by J. A. Hailey
“Is he admitting his guilt, and has he seen the error of his sinful ways. Tell us, immediately.”
“My Lord and master,” said the servant, hastily, falling to his knees. “That man is reciting prayers, pleading for the mercy of your lordships, to finish him off, and is crying out for his mother, remembering his childhood days.”
At this point, the torturer extracted a pair of pliers from a pocket, and commenced stretching the man’s tongue out of his mouth, at the same time putting the cleaver down and taking a scalpel out of the same pocket.
“What the hell are you doing?” screamed the King.
“Cutting out his useless tongue, most merciful master.”
Screeching in rage, the two rulers leapt upon the torturer, and beat him with whatever came to hand, being careful to ignore the cleaver. Blood spurted from his mouth, as he took the blows.
“Cut his tongue out, donkey?” screamed the Sheikh. “What will he use to reveal the secret plans, if you cut his tongue out?” And they belabored the tormentor for another minute, until he fell on his knees, screaming in terror, “Forgive me, masters most kind. I am a fool, and you are my fathers, teaching me right from wrong. I thank you; I thank you for the gift of your blows.”
That pacified the monsters, and they sat back, indicating the hellish interrogation should continue.
“This is a question and answer session, not punishment,” said the King, kindly, explaining to the tormentor. “It is extremely unwise to remove the subject’s ears and tongue. Later you will tell me what you have understood, and why I have given you this instruction.”
It was so disgusting and so unjustified, that Michael Gales eventually came out and walked up to the torturer, driving the King and the Sheikh into a frenzy of delight and excitement, when he put out a hand and relieved the executioner of the slippery cleaver.
Some chemicals had been sprinkled on the servant’s uncountable, horrific raw wounds, and, by then, the unfortunate man was only screaming senselessly.
But, as the Arabs exclaimed in delight, Gales decapitated the limbless torso, and ended the senseless torment.
“Brother Michael, what have you done?” complained the King. “His information?”
“For your safety, Highness. I do not want you to fall dead right here, right now.”
“But why should I fall dead, when he’s being chopped up?” asked the incredulous King.
“Patrick, come out,” yelled Gales, in the direction of the computer room, and, after a few seconds, Sagan, in one of the implanted, ready bodies kept in the room, duly stepped out of a French window.
“Tell his Highness about your dream, which you have only shared with me. It was just last night, wasn’t it, that you had a dream in which you heard non-stop screaming?”
“Yes, yes,” said Sagan, nodding and playing along.
“In which his Highness grabbed his own throat with both hands and began choking to death, against a background soundtrack of screams? That was it, was it not?”
“That’s why I ran away, Michael,” said Sagan. “I was sure that something was going to strike His Highness dead immediately. All our plans would have been ended. Praise heaven that you saw how to put a stop to the noise.”
It was the King’s turn now to become faint, and he hung onto the back of a chair, as he fell into it. “These are well-known types of prophetic dreams,” he gasped, in dread. “Thank you, Brother Michael, for saving my life. And thank you, Brother Patrick, for having such a warning dream, and for understanding it and revealing it.
“I have to say that I had a very peculiar and potentially fatal feeling around my heart, while that son of a devil was screaming and trying to kill me.”
“That’s how it’s always done,” corroborated the Sheikh. “You are doing your work, and they are slyly doing their evil work at the same time. No warning is available, ever, except through the medium of dreams.”
Within the computer, with peace now restored in the immediate surroundings, Gales looked at his shoe on up. “Some messages are in. Would have come through in those few seconds of connected time.”
“Yes, on mine too,” confirmed Sagan.
They occasionally looked out at the hellish scenario on the lawn, where the dismembered body was being put into a couple of garbage bags, and at its presiding beasts, while reading the messages that had shown up on their phone screens.
46
Bulletin: ADVISORY from Amanda Bell, a.k.a. Twixie
By way of this bulletin, I am placing on record my personal thanks to the public of screenside for the most astonishing involvement of all time.
Although my bulletin, under the title REVOCATION OF MURDER OF NONBORNS LAW, stands cancelled, I am thanking everyone in screenside for signing in with a ‘yes’ vote.
In fact, checking against the public database maintained by HC, it shows that 2,142,442 ‘yes’ votes came in - and that is only 2 votes short of the total population of 2,142,444!
I especially thank the huge percentage of people who actually reached through the virtuality to physically sign the papers that were attached, and we have now got a document in excess of 100,000 pages.
It is securely deposited in NYC HC, for them to keep or shred, whatever be the policy.
The revocation stands cancelled, but my thanks shall forever remain, and my heart shall be forever filled with gratitude.
Thank you, screenside.
And then the two digital men briefly locked gazes, aghast, as they saw the headline of the next bulletin.
47
Bulletin: LAW
NONBORNS TO ENJOY UNINTERRUPTED LIFE
The points made by Ms. Amanda Bell, in her original bulletin in this thread have been adopted as Law.
As everyone has signed ‘yes’, including all seniors and every member of the Lawmaker Group, there is no reason to try to prevent, on procedural grounds, this universal acceptance of Miss Esmeralda’s revocation.
(FYI, Algernon Goodfellow and I, Margaret Goodfellow, have also now signed ‘yes’ on paper - and that makes it a 100% ‘yes’ vote, with no abstentions).
We do not track the humans, because of privacy issues, but this notification is being sent to every phone in screenside, and they will therefore know of the change in policy, when they next switch on their phones.
Should it happen that you meet them on some street, café or bar, please inform them that such a bulletin has been sent to their phones, and welcome them enthusiastically into our society, as members until our world itself ends.
The wrongly titled MURDER OF NONBORNS LAW STANDS REVOKED.
Sagan and Gales looked at each other in despair. Heaven had just slipped out of their hands. Paradise had been lost for good, and they were doomed to forever travel as companions of beasts.
Without a doubt, screenside had been lost forever, and both digital humans, now consumed with regret, knew that they had made the worst bargain possible.
“We’ve lost paradise,” said Sagan, looking revolted. “To be with cruel and treacherous beasts.”
“Cunning but unintelligent,” said Gales. “If I could, I would go back to screenside and take my chances, but Abe’s moved the Internet cable out of the room, and they’re going to physically cut it, somewhere in the desert. We’ll never be able to leave this supercomputer.”
“You mean, we’ll have to just hang around here, creating beasts?”
“Yes. Here’s another text message, still to read. You got?”
“Yes.”
Dear Patrick and Michael,
Where are you, and why are you not responding to our calls and messages?
The nonborn murder law has been revoked, and you will surely have it on your phones now.
For us, as couples, nothing is sure, but we have a chance, and we can try.
This evening, we are both going to be at The Lovers’ Corner cafe in the Sydney Harbor area.
Both of you are to be there
as soon as it is dark. We’ll go into HLV for a night of eating and dancing. Lots of friends are in humanside, organizing things.
Don’t get any ideas, but you can, at last, visit us in our apartments.
Be on time. We are virtual girls, and you know we go nuts if kept waiting - a character defect you’ll probably have to live with.
Claudette and Daphne
48
The two Arab rulers went impatiently through the next few days, after the torture and murder of the servant, as the Sheikh was frantic to get assigned into the eternal life computer at the same time as the King.
“It will be good to have a partner, Highness, will it not? Then we can face the world together as immortals, in the company of Michael and Patrick. We must move fast, before some unforeseen accident or calamity kills us out here in the world. Brother Ibrahim, I recommend that we proceed to make Michael enjoy his own birthdeath in a day or two. We will find a lovely sharp sword for you, so that you can also join us in the fun.”
“I don’t know…” said Grietzmann, uneasily, looking around to ensure that the two digital humans were not around.
Michael was easy to spot, as he was still very much the original Michael Gales, but Patrick Sagan had become a most confusing presence, with his frequent changes of body, from the ready stock of implanted bodies kept in rooms nearby.
“So much to learn, so much to understand and discover,” Grietzmann had said, in a group meeting. “Money and power management are going to be very difficult to control uninterruptedly through the millennia to come, but we also have to learn and implement a system of growing bodies for ourselves. It could take many years to get such a program up and running, and in that time we will have to work with kidnapped bodies.
“Brother Ibrahim, you do the planning,” said the King, with the Sheikh nodding in agreement. “We have many rulers of Arabia whom we can include to expand our base, as you have suggested, for safety from attack by those unjust monsters living in the Internet computer world.
“Attacking me in my palace, when I am an approved entrant into their world? Can it be more unfair and unjust? What if a bullet had hit me? Dirty bastards. Let’s get Michael out, and get Sheikh Abdul in, into whatever that matrix thing is.”
“I don’t think I should be involved in slaughtering Michael,” said Grietzmann. “He might misunderstand and hold a grudge. But Michael’s birthdeath presents an opportunity that will not come around again for about two years, when you are both ready to enjoy your own birthdeaths. You understand that you have to be created first, and that takes time.
“However, our security systems against future assaults by the computer people have to be developed properly. It cannot wait. Your Highness, the Korean dictator, Kim, has to be brought here immediately, and has to participate in Michael’s birthdeath, to convince him of the truth of what we are going to offer him. We will need him for the future. He is merciless, and he has given proof, for many years now, that he can cling to power, similar to yourselves.
“We dare not lose this opportunity.
“We can repeatedly kill Patrick, but Patrick no longer looks like himself, as we killed that version some days ago. Patrick and Michael are both quite famous in the world, and their photographs are on many websites, including the Nobel site.
“Kim has to see that we are delivering results with a person he can recognize, a world-famous person, not some unknown face, which might indicate we are able to conduct magician-type fraud, rather than what we are saying we are doing.”
“Sheikh Abdul, bring the Korean here,” commanded the King. “Ibrahim is the planner, and what a wonderful idea he has got now, especially the brilliance of seeing that the timing has to be now.”
“I will send a special aircraft immediately,” confirmed the Sheikh. “It will be a jumbo jet, and brand-new, because he is afraid of flying.”
“The best possible candidate for eternal life,” laughed Grietzmann. “Already terrified of death. He can take on the job of letting Michael enjoy. Right, Sheikh?”
“Of course, brother Ibrahim,” said the Sheikh. “He has to do the thing by his own hands, to be convinced that Michael is immortal.”
“It is common purpose,” agreed the King. “Michael, and everyone else will understand; will have to understand that we are all one.
“Remember, we have to guard against a future in which someone suddenly becomes religious, and goes into the control of regular religion people out in the world. Those damn preachers, of any religion, although mainly the Abrahamic ones, might instruct action against us. We cannot allow that.
“Religion has to be cancelled at the time of application, then cancelled once more at the time of connection to matrix, and cancelled yet again, on birth inside our computer system.
“Everyone has to make the break - by desecrating every holy book, and committing the most strictly prohibited sins, including bestiality, cannibalism, infanticide and necrophilia.”
“Then they cannot come under any external person’s influence,” said the Sheikh. “They have to depend on keeping our private world going, to escape the wrath of God, with damnation and hellfire.
“That should prove the most effective weaponry against betrayal by our own sort – Arabs - whom we will need the most, as the major centre for perpetuation of power has to be Arabia based.
“Start them out by making them eat pork, and then move on to desecration of religious books, and so on. Others, like the Korean dictator, will never be influenced by religion or anything like that, and so, though they will also have to go through our desecration initiation rituals, we need not worry about them betraying us, except to challenge our rule.”
“So, on Kim’s arrival, birthdeath for Michael?” suggested the Sheikh. “It will be good to do it first thing in the morning, because then we can shower and relax together the rest of the day, knowing our hard work is out of the way. We can thereafter concentrate on discussions with Kim; maybe to buy nuclear weapons.”
It was never easy to get the Korean dictator into an aircraft; his fear of flying was so great. Yet, once or twice a year he did secretly make it to Arabia, to Sheikh Abdul’s city, as that was where his money was kept.
His conditions were typical - new aircraft, most experienced pilots, an extra pilot team on board, no other passengers at all, special food, and other demands that the Sheikh could easily satisfy.
And yet, to get him to make this particular trip, for ‘something very important, very special, extremely desirable and absolutely exclusive’, needed Sheikh Abdul to himself fly to the man and practically forcibly drag him into the aircraft, and transport him, grumbling and whining, to Arabia.
“Frightened of dying, aren’t you?” Sheikh Abdul taunted the fat fellow with the peculiar hairstyle. A renowned rapist, in the circles of those in the know, like the Arab rulers were, he was a specialist murderer of his own family members, besides being the most desperate person, ever known, to desire an apocalyptic end to humanity, by means of nuclear warfare.
He would have done it too, except for the fact that it would have undoubtedly resulted in his own death, in the instant nuclear retaliation strikes that would have inevitably followed.
“Sheikh, I don’t know what you have been smoking, to dream of eternal life, but I promise you that if I get the chance to laugh last, I will convert the USA into a sea of flames.”
And thus, talking of this and that, primarily nonsense, the murderous dictator landed in the Sheikh’s city. There, transferring immediately into a smaller jet, which the Sheikh as usual would pilot, the protesting, trembling murderer was given a large dose of Xanax and flown straight to the King’s remote palace.
There, Abraham Grietzmann’s understanding of this new game was on display, as the Korean, flatly refusing to believe in the concept of eternal life, took a hundred million dollars in cash, as advance for nuclear missiles, and demanded that he be safely returned to his own demonic realm.
&
nbsp; However, pacified for the night with alcohol, drugs and a selection of extremely underaged girls and boys, he skeptically agreed to wait for the proof he was promised would be furnished the next morning.
Abraham Grietzmann first took the Korean through a number of websites, where he could view Michael’s profile, with photographs. He then asked the Sheikh to introduce the dictator to Michael Gales, and to ensure that they had private time together. He himself was present for a short while, and, without letting on that Gales was an eternal, directed the conversation into dispute areas.
“It’s no good if they end up talking about the weather,” he had told Sagan. “Unless they cover meaningful and unique subjects, no way exists to prove Michael’s return in a new body.”
Michael’s birthdeath was scheduled to be after breakfast, at which everyone sat together on the lawn. Over breakfast, Grietzmann was able to escalate a dispute between Michael and Kim into a shouting match.
“They will all die, your brother Jews, when I turn America into a sea of flames,” screamed Kim, frothing at the mouth, so unaccustomed was he to being argued with.
“I am not a Jew, you asshole, donkey kong,” screamed Michael. “And you and your shitty little show will be fried long before you turn anything into a sea of flames. Idiot! Have you ever seen a sea of flames?”
“Kim, my dear friend, this Jew needs killing, doesn’t he?” said Grietzmann, winking at Gales.
“But I haven’t brought my gun from the room,” said the dictator, looking lost.
“Gun? He should be chopped into little pieces,” shouted the Sheikh. “You need a sword. Can you use one?”
“As long as I’m the only one with a sword, of course,” asserted Kim.
“We’ll join you,” laughed the King. “Maybe Michael is a sprinter, which I can see by your fat body that you are not, Kim.”
