciousness throughout the universe strained to eavesdrop on the answer.
“Cain and Abel are looking good for a blow up.”
1000 Earth years after Game Start.
“Hey! Worm Hole!”
“Watcha want Boiled Brains?”
“What’s with this planetary wide flood happening? Gonna wipe out all the performers. Are you interfering again?”
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it. Any way, that Noah character just spent 120 years building an ark, so he must have known something was coming.”
“Last Game they blamed global warming for their flood. Can’t be that this time. 4000 years too early.”
“Hey! Look at that! All the animals are heading into the ark on their own!”
Once again, the audience on the network turned its collective attention to watch this highly entertaining, circus-like phenomenon. The network buzzed with editorial comments. Betting was subdued with no specific direction for an outcome. That a flood was imminent was a no-brainer and had no decent odds.
“Whoa! Lookit that rain coming down brainy! The water is steaming hot too. This is some cataclysm. Nothing to bet on really.”
“Hang on a mo! Look at the back of the boat. There’s a stow-away. Wanna bet on that Og giant hanging onto the back of Noah’s Ark? 5 to 1 he falls off and drowns!”
“You’re on!”
Around 2000 Earth years after Game Start.
“Are you awake Globular Cluster?”
“You leave my cluster out of this. Go play with your Celestial Pole!”
“Ha ha! Haven’t had one of those for over six Game Editions.”
“So what’s cooking good-looking?”
“I’m watching a little altercation between some King Nimrod who’s trying to cook some guy Abraham in a furnace.”
“What’s the story?”
“I’ve been watching this Nimrod guy for about 30 years Earth time. He’s one mean bastard and is taking over the Sumerian region as king. Has a nasty sword arm this one and likes to use it. He’s in conflict with Abraham over the Deity issue. Abraham says one God and Nimrod says he’s god.”
“Any odds on it?
“Well... I’m a bit wary on this one. You took me to the cleaners on the Og thing last time and this guy should have been crispy toast by now. Something strange going on and I don’t have any more wild cards in play.”
“So ya wanna bet or not?”
“Aw, OK, but evens! With the weird stuff going on, I’ll take that Abraham walks out of the furnace alive.”
“Done!”
Around 3500 Earth years after Game Start.
“Hey, Quasar Fluctuation?”
“Who you calling a Fluctuator, you Ecliptic Brain?”
“OK! Let’s be nice. I was watching this bunch of descendants of that Abraham fellow we bet on a while back.”
“Oh! I’ve been watching another group called the Chinese and that geographic area. Brain! Have they EVER developed some imaginative ways of killing each other. Whatcha got in mind?”
“D’ya think this Earth will go anywhere the same as the last six World Game Editions?
“Depends on the Talent segment at the end. Who are the Judges gonna be for this one?”
“Don’t know yet. Too early to guess.”
“Well I need some excitement; a really good bet. Haven’t had anything stimulating my hypothalamus since our Abraham wager.”
“Anything exciting happening with the Chinese?”
“Nah. Just the usual slaughter when they’re not farming for survival. How about your lot?”
“Now that you ask...”
“If you had any hands you’d be rubbing them together in glee and grinning with the face you don’t have either. Right?”
“Maybe...”
The eavesdroppers zeroed in on the conversation again. The whole network went eerily silent as everybrain tuned in.
“So the odds on this one had better be really stacked my way or no bet.”
“Don’t wet your brain pan. How’s 5 to 1 sound?”
“It sounds like 10 to 1 to me.”
Suddenly the network came alive with bets and counter bets flying.
“OK. But I am taking the slaves, the Abrahamic Israelite descendants. You get the Egyptians.”
“You’re on!”
Around 4000 Earth years after Game Start.
“Are we betting on this one?”
“Naw! We know how many people a hungry lion can eat. This bunch has been overfed.”
“Oh brain! I thought the Chinese had it down for killing people. These Romans take first prize.”
“Quick, tune in to the main arena in Rome. Something is happening there. Bets! Now! Quick! What’s this Emperor Caligula going to do. He’s run out of prisoners and gladiators and there’s nothing to feed the lions! The crowd is getting restless. Some of them are even booing the Emperor. Crikey! Look at that guy. He’s giving the Emperor the finger! Cor! Caligula saw him.”
In the audience area of the Colosseum Arena soldiers were elbowing their way through the crowd towards the dissident with the finger. They reached him and seized him by the elbows, dragging him kicking and screaming to the arena edge, and then threw him bodily over the low parapet. The overfed lions sauntered to him and started playing with him like a cat toy, swiping him as he curled up into a howling ball, tearing bloody gashes in his exposed back. The crowd screamed in a mix of pleasure and protest. Caligula signaled to his guards to throw more of the audience into the arena. The prime citizens in the front row looked back up at him in horror.”
“Ten thousand credits he throws the first rows of citizens into the arena!”
“Are you nuts? His own elite?”
“20 to 1 odds!”
“That’s 200,000 credits if you lose. Have you got that much?”
“Course I have. Been betting against you for how many Games now?”
“Middle finger if I had one! Deal!”
“Wotchit! Last finger went to the lions...”
Around 5000 Earth years after Game Start.
“Hey Naked Singularity!”
“Watcha want ya Maclaurin Spheroid?”
“I wanna win back the ten thousand credits I lost on Caligula.”
“Keep dreaming you Main Sequence Turn Off.”
“Good thing you’re just a brain or I’d show you Turn Off!”
“So hit me with your latest losing bet!”
“I’m watching the Crusaders fighting the Saracens for Jerusalem. The last few Games the crusaders won. I’m betting on the Saracens for this time. Interested?”
“Let me have a quick look at the performance. Wait a mo!”
5794 Earth years after Game Start. Year 2034 by Earth count.
“Network announcement! Attention all subscribers!”
The neural network went from a busy rumble to a total silence as everybrainy turned attention to the broadcast.
“General Edition World Game access is now suspended and Universe’s Got Talent segment, Seventh Edition, has commenced. Our judges will be announced momentarily...”
The network broke out into a palpable, excited hum that escalated into simulated applause of clapping hands that nobrainy had.
Korean Hegemony, Pyonyang - 24th June, 2034
Kim Jong Un, the ageing, sixtyish despotic Beloved Leader of the People, was seated at a large conference table. A virtual image floating before him changed as he pointed and made a flicking motion with his finger. The positions down the sides of the long table were occupied by identical, cookie cutter, expressionless, apparently subservient government ministers. A sideways look at the Supreme Leader would get you a quick trial and execution within twenty four hours, as happened to Kim Jong Un’s uncle, Jang Song Thaek, thirty years earlier. Purges happened on a regular basis and one had to have a death wish to be sitting at this table, but the side benefits were just too attractive for some. There were so many deeply suppressed inclinations to take power that could not be allowed to surface. A wolf pack waiting to tear out the leader’s throat if he ever dropped his guard.
Kim Jong Un’s voice was intense and shrill, fitting with his moon face and clownish, pompadour hairstyle, as he ranted about the threat of the Iranian Islamic Empire. “They have more nuclear capability than we do. We cannot tolerate the threat of nuclear destruction that hangs over us. What is even worse,” he stood up going red in the face in uncontrolled rage, escalating to a scream, “THEY ARE USING THE VERY TECHNOLOGY WE SOLD THEM, BACK IN 2015, TO THREATEN US!”
Kim Jong Un collapsed back into his seat with an exhalation and sudden evaporation of his anger. After a moment of self collection, he continued calmly, with just a little interspersed squeaking and screaming, “We have Japan, China and Western powers paying us to not use our nuclear capability. Paying us tribute! They are SCARED OF US! Now these Iranian upstarts come along and tell us to move out, THEY ARE MOVING IN!”
He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, slowly scanning the faces of his ministers, stopping for a second at each blank face. “This means war my friends. Something we have been able to avoid all these years by making the world think that I and my father before, are insane maniacs cut from the same cloth. We have done so well until now, but these Iranians are truly insane. We did it for the money! They are doing it in the name of religion! There will be no stopping this madness.” He went silent for a moment and his hard expression turned to one of abject sadness. A real tear, possibly the first ever of his lifetime, trickled down his cheek, evoked by the thought of the loss of all that easy wealth. A smile flashed across his face as he considered his off-shore accounts with billions squirrelled away over 40 years of theft. He was hitting sixty-five and maybe it was time to retire like his western counterparts. His face hardened again. “Prepare the army and the population. Arm all our satellites and missiles. There will be no winners in this war.” The ministers did not move or react.
In a far corner of the conference room, a patch of paint on the wall imperceptibly changed color and fluidly altered shape.
The ministers around the table barely moved. Not a twitch. No rustle of paper. Not a blink of an eye.
Kim Jong Un raised his head. “Does anyone not concur with my assessment?”
The cold danger of responding to this question pervaded the atmosphere, but half way down the table there was a movement. Jun Park, a cousin and close adviser of Kim Jong Un, courageously stood. His tone was, uncommonly, almost aggressive. “How can we be so sure that the Iranians will strike first, or even strike at all? We risk everything just on your word? Where is the intelligence information that leads to this conclusion?”
Park stopped and stood, leaning on his hands on the table, staring at Kim Jong Un, reasonably waiting for an answer. Kim Jong Un whipped his hand up and a flash of red light slashed across the room, inches above heads, but across the neck of Jun Park. With a brief spray of blood Park’s head tumbled off his standing body and clunked solidly onto the table, rolling erratically down the middle, the neck almost cauterized by the searing heat of the light blade, leaving only slight bloody smears on its short journey. Park’s headless body collapsed back onto the chair and slid out of sight under the table, just the fingertips peeking up at the table edge, from the recently deceased Park’s arms wedged firmly into place by his chair.
The formerly expressionless faces were now anything but that. Mouths and eyes were wide open in shock all around. Never had there been an execution without some form of mock trial. Park’s dead eyes stared at them all as the head finally came to rest against its own nose, teetered on the table edge and thudded wetly to the floor, ejecting a final gout of blood from the impact. There was a collective sigh of released breathing as the ministers turned as one to see the fingertips slowly dip out of sight as the body settled and slid further under the table, courtesy of the next minister down nudging the unfortunate Park’s chair. All faces then turned back to the Beloved Leader.
“Does anyone else have something to say?” Kim Jong Un peered through his thick lenses that made his eyes look so tiny and his face even more like that of a prize pig, with a feral grin contorting his features. The ministers’ white faces said everything, as he waved circles in the air with the deadly light blade finger. His voice was now calm and icy. “There is no room for the faint hearted or the doubter at this table. We cannot afford to be wrong. We MUST first strike!”
Kim fell back into his heavily padded office chair and signalled a young woman standing by the wall behind him, pointing under the table. She hurried over and crawled beneath the table while the ministers stood and slowly vacated the room, pretending to not watch Kim’s face as the woman teased his tiny member erect and brought him to sexual release with her mouth.
The patch on the wall moved again, contracting into a perfect disc shape.
