The Apocalypse Script

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 17 - The Apocalypse Script

  Ben stood dumbly for several minutes trying to absorb what the Nisirtu woman had told him. His trance was broken by the sound of the Mercedes pulling out of the parking lot with Mr. Fetch at the wheel. Lilian and Fiela were sitting at the picnic table looking at him expectantly.

  He ambled down the path to them. “Too far, too fast,” he yelled as he approached. When he reached the table he said, “You should have stopped at, ‘We control the world.’ I can’t believe that the Nisirtu can, or would, destroy it.”

  “You do not need to believe for it to happen,” responded Lilian.

  “But it doesn’t pass the logic test. You’re telling me that the Nisirtu are trying to kill the very thing that makes them what they are. Your people need an oblivious, subservient underclass of Ardoon. If you annihilated the rest of humanity, there would be no more fetches, no more mansions and fast cars, no more power, no more anything. Why would the Nisirtu commit suicide? It would be like a parasite killing its host. Why would you do that?”

  “I’m not,” said Lilian.

  “Neither am I,” said Fiela.

  Throwing up his hands, he sat down next to Fiela so that he could face Lilian. “You just told me the apocalypse was scripted by the Nisirtu. You’re both Nisirtu.”

  Lilian said, “So are you, Mutu, but you’re not involved, right?”

  Fiela offered him a beer. “Being sober isn’t going to make this any easier.”

  Ben glowered at her but he took the beer. “Explain to me why the Nisirtu would kill the geese the lay the golden eggs?”

  “Because we are losing control,” said Fiela, who had helped herself to a beer.

  “What do you mean?”

  Fiela looked at Lilian, who shrugged while placing some caviar on a cracker with a mother-of-pearl spoon. Studying it, the other woman said, “It’s the internet, instant communication, social networking – all of that. Technology in general. It’s become too dangerous.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The Nisirtu popped a cracker into her mouth and chewed, one jaw distended. “An interconnected Ardoon society seemed like a brilliant notion seven decades ago. That’s when we scripted the creation of a technology that would allow the Families to reach out and touch each of their slaves individually. At first it exceeded all expectations. We collected volumes of data on every slave and used the aggregated data to generate highly refined scripts that put to shame those of our ancestors. With our new goldmine of data the Families have been able to execute in months scenarios that once took decades.”

  “I thought Al Gore created the internet,” huffed the man.

  Lilian grinned. “Perhaps he’s one of us.”

  That caught Ben off guard. “Really?”

  The woman laughed. “Anyway, the internet also allowed us to feed massive quantities of misinformation to the Ardoon. We directed our lies and distortions at target audiences that would both believe and perpetuate them. That people believe what they want to believe was axiomatic, right? We exploited this weakness by turning the believers of one set of lies against the believers of another, again and again, until the world was populated by billions of self-absorbed zealots ready to fight for any cause we might require.”

  Ben grudgingly nodded. “Don’t think that trend has gone unnoticed, Lilian. Objectivity and critical thought? Rest in peace, ye wicked and troublesome creatures.”

  “Just so. However, as of late this most useful of all tools has begun to turn against us. The Ardoon elite - in particular, Ardoon governments and businesses - have started to use the internet for the same purposes as the Nisirtu, and to great effect. They have begun reaching out beyond their own borders and are developing new and creative ways of manipulating the masses. They unknowingly seek to become like us, though they do not know we exist. They will succeed given sufficient opportunity. The clock is ticking. Thus, the Families have decided to crush humanity now, while they still have the power to do so.”

  Lilian swished some wine in her mouth and swallowed. “Next time,” she said, “we shall be more selective in deciding what toys we give the children.”

  Ben shook his head in disgust and said, “I can’t believe you’d be party to this kind of thing. Either of you. We’re talking genocide on an unprecedented level.”

  Fiela said, “We’re not involved. The Families make the decisions, not the subjects. It’s not a democracy, Mutu.”

  “That said,” interjected Lilian, “not all the Families are on board with the plan. Three of the kingdoms voted against it and have gone into rebellion in a vain attempt to stop the scripts.”

  “The Maqtu,” said Ben, understanding.

  “Yes. The rebels. The ones Fiela has been fighting all this time.”

  Ben said, “I don’t’ understand. If you both agree this is a crime, why didn’t you join the rebels? Why do you remain members of the…what did you call it? The Seven?”

  Lilian shook her head. “First of all, I never said it was a crime. I said I was against the idea. Knowing that the Maqtu would eventually be put down, I have opted to prepare for the inevitable instead of fighting it. Fiela, of course, is Peth. She is honor-bound to obey the commands of her House, and that includes the command to destroy the Maqtu.”

  She handed a bottle of champagne and a corkscrew to Ben. “A little help?”

  Taking the bottle, he said, “Doesn’t it bother you that, if you’re right, millions of innocent people will be killed?”

  “Billions,” Lilian corrected him, “though not all at once. It’s a very elaborate script. It did bother me, years ago, but not anymore. I have learned to accept the inevitability of it, as an adult child must learn to accept the inevitable passing of an aging relative in a hospice, or a bomber pilot must accept the death of the innocents who live next to a targeted weapons factory. I realize that you have not had the luxury of time to come to grips with this scenario, but you should not hate me for having done so.”

  Ben said bitterly, “It’s hard for me to imagine ever coming to grips with that kind of future.” He handed her the uncorked bottle, bubbles pouring over the top, and glanced sideways at Fiela. “What do you think?”

  Fiela said, “I obey my Family but I think the Seven have made the wrong decision. Who will serve us if we decimate the ranks of the slaves? The golden geese, as you said. That was very wise of you, Mutu. It is a good analogy. We are slaughtering geese.”

  “I’m not asking your opinion on the wisdom of the decision,” Ben said. “I want to know if the deaths of billions of people bother you.”

  “Of course,” the girl said without hesitation, though the words sounded awkward and he sensed she only spoke them to please him. Lilian had called Fiela a “protector of the faith” and an article of that faith was that the Nisirtu were the rightful rulers of this world. If a few billion slaves died, what of it?

  “Do not mistake my acquiescence to the script as surrender, Mutu,” said Lilian. “When the collapse comes, I do not plan to continue subjugating myself to the Seven. They are planning a perpetual Dark Age, a never-ending Feudal society. That is not a world I want to live in.”

  “Nor I,” said Fiela.

  Ben said, “What kind of world do you envision?”

  “One much like today’s,” replied Lilian.

  “Presumably one where the Nisirtu still rules, though.”

  “Fairly,” she said, “and in mankind’s best interest.”

  “It is the proper way,” agreed Fiela.

  Ben looked at them both incredulously. “Did you ever consider a world in which mankind determines its own fate?”

  Lilian snickered. “Ben, such was the world before the Nisirtu arrived. Your history books make it appear that civilization was inevitable. That is a lie. Humanity was a ship without a captain until we took the wheel. All was anarchy. Thousands of little villages and fiefdoms beating each other to death again and again. The Nisirtu introduced schools, agriculture,
legal codes, libraries, physicians, writing, and much more. We were the sun at the dawn of civilization.”

  The researcher fought the instinct to argue. It was true that civilization seemed to explode almost overnight in the ancient world and that the advancements Lilian had listed were first recorded in Mesopotamia. Exactly why civilization sprung up there was not known. Most historians fell back on ‘necessity is the mother of invention.’ The wheat that grew in the region and the Euphrates and Tigris rivers inspired agriculture. Agriculture brought crop surpluses. The crop surpluses led to urbanization. The lack of any natural defenses against invaders and the unpredictability of floods in the plains compelled the Mesopotamians to build walled cities and canals. And so forth.

  All of that was, of course, conjecture. Lilian had legend and he had conjecture. It was not an argument that could be won, so he let it go.

  He said, “What did you mean when you said I might rule?”

  “I meant you might be king. It depends on how things play out.”

  “Why would I, of all people, be a king in your society? I’m pond scum to you people.”

  “First, you are not ‘pond scum.’ You were highly accomplished, even as Ardoon. But now you are Nisirtu. As to why you, I cannot say. Ridley is the one who arranged for you to be here, Mutu. Do not misunderstand me, I am very glad that he did, as you are incredibly smart-”

  “And handsome, and understanding,” interjected Fiela, gazing up at him.

  “And those things,” agreed Lilian. “But Ridley is the scribe, the man who plans my future based on the parameters I set forth. He writes my scripts. He has not disclosed to me why he chose you to be my husband and perhaps a king.”

  The man cocked and eyebrow. “I thought I was here to decipher the tablets.”

  “So you are, but you married me to achieve that purpose, and Ridley knew that I desired a husband before the inevitable cataclysm. Are you here primarily to be my husband, or were you brought here primarily to study the tablets? I presume the latter but only Ridley knows. Either way, you now wear my father’s ring.”

  “But I am not really your husband,” Ben reminded her. “Our marriage isn’t legal.”

  She looked at him knowingly. “Husband, when the Ardoon fall, the only law will be Nisirtu law. In that sense, it is perfectly legal.”

  Ben pushed Lilian for additional information about Ridley’s plans during the outing but came up empty-handed. She steadfastly maintained that he would need to take up the matter with the scribe, and soon, and while they were at the park he should just enjoy the sandwiches and beer, which was, in fact, the kind he liked.

  Fiela didn’t help the situation. Over the course of the meal she had inched ever closer to Ben until they were practically fused together, at which point she crossed her legs and, in an amazing demonstration of her flexibility, covertly placed a bare foot high between his thighs.

  “Ben, are you okay?” Lilian asked. “Your face is flushed.”

  “Too much alcohol,” he said, squirming. “Hearing that the world is coming to end hasn’t helped things.”

  “I’ll call Mr. Fetch, then. I think we’re done here. Fiela, help me with the dishes so that we’ll be ready to go when the car arrives.”

  “Yes, Sister,” the girl said innocently. Standing, she added, “May I ride in the backseat with our husband on the way back to Steepleguard? It is unfair that I should have to sit in the front seat on the way back also.”

  “I thought you wanted to sit up front,” said Lilian.

  “But I’ve verified the roads are safe already.”

  The older woman made a show of considering her request. “I certainly do not think Mr. Fetch would miss you. What do you think, Mutu?”

  Fiela looked up at Ben hopefully. He said, “I think there is room in the backseat for all three of us.”

  The Peth’s face fell. “But-”

  “That’s true,” said Lilian. “Fiela, you may sit next to the window and watch for your roadside bombs. I shall sit between you and our husband.”