Tagged: Devastation

Fallout

I was sitting at my desk when Endrina Moorcock came into the room to tell me a fantastic story. Massive Attack scratched out a melody on barbed wire, the soundtrack of my life. Endrina spoke, “I am digital … coming to you over an illegal wavelength to warn you.”

Manfred Meeks was a celebrated concert pianist inspired by the music of Bach, Mozart, and John Phillips Sousa. A virtuoso. A teenage phenom. He is no longer remembered because the accident changed everything. It was predicted in the Bible, the Koran and other religious documents. It was anticipated by the Heisenberg Principle (Quantum Physics). It was ignited by hubris and politics. The Singularity (read Kurzweil) burst on the scene like a ruptured appendix. Manfred was caught in the melee.

Rotobar Trumpf ranted about ownership at the televised convention. He spoke in abstract riddles and never said anything about his desire to own the world. He introduced Manfred Meeks, a bullied boy who had great musical talent — the boy grew up to worship power. Meeks played the piano and awed the rambunctious crowd. The recital of national hymns turned out to be Manfred’s biggest mistake, an accident of unparalleled proportion that led to the election of Rotobar Trumpf..

Endrina Moorcock was Raptured along with the others. It was a confusing time. the man who sold the world never anticipated the fallout. Rotobar Trumpf made a pact with Professor Andor Morph. The professor had a formula based on Schrodinger’s cat experiment and modified by Minsky’s mathematical equations. Morph started out as a geneticist, but was discredited and lost his license to practice in any medical facility. He was a psychotic genius who disregarded ethical considerations … but, Trumpf liked him. Morph was someone who could get things done. Endrina was part of the fallout from a Morph experiment that had gone wrong. She became a creature of the night, not quite human, no longer the person she used to be, no longer Manfred Meeks.

Rotobar enjoyed an absinthe cocktail as he observed his world through a small porthole. The world was red, reflecting the glow from lava furnaces that scorched the earth. The leader of the world lived in luxury in his well stocked bunker surrounded by loved ones and family. There was only room for twenty people and supplies would run out in fifteen years. Rotabar would be dead by then so it didn’t really matter. He felt some concern for a few of his sons and daughters, but they had spunk and he was certain they would come up with a plan to carry on.

Most people were Raptured like Endrina: digitized and uploaded into computer simulations while their brains were used as fuel for Angels and Demons, the Robots who inherited the Earth. The Rapture Bomb was set off by Morph and funded by an ill-informed Trumpf who thought he was just building robots & military hardware.

Professor Morph was a witness to devastation long before he became a scientist. He saw towers exploding and murderers rampaging through city streets, taking hostages and creating chaos. As a child he was scarred by an explosion in a cafe’ that killed his parents. Somehow he survived, but the sight of his parents erupting in flames never left him. He never forgot the screams. He knew, even as a boy, it wasn’t the terrorists who were responsible. It was something inside every human being that caused the horror. At first he tried to change the human genome to make people better, but his efforts were doomed. Humans were systemically defective. Morph couldn’t cure them, so he had to eliminate them.

Fallout

 

Advertisements

Slick as Oil

Walter Flumb was an ordinary man.   He worked for Cyrus, a “recycling” company that extracted oil from plastics, land fills, the ocean floor, and trees. Any hint of oil was pursued with technological abandon and promotional mendacity.   Walter was a company courier, one of several hundred who were sent around the planet with information in pouches handcuffed to their wrists. Walter saw first-hand the oil retraction operations in use by the Cyrus Corporation.   He never fully understood what he saw, but he knew that devastation followed after every Cyrus extraction.   Recycled plastics turned to toxic sludge.  Land fills became poisonous swamps.   The oceans turned black.  A new Earth was born under the tutelage of Cyrus.   The impact of the change hit Walter after he fell in love.   It was deep, abiding love with a femme fetale.  He could not help himself.  She was extraordinary.   Making love to her was like a trip to another world where every sensation was multiplied beyond ecstasy.  Walter could never fully embrace his new love.   She was too big for him.  His arms strained to get around her corpulent form.   They slipped on her oily skin.  Still he loved her.   He was addicted to her sour breath, steaming with the dregs of dying oceans.   Walter craved the burning stings from her lashing tentacles.  In truth he did not know if she was a woman or man.   He suspected she was some form of mutant or alien.   Every time he made love, he could feel his life force diminish, but it was an exquisite feeling.   At long last he would be able to rest.  He welcomed death in the embrace of his lover.   He knew his body would be put to good use, turned to oil to supply the unfathomable demands of the Cyrus Corporation.