by Rabia Rahou
I passed next to the boy and touched his hair gently for the first time just to check his reaction. He didn't move even a finger, but Wonfuse reacted violently, “Please do not ever touch him again! Now, leave us!”
I left quickly. That was expected. He is very ashamed of his son, or let's say his “creation.” What kind of life does he have? Why has he chosen for himself this misery, this suffering, trying to control the world so he could save it, as he says, when he couldn’t even save his son?
On my way out, I met the Second Citizen, the head of ONC. He is my real target, as I think he is the real mind behind this campaign. He was very aware of the world's reality and very disciplined. He had a long career in the military, where he collaborated in designing our most successful tech missions. I have no doubt that he designed the entire AI campaign. A civilian would never think to conquer the world, which is a military way of thinking. A civilian like Wonfuse would always want to fix the world. Trying to be a hero in the eyes of others is the essence of being human. We want to show how good we are so we could be loved, elevated, or sometimes just to be accepted.
But a military man like the Second Citizen is beyond that. He has a different set of mind. He is not looking to be a hero or a savior. He doesn't want to be liked or accepted. A man like the Second Citizen wants to see the world burned to the ground. His ultimate fantasy is to watch all beings suffering in agony, begging loudly for his pardon. He seeks total control over life and death, a total dominance over existence itself. It’s a vengeance that can’t be explained other than being a god-like abhorrence of his creation.
The only thing that he did wrong in his long career is that he secretly admired the First Citizen. He let himself blinded by his spotlight, by his fame, and his way of life – the way of life of a galactic superstar. The First Citizen is the most famous person in the known universe.
The Second Citizen couldn't be like that as he is the head of ONC, a secretive war machine factory that produces only death. It is not like Consoft, a company that cares about the consumer, a company that produces life – supposedly.
That was his mistake, and that is my angle of attack. He will soon be asked by the First Citizen to help me in the secret meeting between Oris, Banume, and me. Without calculating the outcome, he will do what his idol asks him to do.
Lucky me! Dismar came quickly and avoided a long conversation with the Second Citizen. He was already asking suspicious questions about my visit. Dismar ushered me into the car in a hurry, like I was going to be attacked. It was a nice move that showed how smart that pretty face is.
Inside and through my dark-tainted window, I looked up instinctively at the First Citizen’s window. The chimera boy was coldly staring out at me, straight into my eyes.
Chapter 13
D-Day
“Religion is a natural phenomenon; it cannot be concocted in a laboratory.”
~ Konu
A t six in the morning, I was parking next to Konu’s house. I was feeling strange, even if I already had two coffees, one cappuccino with THC, and another latte. I Still felt weird, like something was wrong. Maybe the feeling that the world is heading for an end gave me a hangover. I thought that if we just chilled out and smoked some weed, then the world would be heaven. No one would care about anything with the right doses of psychedelics.
Instead of that, we decided to be douchebags, surrendering our humanity to violent, basic instincts just like our cousins, the baboons. Every person wants to beat the other with a shovel for no apparent reason. This is an intoxicated feeling that gives us some joy with a taste of madness, a feeling that makes us hate ourselves, hate our neighbors, and especially our wives. But to be honest, I used to hate my ex-wife, and back in my prison days, I would happily hit her with a shovel. She asked for a divorce when I was in prison battling insanity. Then she went and got married while I was still in prison because, as she said, “Dismar, you made your choices when you decided to give up your country, your faith, and us. But I still have a life, and I want to be happy.” Then she pretended that her new husband was the father of my daughter when she said, “Dismar, you will never make it out. I just spoke with the lawyer. It’s all over for you. Salia needs a father as she is still a kid.”
Our marriage ceremony, where we swore to be together forever, no matter what, was only for the videotape. Everything else was pure cultural formalities that mean nothing in the real world. I will never forget her expression the day they freed me, when she opened the door and saw me. She looked like she had seen a ghost. I gave her full custody of Salia. I gave her and her husband my benediction and a pardon, just like the army did for me.
Konu gave me the keys to the back door that opens into the small kitchen. I went on and made another small coffee and waiting for him to wake up. I was thinking if the world does not end this week, I may take Salia to the league to meet Oina, just so she can see how a real woman looks. She must trust in herself and her potential, not just cave in with the first asshole she falls in love with. Soon she will be 13 and at this age, girls start to think about a relationship, a prince charming that will love her and protect her. Preferably, he would be a handsome one so she can introduce him to her friends and be proud. That said, she needs advice and not from just anyone, especially not from that new, asshole boyfriend of her mum.
I spoke with him only once. I don't know why every civilian with no life experience, always has strong opinions about peace and war. They seem to start decorating their cowardice every time they meet a veteran with something like, “You see, Dismar, only poor people fight and die in wars. The top generals and officials are safe in their castles with their mistresses.”
Konu lives alone in his small house that he decorated by himself with his bad taste. He has no mistresses living with him, and to be honest, I’ve never seen him with one here or anywhere. He has a membership to all the pornographic channels, but he stood faithful to Oina, and I don’t want to classify her as a mistress out of respect. He is modest, but his kind of modesty is the kind you inherit from the army where he was trained to be self-sufficient without the need of anything except your food and your weapon.
Konu still puzzles me, I am driving him around, buying him his weird carrot juice every morning, watching him waking up and sleeping calmly, never seen him tired, nervous, or out of shape, and to be honest, I really like and respect him – but this guy is a trip. When I got out of jail, I received an official letter from the commandants to head to the Arc for a job interview. That sounded bizarre because not only was I freed from a high treason sentence, but I was offered a job at the Arc, too.
I had my first interview with the services, then the same day, a second one with him. When I left, I asked an old friend of mine about him, as I heard some rumors that he is an ex-Black Unit. A few days later, he gave me his full resume. There was no Black Unit career, but surprisingly, the details on seven years were missing.
There were stories about a dude in the Black Unit who went through all the missions with no casualties, and those coincide with the seven years lost in the Konu's resume. I guess that could be him, or it could be just a coincidence. The Black Unit files are destroyed after each mission, so no archives left after the completion of their tasks. The teams are rotated around from different sites, so it’s hard to track a person through all that. Although now, knowing him as I do, I think that’s impossible. Konu doesn't look like he could hurt a fly. Not him with his tea with mint, or his carrot juice. No, he would look like a joke next to the animals of the Black Unit.
I am fixing my cup of coffee, anxious, after reading this morning’s report from the atomic observatories across the country. They are in charge of measuring time for some reason. It turns out that yesterday, time shifted in some places by one second. In the quantum world, one second is a lot, and this coincided with a talking baby who was born in one of the ManFirst reserves. The baby promptly predicted the end of the world and then died, Yeah, no joke. What a bizarre morning.
> Suddenly I felt a presence, I turned to my right, and there was Konu, staring at me, quiet…, creepy,
“Good morning, sir. I didn't see you coming.”
Sipping his cup of carrot juice, he remarked, “Hi. Dismar. Is everything okay? You’ve been talking to yourself for a long time now, you know.”
I replied defensively, I have no idea why I lashed out with all my concerns. “The atomic clocks shifted by one second yesterday, the same night a talking baby was born and predicted the end of the world then died. The First Citizens are planning to conquer the world this week, and next week, my Salia will be 13. Her new father is throwing her a party… and I wasn’t invited!”
He set his empty cup in the sink and said, “Let's go, Dismar. I will explain to you about the talking baby in the car. Maybe that will help you to make it through your day, at least.”
Yes, thought Konu, I can't blame him. Not because the world is ending as I think Dismar doesn't care much about that, but another man stealing the love of his only daughter. That hurts a lot. Probably the only thing he wanted in his life was to make a family. It is the dream of every orphan, and for now, he is totally failing.
As Dismar drove, I started reading the newspaper. The first page had an article on the talking baby under a big title which read “A Prophet Sent by the Gods.” I guess they sold a lot of papers today. What news! A talking baby… this is hilarious! I should call Oina later to congratulate her or maybe to blame her for stressing Dismar. He didn't need this now with his life going a little bit sideways. I called his name and made quick eye contact with him, and he looked very anxious. I thought I’d better try to calm him down.
“Dismar, listen… This baby thing is a bad joke that our enemies are using as a test. They think they can create a religious uprising or something like that” He looked at me again through the mirror, stunned. Oina told me about her religious plan. She said she would execute something in the upcoming weeks. I didn't expect that something would be this creative. Those women created a sensational news story. We did apprehend a suspect with a biological weapon ready to use it in the same camp. No one knows, though, that all the camps in the empire are under strict surveillance with the best AI. Therefore if you want to test a new virus, you should try it in a camp on some island far away in the North Pole, not here.
We are a highly successful predatory empire that needs to be kept on leash, otherwise, we could hurt ourselves more than others. With our military armada, we could crush the world twice over, but we can also engage in meaningless wars that kill our citizens for insignificant gains. Therefore we need to be held in check.
Oina and the supervisors know that. They also know that the First Citizens have an eye on their small continent. It’s not easy to defend yourself when only one side is allowed to have bombs. The League is under a weapon’s embargo since independence. Therefore they wage their small wars with others with a different kind of weapon – conspiracy. They are exceptionally good at that. Bribing with money and sex are their favorites tools. I even can tell with certainty that some of our top commanders are controlled by them as they are afraid of scandals that could affect their families and destroy their lives. In some cases, these are scandals that could put them in jail for high treason. These are the same scandals they probably have on me through Oina. Believing that she has no plan-B in case I stop collaborating with her is naïve. Although she knows that most of those kinds of scenarios can’t affect me, as I have no family. And the threat of jail for me is the best-case scenario. I could finally rest and dedicate all my time to reading and writing. Even in the event of being tortured, I would have no problem taking my own life. In fact, I would be very content to end it all.
She knows that she can’t pressure me, as I’m collaborating with her faithfully for the sake of every soul, not for fear of a scandal or any retaliation. That makes her compassionate feelings toward me truthful. My buddy, The salamander, is still not convinced, but what does a blind, giant salamander know about passion?
Their religious plan was a failure, even if they managed to create a huge buzz. I am sure they are celebrating their genius now with cocktails. They think they just made a breakthrough, and from now on, they have a permanent countermeasure to pressure the Amians. Unfortunately, Oina and the other women did forget the first rule of a successful offensive – knowing the landscape. That is the thing she doesn't know and that no one from the League does either. They have no idea about the religious landscape. They have no clue about the constituency of a successful religion, the one that can make a slave the king of an empire. That is because the League didn't have a religion. They did have some rituals, but they are more practiced as a hobby than the doctrine of a true, strong, oppressive religion.
The little guy will explain the religion philosophy part, while I’m reading the sports news:
First, a strong religion is based on the absence of miracles. It is indeed a counterintuitive idea, but it’s a fact. History taught us that the absence of a miracle is the core of the belief, as a true believer is the one who believes in the tale of the miracle, not the miracle itself.
Because, and let's face it, even if we are living in a cartoony world and miracles do happen from time to time, for a religion to exist based on a miracle, they must happen all the time for every person to witness. Otherwise, in the usual scenario, they don’t happen at all, or, and let's be crazy a little bit, they happen to one person, the prophet, or a small core group. Usually it’s the prophet and his friends or his family. We usually call them the “first believers.” That’s all, and everybody else only hears the tale from those guys.
That is what separates them from the infidels, those who couldn't believe the tale and prefer to doubt and argue about the happening of the miracle. They are those who doubt and hesitate as they request too much evidence and analyze every facet of the tale.
The tale can’t be doubted or argued, as it is the truth. Therefore, the tale is much stronger than the miracle. As stupid as it may sound, it does work every time. From there, the classic behavior of the true believers is that they separate themselves from the crowd and perform their new rituals. That makes them feel special. Also, it injects in them the feeling of a tribe. It’s a natural feeling of security that we inherited from our evolutionary path, making them feel happy.
After that, the group starts to grow as more lost souls are absorbed. Usually, we do want to belong to an exclusive group just to satisfy our egos, especially if it supposedly promotes virtues. However, the tribe feeling is lost once the group reaches a large number of believers. At that point, everyone is trapped under the legitimacy of the prophet, the shaman, or an authoritarian, charismatic leader.
Lastly, if this new religion survives until the birth of the next generation, then usually it will survive forever. It will then be indoctrinated to the youngsters as part of their identity that can’t be separated from their personality. Then, their personality is forged by the tale as the absolute truth.
Belief is what makes a religion. If you could see the miracle, then it is a fact, as the miracle itself happened in front of your eyes, so believing is not needed. That is why magicians are not gods or prophets.
Oina did produce a miracle, a talking baby that everybody saw, therefore the people who saw that are not believers. Instead, they are, in fact, witnesses. It occurred to me the story of one of the most charismatic prophets of all time, about when he woke up one morning and said to everyone that he went on a dragon to meet the gods. That was the best-selling pitch ever, so bold, fearless, direct, and without leaving any doubt. He said, “You must believe in my story, or you will go to hell.” It worked.
Second, creating a strong religion needs strong preparation, or let's say an impossible preparation. Strong religions are like unicorns. They do rarely appear over long gaps of time, mainly because they are, in fact, created by the circumstances of society itself and not by prophets, gods, or even masters. Masters usually choose a simpler life.
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br /> Through time, some societies cornered themselves miserably in a small mental space. Some of them did reach the point of extreme disorder where no one could live properly, not even the rich and the strong. From there, they needed a radical, new way of life that cannot be dictated by the same people that are the cause of the disaster, and they needed that fast.
Some organized societies did appoint dictators to sort out their lives. Others, not that organized and mainly tribal, created a prophet, as he dictates god’s new way of life as facts and orders. He is usually a trusted person in the community, but a kind of outsider. His behavior will shift day after day, usually starting in hesitation and ending up as the true messenger or a god.
I never blamed the prophets for thinking that they are chosen by the gods, or even they are the gods, as their message is like a holy frisbee played and loved by everyone around them. Fights will erupt, of course, between the different groups, and violence will be necessary to break up the old system and replace it with the new one. The new believers with their new dogma will emerge from the bottom of the society and may win if they really believe in their cause or, let's say, in their gods. The irony is, the more faithful they are, the more successful they become.
Belief is the building block of the homo sapiens’ core behavior. It is not an evolutionary mistake. It is a brilliant way of existence. We can't calculate all the risks and produce a clear estimation of the dangers or opportunities. All that comes is the imagination and belief, building for us a global analysis based on earlier experiences or sometimes based on a vaguely distorted analogous situation. This distorted estimation, even if it is false, keeps us moving and trying. It gives us a ground truth until a new belief emerges or we correct our reality with facts.
