Man-Made God - Completed

[Apollyon]

Here's the beginnings of a short story I'm writing in a mini-effort to get published. ;). Please do read it and PLEASE comment. Say how it reads. Even better try to analyse what I'm writing (that way I can tell if I'm getting my messages across sufficiently well). Thanks anyway and here it is:

Man-Made God (pun intended)

Deep in thought, he watched as yet another planet formed on the port bow. The sight was beautiful, mesmerising, mind-blowing. But he no longer cared for it. The many billions of particles appearing in deep space ran together quickly, like the sea lapping at a beach, until they formed in a combined effort a huge swirling ball of matter. No one payed this incredible event any heed. No one brought forth the case of physics. No one knew what physics they should obey anyway. The observer sighed and adjusted his glasses with a prod of his fore-finger. The ship hummed and stuttered as the boarding gantries fell away and the engines began to fire. It wouldn't be long now, he told himself. He would at last find a place where he could become inconsequential. Irrelevent. And then at last perhaps he could live out the rest of whatever life he had remaining. A face stared unseeingly at him from the port-window until coming sharply into focus. The face was scarred and prematurely aged with a pair of spectacles balanced loosely on the end of its nose. The glasses were broken at the centre, held only by some adhesive tape. Black-grey hair hung about the face, greasy with grime, unwashed for more days than were countable. Those peircing blue eyes were the only sign of defiance set upon a down-trodden body.

    He looked away sharply and his gaze fell upon the other passengers aboard the gargantuan ship. This chamber was sealed off, a haven to the sought after. Just a few more credits and an acceptance of the bare-minimum would grant an unscrupulous traveller access to this small chamber. Small, yes, but only when compared to the rest of the craft. The lumbering leviathan measured at a hundred miles, prow to stern, with five decks in total, four devoted to passengers and one containing the helm and ship's crew. The interior was an unchanged metallic grey, the seats a dusty blue colour. Foam oozed from various seats where they had been damaged like blood from a putrid corpse. This ship was old, very old. Although 'old' could only be applied when compared with something so he sought an example for the benefit of his wandering mind. Yes, that was it. This ship was as old as he. Nearly. He thought back for the connotations of this and possibly even the dates. Mist obscured the vision of his mind's eye. It had been too many years for his frail mind and body to withstand and he had forgotten so much. But he still remembered the truth, and that was important, he felt. A testament that things change, no matter how unlikely.

   This ship, however, had not changed, and that in itself was a change. He recognised even now the remnants of the Imperial insignia, even though it had been diligently chiseled away. Maybe it wasn't there at all, but only existed inside his deranged mind. Whatever the origin, this was old technology, ancient even. He scowled at these implications and muttered to himself.

   "We were never so selfish, so... arrogant." The voice came out hoarse and gravelly. A cough spluttered forth between chapped lips to be stifled by a wrinkled old hand. He lowered his hand and looked at it for a time. Looked at its blood-red colour produced by the burn-scars inflicted upon them.

The both huge and yet tiny craft hurtled through the vastness of space with the speed and grace of a hot knife through butter. But this knife was chipped after many centuries of use without repair and it was beginning to suffer from it. Creaking and crashing echoed ominously throughout the sprawling caverns within the ship, all centred towards this confidential chamber situated at the heart of the great roaring beast.

   It was several hours into the interstellar pilgrimage, with liberty as god, and the passengers were seated in an ellipse, as was the custom, exchanging one unbelievable story after another. One passenger, at least part human, currently held the attention of those gathered.

   "And I tell you, fine gentlemen, that not one of those fiendish Swixarans did lay a hand on my beloved, so great was my impassioned fury. I cut them down with my blade (here you see it now before you) one after another with strength granted me by anger. And after I had.."

   The scarred man gazed unhearing out into the desolation of space. At one time such stories might have amused him, but he had had his fill of the fantastical many times over in the lengthy life time he had 'enjoyed'. He gave an audible sigh just as the young speaker came to the end of his battle re-enactment and all eyes were turned in unison to him.

   "If you so despair of my humble tale, prey do enlighten us with one similar from your vast knowledge and experience."

   The scarred man fancied he could just hear the noise of all the eyeballs rolling as one from each man to the next. They waited in gleeful apprehension for a fight to errupt, but they were disappointed. The scarred man took his spectacles off from the bridge of his nose and polished the lenses diligently with a dirty rag.

   "If I must tell a story, then let it be one based in truth that all might learn from. Yes, I will tell you a story, but whether you will hear it or not is none of my concern." He glanced over at the brash young man for any sign of rebuke, but found none forthcoming and so set about the task.

[bryorama]

Wow, sounds pretty good. 8) I wonder why no one else posted!

[Apollyon]

Well I'm glad you liked it thus far and that you took the time to comment, thankyou. :)

John grinned as he flipped open the sleek metal control panel to tap at the symbols contained within. Finally his research would reach fruition and he would make a name for himself that none would forget for centuries to come. He paused a moment for effect before letting his finger fall down hard upon the centre key. John looked up as the huge computer began to whirr into action. A massive room greeted his sight; a hangar. He squatted at one end with his unloving child, looking towards the gate at the other.

 It was a gate in more than just a physical sense. If his plans went well, it would open a gate to a place more significant than any seen before, to the very seat of creation. John had found it, it was something he was meant to do, his sole objective since before he could remember. And as he pushed his thin-framed glasses up onto his nose he recalled the events that had helped him come this far. The dreams, the intuition, the insanity. John was still not sure if that insanity had truly gone, but he knew he must continue on this path nevertheless. It was what he had been made for.

 The churning of the vast machine got louder and louder until reaching a screaming crescendo. The Gate burst into life, a swirling cloud of energy erupting from its core. John stood up in ecstatic joy at his machine's - at his success. John looked over to the military cadre that stood enthralled by the fantastical sight.

 "Good hunting, guys," John grinned, calling to the marines.

 "That it is," The captain replied darkly, a crucifix clearly visible, hanging on his chest.

 John ignored the irony and instead turned back to his metallic effigy. It beeped and whirred at him as if trying to tell him something. In John's mind he heard a voice. Ah, the insanity. He knew its identity. The whisperings of Satan. He hummed to himself in a vain effort to drown out the words. The words were meaningless - meaningless. He understood them all the same. The strained voice coming from his larynx dipped and died. He could have stood against it - could have. He didn't want to, though, and it took him whole.

 John stood quickly and called out abruptly to the waiting marines. "I'll go with you!" The voice that came from his lips sounded not as his own, but that of a beast. A beast that, seeing its trusted master wounded, pounces to gorge itself on the body. But the master can no longer provide food, and the beast, in time, must surely perish.

 "As the project supervisor that is your decision," The captain admitted, but his eyes, seated on a face illuminated from the light shone by a strip light above, showed his true feelings. Those eyes said more than words could. Something primitive and unchanged from time unevolved echoed through those portals of light. John saw them and understood that the captain would not make things easy for him, but he smiled jovially all the same and approached the Gate.

 Smiling nervously, John took a rucksack up onto his back and sheathed a knife in his belt. He had no intentions of using any weapons, but to wander unprepared into the utterly unknown constituted a death-wish. He looked towards the Gate, the object of his existence. He felt it resonate in his soul; his path lay clear. Yet... yet he feared it, and he knew not why. The path stretched out endlessly to him, a path to his dreams, but it filled him with trepidation and revulsion.

 "I'll go ahead first." But even as he spoke those words, John's convictions wavered and he saw the abyss before him. That abyss was foul. At the bottom he saw his very soul laid bare and it terrified him. Instead of seeing that terrible sight, he took a great leap and cleared that awful chasm, leaving the feeling behind. The Gate was there. In front, behind, every side. It consumed his being, leaving a husk of humanity. And he stepped through, into the core of his existence.

[bryorama]

Wow thats pretty good stuff!!! :)

Maybe this will help? I'm not quite sure though :(

iUniverse Publishing Company

I'm pretty sure it will be of no help.. But it's worth look at.. :)

[Anathema]

I like it :)

Strange that it has over 60 views and only two people replying :-

[Apollyon]

I know. :(

Thanks anyway, I'm glad at least two people could be bothered to comment. :-

More coming soon. Turns out I have to write a story for English AS course work so this is pretty perfect. :)

[Jack Leaf]

Pretty good text, but maybe a little too detailed. Yes, I mean it.

[Vanguard3000]

I saw this a while back, but I haven't had time to reply until now.

It's good stuff. It's well-written, and it pulls the reader in. I know I want to see more, anyway. Keep up the good work.

[Apollyon]

"Pretty good text, but maybe a little too detailed. Yes, I mean it. "

Unless you can give me an example, I can't really use this. :(

"It's well-written, and it pulls the reader in. "

You couldn't have said anything nicer. Thanks :).

[Apollyon]

 John awakened to the pounding of blood in the roof of his skull. It shook him like a mighty thunderclap, a warning of impending lightning. His eyes peeled back slowly to be greeted with a blurred, dusty image. The earth. John fumbled around in unpleasant fear for his spectacles. That fear was worse than perhaps any he had known. Around him could be anything, anything. Yet he could not see and thus was he blinded to the truth. After much cursing and scraping in the mud his wandering hand gripped the frame of his spectacles. He hurriedly put them on and, finding them intact, got to his feet.

 The first sight that caressed his now-seeing eyes was the very earth he had lain upon. A soft dusty yellow. Nothing in itself spectacular, but in another way wholely dumb-founding. The earth of another world. The dust, the grit, the sand, the silt. John smiled; A product of the smothering joy that now embraced him. He looked skyward then, and he saw. He saw the arching suns, on their mission of illumination, seated up high in the celestial reaches where he felt no man might pluck at them.

 Finally John turned his attention to the surrounding landscape. Before him lay a forest where tall, leafy limbs reached up to kiss the bright blue sky. That place beckoned to a part of his soul that longed for rest, escape from this life and the responsibilities therein. And beside him a river, its swift currents clawing at the banks like an unbridled animal in a fit of passionate rage. The furious river ran off far into the distance to meet with the horizon in a lover's embrace where it split into a thousand smaller streams and springs. Behind him John glimpsed a great plain. It stretched almost endlessly until reaching what must have been a jagged cliff overlooking some unknown place. That clear plain was mostly regular except for an occasional hillock or dip in the gently sloping ground. And lastly lay, to his eastward side, a magnificent temple made of carved marble and huge blocks of limestone.

[Jack Leaf]

As good as the ones before. :)

And about the detailing, I can't give any example, it just comes into my mind when reading this. It may come from my own writigstyle, which is very undetailed...

[alchemi2]

good stuuf keep it up ;D

i like the details makes you concenrate on the passages rather that brushing over if you know what mean. i like it anyway.

[Apollyon]

Thanks. :)

More coming soon, I assure you. As a note, the place John is in in the story is metaphorical of life. ;)

[GhostHunter]

I don't care for it myself.

It's quite well written, no doubt in my mind. However, it just doesn't seem to grip me and it seems to go into detail to much to be an attention getter. Also, lack of dialogue doesn't seem to help the matter much. Sorry for being so harsh but...

At least I thought it was well written. :-

[Apollyon]

Good. :)

That means I'm definitely doing it right...

Try reading The Heart of Darkness and you'll see the parallels. ;)

[Apollyon]

And it was to this solitary symbol of civilisation that he now went, looking in all directions as he did so. This place fascinated him and the air felt all together different to his eager nostrils. The landscape was unremarkable, as was the air, but it was the idea of the thing. This was another world! Not just another plantet, not just another galaxy, but another world! A world that was situated at a parrallel to Earth, the birthplace of all mankind. A world that John hoped would at last forfill his scientific crusade.

 This place was unusual, however, in its remarkable regularity. A paradox, John knew, but true all the same. Where were the rough edges of the natural landscape? Where were the hidden patterns, invisible to human eyes? This great place had been sculpted by some even greater force, some unimaginable will the mere implications of which made John tremble with excitement and indeed some trepidation. Back along the path he had taken he watched The Gate spew forth more intruders to this alien realm. The marines stood tentatively, groaning from the impact, and looked about themselves in clear bewilderment. From the looks they gave one another John could easily guess that a good many of them had thought The Gate to be worthy of as much attention as the man who invented it, and they were obviously surprised by the machine's performance. Despite this evident surprise, none seemed particularly anxious with regards to their surroundings. This, John believed, was most likely because they had no real idea as to the very purpose of the machine they had just entered, with one possible exception. The captain observed his surroundings with a strategist's eyes before walking slowly towards where John now stood.

 "Where to now, Project Supervisor?", The captain said as he approached, venom oozing from his voice. John once again ignored the captain's open dislike and spoke matter-of-factly:

 "Why, unto the breach, of course." The captain snorted in disdain before following John towards the imposing structure that lay before them.

[Apollyon]

As John neared the building, the air changed. It was just a slight alteration at first but it became more and more apparent as he got closer to the structure. John knew that he would never normally detect such a tiny discrepancy and it occurred to him that something was trying to turn him away. Despite the increasingly strong urge to turn around and head back to that comfortable laboratory, John had learned to fight against such feelings long ago. He had had to to retain his sanity, or at least what remained of it. John pushed on towards the broad stone steps that carpeted the floor up to the wide arched entrance ahead. The suns above beat down on him with all their fiery disgust. John felt warm sweat trickle down through his hair and over his head. The beads washed elegantly over the bumps of skin on his forehead wrinkled with concentration and fell dramatically to the hard stone steps below. He nearly gave up in the face of that disgust. Nearly despaired of all this venture in its sacrilegious irony. But it was that same irony that pushed him on, and he did continue, slowly and carefully up those sand-yellow dusty steps.

[Apollyon]

Finally John reached the immense arch, closely followed by the military troop, and stepped through the ancient curved monolith. Nothing stirred. No animal moved, no bird sang, no insect crawled, not even the rustling of the wind in the trees could be heard over the deafening cacophony of silence. The time John spent passing through the curved spine-like archway felt unattached. A space of time that he understood could never again be accessed or regained. It would stand out in his mind for all his existence yet to come, but its true significance would always remain hidden. With this thought, John shuddered, and it was gone again, like a whisper on the passing wind. His eyes once more focused on his goal ahead, and with a determined stride, he stepped over, into the core of this realm.

 Before him lay a wide courtyard, floored with the same dusty yellow stone and open above to the engulfing omnipresent blue sky. Now John truely felt resigned to his present course. He knew he could still turn back and once more pass through that great arch, and from there back through The Gate, but he also knew that whatever he now did, the outcome would remain the same. Whether it was he who forfilled this destiny was irrelevent. It would be forfilled nonetheless. John himself had provided the catalyst. No, John himself was the catalyst. As soon as he had passed through this building's entrance, he had triggered a chain of events that could only amalgamate in the same fate. Realising that his mind was playing tricks on him, as it often did, John shook his head and willed himself further into the couryard, towards the doorway on the other side.

[Apollyon]

Green-brown ivy hung down around the walls of that courtyard; It was the first living thing John had seen in the place. At least logic told him that it was alive, his senses, on the other hand, gave him a completely different idea. He walked up to the stone walls to touch the ivy. When John did touch it he almost expected to feel plastic or some other synthetic material, but no, this truly was living ivy, at least as far as he could tell. Further baffled by this enigma he continued on to the solitary portal on the opposite side of the courtyard. The military accompaniment shuffled lazily behind him in the blazing heat as John came ever closer to the door that he could only assume lead to an inner-sanctum of sorts.

 John was disapointed, however, as upon reaching that portal he found it leading into a tiny conjoining room. His excitement which had been so quick to depart quickly found a comfortable hold on him once more though as he entered this next room. It really was tiny, with barely enough room to fit three men standing side to side. At the end of this small cube of space lay another door. This one was smaller than those before it and was a door in the true sense of the word, not just a hollow framed arch like the others. Both the door and its frame were beautifully ornate, with gold, jewels and other regalements inset on the bizarrely polished wood. John strained his neck closer for a better view and squinted through his spectacles. None of these objects bore any resemblance to anything John had seen before. To the untrained eye they might appear as gems of little remark, beautiful and valuable yes, but still nothing spectacular. Johns' eyes were trained, however, and what he saw truly was spectacular. These objects were made from materials he had never seen or heard of in all his life of study. They were, as far as he could see, entirely new elements, totally independent to the human periodic table. John realised that he could spend hours, days even, marvelling at every facet of this new world, but he also realised that more amazing things lay ahead, and so he turned his attention back to the door as a whole. It suddenly struck him that he could see no knob or handle with which to open the door. He puzzled at it for some time while the soldiers milled aimlessly about behind him, sometimes gesticulating towards him and laughing, presumably derisively. John moved to lean against the door while he thought and as he shifted his wait against the door there resounded a loud creak and the door began to shuffle reluctantly inward. John jumped back, astonished at this simplicity. He would never have assumed something so simple, and yet it had been so hard for his mind to grasp, indeed perhaps he never would have thought of it if fate had not intervened on his behalf. And to think that this infinitely simple obstacle might have held him back from the truth. In his huge wisdom and years of learning John had overlooked something so miniscule. He scolded himself and once again pushed against the door, this time with clear intent.

[Apollyon]

The door ground open, bit by bit, until the path it obscured lay fully revealed. This time John felt certain of his whereabouts. This truly was the core of his search. A huge hall lay before him, its ceiling impossibly high for the structure of the building when seen from outside. Majestic columns of marble stretched high into the arched roof above, each covered with beautiful carvings of traditionally religious artistry. John's footsteps resounded in a deadened manner, as if under water, as he walked slowly through the enormous space. Everywhere he turned sat something more amazing than before; Here a floating golden orb, suspended by nothing at all; Here a hole in the very wall which yet remained solid to the touch. John felt belittled by these marvels in a way he hadn't felt since his childhood. And it was like an infant now that he stalked around this huge visual delight. The soldiers trudged after him and gasped audibly at the sights surrounding them. One of the grunts reached forth with intent to take the floating golden orb from where it floated.  

 "Touch nothing!" John growled at the startled man. The soldier was as shocked by John's voice as was John himself. The voice had come as a gut reaction, as if something were lurking deep within him waiting to take control at any moment. He turned back to his original course and began walking in a brisk manner towards the far end of the hall, evidently trying to leave the unsettling experience behind. And then suddenly he saw it. Huge pipes protruded crudely from its top, like a church's organ, and screens littered the wall which it lay against. The thing had keys like an organ too, although it was unlikely they would make music when pressed. John came to a stop just in front of this mysterious machine. He looked at it carefully, and had a disturbing suspicion that it was doing the same to him. And then John was assaulted by those intoxicating voices. They ripped through his mind like blades through paper. They asked him, suggested to him, commanded him. And John saw the source of their whims: the keyboard. John was breathing heavily now, and sweat trickled down his brow and his back. He looked around. No one was watching him, no one would know. And John reached forward to tap at those mind-filling things that screamed in his brain and bit at his spine: The keys.

[Apollyon]

"Desistate!" A voice, like an echoing scream from hell itself tore through the tense and wholely bizarre atmosphere. It slid and attacked the senses. It flew into the mind and into the soul and it commanded without hesitation. But when it hit the human mind, that pit of thoughtless rebellion, it met resistance, oh yes certainly it met resistance. A wall in its path; the intelligence of man, though that could equally be his obstinance. That bellow left rippling trails in the tense air of that titanic hall. John followed the ripples, seeing everything before him suddenly very still and slow, to see the source of such distressed call. An old man, with beard of grey and long flowing white hair was running. Running in one direction, one aim, one goal, one path. That man was running straight at him. In his hand he gripped a knife held threateningly towards John who still had one limb stretched out ominously towards the beckoning machine. That silvery blade, pointed accusatorily at John, shone with a radiant silvery light that repulsed John's thoughts at first, only for those same voices to come back all the stronger, as if they had recovered from this sudden unexpected shock and wished to wreak vengeance on he who they saw as responsible for their recent discomfort.

 John tried to move, tried to grasp a weapon from his belt, but his body simply would not heed any command he sent it. He visibly struggled with the invisible force holding him in place until he finally spasmed uncontrollably and collapsed on the cold floor below him. As he fell inexorably down towards that hard physical buffer, he saw a thing; It was the first living thing he had seen within the hall and it struck him as insignificant in an irrefutably important way. It was a spider's web, and John fancied that much as he had been drawn and trapped (so he believed) in this very hall, he was now to see another creature meet a similar fate in that entangling mass of wraith-like strings. However, no insect flew in that hall, and the spider was surely starving. It's mere existence was an affront to nature, to possibility. How could a living, breathing predatorial animal exist in this hall, bereft of living prey, for such a length of time that it had managed to construct such a marvelous home? And look here: the many-limbed creature had birthed offspring! A sack of eggs lay brooding in a dark corner, although such was illogical, of the yet circular web. As John watched, a transparent limb broke the surface of one such pod. That pod was filled with possibility, much as the pod that birthed its mother must have been so long ago. A spindly eight-limbed animal pulled itself free from its ovular encasings. This truly was an impossibility and an affront to nature. Not only did this spider live in this place without sustainable nourishment, but it had also had enough to sustain itself even into the bearing of offspring. Maybe this was an abominable cycle of destructive creation. Surely it would be better if the spider never birthed such offspring? With its protective coverings finally fully removed, the young creature shook with a violent rhythm, as if despairing of its situation. As if this were a signal, the other spiders began to be born. It was an ugly and destructive process. These creatures, born to something worse than death: life without hope. For it must be hope that all live for. True happiness is never possible, that much is true, but hope is enough for most and so existence continues as it has always been: destructively creative. The young hatchlings looked on their creator, their mother. It was her that had nursed them through to life, through to a chance for existence, maybe a chance for happiness, even in this place. And so they killed her. It was as graceful as anything in this world. She lay ripped in half, squirming and shaking in her deathful throes. But even now did she see the truth, it was if the time between birth and death was but a blink of her many lensed eye. And now everything would repeat itself once more, she might as well be one of her offspring that feasted upon her now, ripping and tearing her flesh for what nutrients they could find.

[Apollyon]

The impact with which John hit the floor jolted him from his slow-motion reverie and he looked up, in slight pain from the fall, toward his attacker who was still running for him at full-pelt. Suddenly it hit him: this could be the end! He looked towards that silvery blade with a feeling of... yes, it was envy. Envy for death, for the extinguishment of those horrible voices that even now turned his thoughts sour.

 Alas, John's wishes were not to be forfilled. A deadened pop resounded in the air. The sound was dulled, as if muffled by the immense powers that John sensed lay within the place. Despite the misleading noise, the effect remained the same. John watched in morbif fascination as the white-maned old man crumpled to the ground, wheezing in some last effort to relay his thoughts. John felt strangely unnaffected by the man's death. He had expected to feel some horror, or perhaps more likely, some great sense of mortality. Neither of these things came to him now as he watched the man gasp his last on the cold stone floor. He stood up slowly, eyes still fixed on the corpse at first, and turned to face where he thought the shot originated. The captain noticed John's stare and holstered his pistol in a way that told John his feelings at once. This was what he was trained to do, this was his duty, his purpose. John somewhat approved of this and turned back to the scene before him.

[Apollyon]

Resisting the pull of the lifeless body before him on his curiosity, John made his way back across to the strange machine. He had reached it, his goal. He feld a terribly accusatory presence from the device, as if it blamed him for its master's death. No, no. That wasn't it. The accusatory presence was a part of John, and, he felt, a part of all the men with him there. It was just a part of his consciousness, and it watched the rest with a knowledge that recognised dreadful implications in its own mind.

 And that machine was everything John had hoped for. It could write reality like sentences in a book. What's more, the reality was genuine, or so John later claimed. What it wrote was proven reality, the machine said so. Whether observed with vision, with touch, with taste or smell, or even something altogether incomprehensible, the reality was the same. John coined the phrase 'real-reality' to describe it at the later debriefing, and this name was hence forth applied to the machine. Thus was the Real-Reality Machine brought into the service of man, and man prospered in the way only man could. Planets were devoured as the human seed spread far and wide across the universe, obscure technological secrets were discovered daily and even the most ancient and powerful of alien races they encountered were ground beneath the human heel. There would be no more death, no more illness or pain. Man would live as gods.

[Apollyon]

Among man's many achievements were things truly fantastical; Space travel was mastered, cutting out the space all together through gravity engines; Genetics were revealed in a true light, and humans were made stronger, faster and with near indefinite longevity of life; Mankind's existence was made paradise, with genetically engineered slaves created to carry out every command of their human masters. These creatures, named the subyekti, or more commonly simply as 'drones', co-existed alongside mankind as they performed the necessary work behind the screen of everyday life. Not only was it intellectually inconceivable for them to seek freedom, it was also against the teachings of their 'religion'. Man, in his infinite wisdom had set himself up as a god. This perhaps was not as arrogant as it may sound. Man, on finding the Real-Reality Machine had found the power of God, and intended to exploit it to the full. All races bowed to them as gods-made-flesh, and indeed in comparison to these others, they might well be considered as such.

 Despite their god-like status, man remained man. Human emotions and fallacy still filled their souls, and so ambition reigned on.

 "The operation runs well: Soon we will have all this world under our dominion and ready for ore mining." The Operations' Director smiled gleefully, rubbing his hands together to and fro.

 "I'm glad, but might I remind you that this is the third time you have promised such?"

 "Ah, yes, but you see we underestimated the population here; We thought that with the destruction of their biospheres they would die out of their own accord from the cold and lack of resources, but they have proved most resilient. Now they strike us quickly where we are weakest and retreat back into their hiding places, annoying pests that they are."

 "How many of their bodies have you counted dead thus far?"

 "At least a hundred thousand, but equally they have killed many hundreds of our own."

 "Hundreds?" John muttered, half to himself. He had risen to an enormously high status following his discovery of the Real-Reality Machine, and now had come as Inspector to this - this place. There was an unmistakeable irony in the situation here on Zarassos. An ugly thing on the surface, covered in icy tundras and endless empty plains, it was only deep below the world's surface that its worth became apparent. This world was opulent. Opulent in the very materials needed to achieve the state at which space could be folded, and it was for this reason that man had come here in such force. The irony was that despite this force man still found it hard in this harsh environment in the face of fierce and desperate resistance. The human forces were outnumbered a thousand to one, but man was superior in every way, whether strength, speed, intelligence or equipment. But it also seemed that they were superior in arrogance and this had been there failing here. John was here now to rectify the problem. "Why not set the Drones on them, they must number about equal to them surely, and certainly more powerful?"

 "You know, sir, that we aren't permitted to do that."

 "Well I permit you!" John replied, cutting the Director's speech to a speedy stop with his imperious tones. He pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and continued: "The estimated figures show that roughly another hundred thousand barbarians remain. I don't think it's necessary to run the risk of losing the Drones in combat. Initiate a sattelite scan and attack agressively this time, instead of hoping they die of cold."

 The little Director nodded fervently and scurried off to relay commands to the resident troops. It wasn't long till the resistance headquarters was located, and then it was just a matter of time. These were John's thoughts as he watched the screen in front of him, displaying the human assault on these primitive savages. The human forces were only just outnumbered; This battle should be quick. And quick it was, but not in the way John had imagined. The savages had taken up the weapons of the human fallen from previous encounters and now used them in conjunction with previously set traps to inflict heavy losses on their attackers. An explosive blew below an entrenched group of human soldiers. The explosion itself caused little damage to the heavily armoured men, but the resulting shrapnel, mixed with powerful corrosive substances, smashed their bones and burned their flesh. John watched, growing increasingly angry until he at last leaned forward to tap the button that signalled retreat. This was a disgrace! How could gods be killed by primitive mortals? He would show them, he vowed. He would not stop until they realised the futility of their own existence and the magnificance of his.

 "Director?"

 "Yes, sir?"

 "Reform the remaining men and attack again, this time using a thousand Drones as cannon fodder."

 "Aye, it shall be done as you say."

 An hour later John was once more sat before the screen that relayed death to him at every second. Death of the enemy, he hoped. John watched anxiously as the line of Drones rose to the top of a frosted hill and charged into the thousands of warriors below.

 A voice crackled over the communications receiver: "Sir, the Drones are breaking ranks to attack! They'll be killed before the others can get in position!"

 "Damnation!" John roared, smashing the receiver down into the desk. He watched with furrowed brow as the line of Subyeki charged inevitably to their own destruction. But as John watched on, he realised something: The Drones were winning. The fury with which the mindless beings ripped into the enemy ranks astounded him, their unweaponed arms slicing through the men like huge fleshy scythes. The battle was over in minutes.

 "H-How many causalties, Director?"

 The response came after a short delay: "Er... I'll check." John waited as the director collated the battle data into some understandable form for the Inspector. "That's - that's one casualty, sir.

 "One casualty?" John's voice came out more disbelieving than amazed. "Please check again."

 "Sir, the computer still says only one casualty."

 "Amazing..." John watched as the Drones rose up triumphantly to their full two and a half metre height as they roared victory over the landscape. Now John understood why the Drones should never be used in combat. What if they got the idea of - of freedom? The thought terrified John. That would cause complications, and undoubtedly cost a lot of resources to rectify. John knew it was inevitable, but it would be of no concern, especially now he understood that the threat was well known. Afterall they had no capability to understand their position, let alone form any kind of organised rebellion. The rebellion would doubtless come, he saw that now, but it would fall in a blink of an eye.

 John made the space journey back to Earth in deep thought concerning these matters. He relayed what he had seen and learned to his colleagues back at the Department of Inspection. His words came as no surprise to the others, who had known the threat for some time, and this reassured him. He relaxed for a while in the lobby, chatting with a colleague that had recently returned from a long mission in another galaxy.

 "Say, John?"

 "What?"

 "Don't you think it would be a bit ironic, if, you know, if we were destroyed by the Drones?"

 "Probably, why do you say such, though?"

 "I don't know, things have got a bit complicated recently. Have you ever considered the religious connotations of - of - of well, killing God?"

 "That old man was no god, just as we aren't."

 "But he did create us, if what that machine says is true."

 "Yes, true, I suppose, but still that man was no metaphysical entity. No omnipotent being. Afterall we did kill him didn't we?"

 "Maybe that makes us... Satan?" He grinned nervously, obviously this kind of philosophical conversation was a new thing to him.

 "Maybe, but then we didn't kill the God did we? I think what we did was just human nature really."

 "You mean killing one's father in a megolamaniacal quest?"

 "Yep."

[Apollyon]

 Indeed, true to mankinds infinitely wise predictions, the rebellion did come. Man with their incredible numbers, technology and experience would of course crush their opposition. Or so they thought. The truth was their arrogance proved their downfall. The very race that they had created numbered nearly as many as them. Mankind, having pride in its own handiwork had birthed a race that was as efficient as possible in every way. Man would be destroyed by his own progeny. A thousand worlds and more fell as the inhabiting hordes of Drones swarmed over the planets' surfaces, crushing any resistance in a moment. The rebellion had been co-ordinated perfectly. Through telepathy (an ability of the Subyetki unknown even to their creators) the attack had been synchronised to the second. Entire galaxies succombed before manking even noticed. By then it was much too late. Those who could fled into the deep recesses of space. Even they, however, knew it was just a matter of time.

 The be-spectacled man cleared his throat to mark the end of his story.

 "Now I have told you something of importance, and it is my hope that you can value it."

 "At least my story held truth, yours is nought but deceitful lies and contortion." The young man, still angry at this man's interruption interjected. "Please do tell us it's true so we may at least derive some hilarity from your cautionary tale."

 "Of course it's false; As false as anything you might hear. But the truth is there for those who wish to see it."

 The stars, a veritable sea, seared past in uninterrupted beams of light. One thing at least was true: This place - this existence was beautiful. John didn't believe in God, but he did believe in heaven.