A: Welcome to SNT, Gen. Spokesperson Echart Snaub, from the Paragon Foundation.
B: Thank you, my honor. (Waving his hand to the camera.)
A: You seem cheerful today.
B: Indeed. We’re so blessed by the rapid progress of the foundation. And I’m here being interviewed, how’s that?
A: Speaking of the foundation since you’ve mentioned it already, the listeners might want to know how Paragon endured up to its 226th this year. Anything special?
B: Everything’s special.
A: What makes you unique from other scientific foundations out there? I mean, I can’t mention a name but there are thousands of them. The oldest I know is no more than a century old.
B: Well, we have the best intelligence units, amazing technical crews, they have me (chuckles)…we have the highest funding so we are safe from brain drain. And I just wanted to add the new building.
A: Oh, I saw the building. It is undoubtedly the highest structure ever built on earth.
B: I say Philippines has a good bedrock.
A: I agree. So where are you getting the big budget? Could you mention some of the lists of the financial contributors? Asutex? Rembradt, Intl.?
B: We promised we would give their identities with utter confidentiality, otherwise they would stop funding.
A: I understand that especially if there is an unimaginably high confidentiality agreement at stake.
B: (Laugh) Appreciated.
A: Anyway, let’s start the real thing. At the report, you have a baby technology called STI. Let’s discuss that first. They say it must be the turning point of 21st century computing technology. How true is that?
B: The Synchronous Topography Inditor, or the STI system, is one of our latest and most flexible technologies. We owed it to our very own German nanotechnologist Dr. Peter Hoeg in leading the STI project for more than a decade. And I think it does really have a potential to dodge away, let’s say, from the major obstacles that impede technological advancement especially in the field of data processing.
A: So what is STI for?
B: It accepts digital topographic details from our high-end radiator scanners, or simply mapping of land, like Google Map 3D Grav, and other purposes such as military and any other geographical sciences. It could also be thought of as a contribution to the campaign against terrorism and disaster prevention by doing real time surveillance.
A: I’m curious. We already have those technologies you mentioned since… probably my youth. STI, based on your description, doesn’t seem to be any different. You scan moving topographies and feed them to computers. That’s not Paragon. There should be something else.
B: You know Paragon, eh?
A: So what is it?
B: The concept of creating a Synchronous Topography and advancing to geometrical data processing, that’s what it is. It had been a simple idea, but our fellow scientists from the past still struggled into getting it any closer to reality. The conception of this idea is finally concocted into STI by Dr. Hoeg. He thought that machines imitating natural features should be something worse. We could do better than that.
Several years ago, before the birth of STI, he thought it could be used into something big that no one had any guts to work for, and that’s when we hired him-- to execute his dreams… and maybe ours.
A: First, could you tell us short about geometrical data processing?
B: Okay. Instead of using conventional “digital” binary numbers, our “baby” technology receives and converts multi-dimensional images into a certain unique micro 4-D geometry- let’s say a complex pattern consisting of angular lines and deformed circles- or what we call Topography. What makes it more efficient compared to digital data processing is that these geometries are expertly drawn using Xenon atoms, and other less rare elements that are extremely stable under regulated environment. It’s like drawing with pebbles under atomic scale, in 4-D. Thus, there is no need to use special software to read the images. You just have to have a powerful lens magnification to see the details.
A: That’s great. Now I’m getting the picture. So you mentioned earlier about “something big” that Dr. Hoeg had in is mind in conceptualizing STI?
B: With the help of STI technology and the best functional telescopes from earth, land-based and space-based, we concocted a new peripheral device called Summary of God or SOG. It has been arranging 4 cubic millimeters per minute of readily arranged Xenon atoms converted from the digital stream of data. It is equivalent to 600 terabytes per minute that might have consumed a combination memory of 2 super computers instead of just covering 4 cubic millimeters of space!
It is that our telescopes are browsing through deep cosmos while afterwards relaying it through STI for data conversion from digital to analog Topographies to be stored to SOG.
A: So SOG is a certain kind of a super advance digital storage device?
B: Again, we considered the post-conversion geometrical datum being stored an analog instead of digital since we’re no longer dealing with 1’s and 0’s.
A: And does SOG justify its name, Summary of God? For the name itself, it would surely hit sensitive ears anytime soon.
B: At Paragon, we always make sure that all our individual inventions deserve its name.
A: So you’re summarizing God by map-recording the Universe? Am I Right? With the aid of telescopes, scanners, and such, then saving them to SOG?
B: If you meant recording the events and structures of the Universe, no. That might be the first thing that Paragon would back out from. It requires infinite units of storage device! What we are recording is the logic behind the harmonious forces responsible for structuring the Universe as what it is, because Topographies could be Structural or Logical. The former is applicable to mapping and surveillance. With SOG, we store the later type of Topography. By that way, indirectly, we can shape the first clump of clay in sculpting our greatest Creator. Now, you could picture SOG as a ball of logic.
A: So that’s it? You study the laws of nature and know who is or what is God?
B: Nothing is that simple, of course. Everything that has been stored in SOG will be carefully analyzed. That’s probably the hardest part. We might invite underground intelligencias if there are such things. If it’s necessary, we might also seek help from our fellow theologians and physicists.
A: (Smiled) Sounds fun. Could I join the research, too, because your foundation really draws curiosity out of me?
B: Everyone with brain could contribute; everyone who believes in God and everyone who dreamt to know Him down to the tiniest details.
A: Well, I’ll wait for your invite. (Smiled) So I hope you, with the foundation you represents, won’t be
bothered by the people who think the whole SOG thing is a blasphemy.
B: No certainly, we won’t.
A: Well, good luck for the Paragon’s future projects and happy physics year! Thank you for your time.
B: Thank you. Happy Physics year to all! And before you wrap this up, you can visit our cloud address at Paragon.cld.
A: There you are.
A: (Now turning directly to the camera, regaining a more formal composure). It has been a whole decade since a revolutionary termite gene against HIV had been planted to a certain group of people in Spain. Now, scientists have been worrying about a new strain of the virus that has just been reported two days ago from the same country. Will humanity be facing a new indestructible scourge that might again remain incurable for the next 70 years? Let’s know more about it after the break. We’ll be back.
THE END
Showing posts with label science fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label science fiction. Show all posts
Inertia
I am Jonathan Straussman. I work as a patent clerk, doing all the paper works and listings and billings, all for the sake of earning a life with the growing interest of new technologies. I was a clerk. Just like Einstein when he was my age.
Two hours away from the Treaty of Blue Food Products in Manhattan, it was cold. I have no car. It was dark and freezing. The road was black, covered by rubbery asphalt, battered by nonchalant vehicles speeding towards work on their nightshifts.
I slid my card across the obsidian painted box, exerted an effort to pass through the glass revolving door. I was whistling as I walked along the marbled floor, slipping my card back on its upholster which was strapped around my thigh. Before me was a man. He was trimmed with manly couture, gracious with his masculine smile. I greeted back. He was the concierge of the condominium where I lived.
It was so nice to be back home. My back ached. My feet were numb. I stared below, my shoes were still as shiny as if I never left home and worked this morning. And when I eventually reached my unit at the 44th floor and closed the door behind me, the last thing I wanted to do is to flip the lights on.
It was quiet: a silence that endures a lifetime. I jumped off my pants and ran over my undershirt. I jumped over the bed dramatically through the air—like on a TV commercial. Landed softly. Sheets and pillows wavered away to the fringes of the bed, adjusting from the new weight. Naked, I tried to escape momentarily from the active movements of the Universe. I wanted to see nothing but the darkness behind closed eyelids, and hear nothing but the silence of an empty room.
I wondered about tomorrow, fearsome that it wouldn’t come. Then, I chose not to think further. Damn! I wanted to sleep.
INERTIA
It was so nice to feel alive. My head told me I’d rested. Shouldn’t I? The clock registered 3 hours after midnight. Confused, I turned on my window: a small square aperture like a bathroom window. It was freezing, covered by building frost on its edges. Was it snowing?
Waking up in the middle of the night wasn’t a usual incident. I thought I felt a quake, or a thud, or an explosion. I searched around. On my relief, my growing panic was smothered by the sight of orderliness-- things on their places, unmoved, throwing curious glances at me.
Then, might be out of nowhere, I felt an awkward churning on my stomach, like I was on a thrill ride.
Boom! I saw a blinding light.
Silence.
Boom! Boom!
A long stretch of echo was reverberating around the four corners of the room, shaking everything on its nerves. I turned on my window. No light. The frost that I previously observed was gone. Rather, it was wet like as if it rained. But it wasn’t broken.
I stepped off the bed and look for any sign of destruction through my tiny window.
The window was a small square aperture. Like a lavatory window wherein a bright day was in sight- a playground, rich and green, with moving images of children frolicking under the sun, riding over swinging swings. They were moving so slow. In fact, too slow to be real, like a relativistic time dragged by a speeding space rocket…
A playground. The slowness, tenderness, lacking of crisp definition arose from my human confusion. A disbelief that suspended anything that tried to move faster than an average snail inside a lazy bubble…
A playground. The slowness melted into an accelerating exchange of movements—a sign of coming epiphany. Gradually, everything started to move and appear on a higher definition, like on a TV monitor, away from the undesirable blur.
My unit was in the 40th floor of a 60-floor building. And when I realized that everything inside, my phone, wall clock, unattended clatter of clothes, bed sheets, all in all, we are experiencing a free fall. A perception of zero grav was inevitable.
Silence.
Moving now in a realistic, regained velocity, the playground was slowly titling sideways, accumulating angles after angles. I felt my feet entangled by the telephone wire while my head was almost touching the blue painted ceilings. I felt weightless. I slowly swam towards my window and reminded me of astronauts viewing earth from their spacecraft. Floating, rolling in midair, entangled by a telephone wire.
From my reference, the playground was now up side down, falling down onto the ground. But after all, it wasn’t a playground. And it wasn’t upside down. I, my things, my room; we were upside down. Swings weren’t swings but another infrastructure falling on its knees.
Empire State.
Children weren’t children but humans thrown kilometers over the streets by massive yet invisible arms. Their eyes and mouths wide open.
Manhattan was green, not from the rich green grasses of a playground but of funny globs of matter falling like gigantic spits from the pitch black sky.
I felt like an astronaut. I looked around slowly, searching again for orderliness inside my room. Wishing maybe it was just a dream. On my disdain, I found none.
Slowly…slowly… the concrete wall where I nailed my wall clock crashed, not it pieces, but in boulders of fractured concrete.
Two hours away from the Treaty of Blue Food Products in Manhattan, it was cold. I have no car. It was dark and freezing. The road was black, covered by rubbery asphalt, battered by nonchalant vehicles speeding towards work on their nightshifts.
I slid my card across the obsidian painted box, exerted an effort to pass through the glass revolving door. I was whistling as I walked along the marbled floor, slipping my card back on its upholster which was strapped around my thigh. Before me was a man. He was trimmed with manly couture, gracious with his masculine smile. I greeted back. He was the concierge of the condominium where I lived.
It was so nice to be back home. My back ached. My feet were numb. I stared below, my shoes were still as shiny as if I never left home and worked this morning. And when I eventually reached my unit at the 44th floor and closed the door behind me, the last thing I wanted to do is to flip the lights on.
It was quiet: a silence that endures a lifetime. I jumped off my pants and ran over my undershirt. I jumped over the bed dramatically through the air—like on a TV commercial. Landed softly. Sheets and pillows wavered away to the fringes of the bed, adjusting from the new weight. Naked, I tried to escape momentarily from the active movements of the Universe. I wanted to see nothing but the darkness behind closed eyelids, and hear nothing but the silence of an empty room.
I wondered about tomorrow, fearsome that it wouldn’t come. Then, I chose not to think further. Damn! I wanted to sleep.
INERTIA
It was so nice to feel alive. My head told me I’d rested. Shouldn’t I? The clock registered 3 hours after midnight. Confused, I turned on my window: a small square aperture like a bathroom window. It was freezing, covered by building frost on its edges. Was it snowing?
Waking up in the middle of the night wasn’t a usual incident. I thought I felt a quake, or a thud, or an explosion. I searched around. On my relief, my growing panic was smothered by the sight of orderliness-- things on their places, unmoved, throwing curious glances at me.
Then, might be out of nowhere, I felt an awkward churning on my stomach, like I was on a thrill ride.
Boom! I saw a blinding light.
Silence.
Boom! Boom!
A long stretch of echo was reverberating around the four corners of the room, shaking everything on its nerves. I turned on my window. No light. The frost that I previously observed was gone. Rather, it was wet like as if it rained. But it wasn’t broken.
I stepped off the bed and look for any sign of destruction through my tiny window.
The window was a small square aperture. Like a lavatory window wherein a bright day was in sight- a playground, rich and green, with moving images of children frolicking under the sun, riding over swinging swings. They were moving so slow. In fact, too slow to be real, like a relativistic time dragged by a speeding space rocket…
A playground. The slowness, tenderness, lacking of crisp definition arose from my human confusion. A disbelief that suspended anything that tried to move faster than an average snail inside a lazy bubble…
A playground. The slowness melted into an accelerating exchange of movements—a sign of coming epiphany. Gradually, everything started to move and appear on a higher definition, like on a TV monitor, away from the undesirable blur.
My unit was in the 40th floor of a 60-floor building. And when I realized that everything inside, my phone, wall clock, unattended clatter of clothes, bed sheets, all in all, we are experiencing a free fall. A perception of zero grav was inevitable.
Silence.
Moving now in a realistic, regained velocity, the playground was slowly titling sideways, accumulating angles after angles. I felt my feet entangled by the telephone wire while my head was almost touching the blue painted ceilings. I felt weightless. I slowly swam towards my window and reminded me of astronauts viewing earth from their spacecraft. Floating, rolling in midair, entangled by a telephone wire.
From my reference, the playground was now up side down, falling down onto the ground. But after all, it wasn’t a playground. And it wasn’t upside down. I, my things, my room; we were upside down. Swings weren’t swings but another infrastructure falling on its knees.
Empire State.
Children weren’t children but humans thrown kilometers over the streets by massive yet invisible arms. Their eyes and mouths wide open.
Manhattan was green, not from the rich green grasses of a playground but of funny globs of matter falling like gigantic spits from the pitch black sky.
I felt like an astronaut. I looked around slowly, searching again for orderliness inside my room. Wishing maybe it was just a dream. On my disdain, I found none.
Slowly…slowly… the concrete wall where I nailed my wall clock crashed, not it pieces, but in boulders of fractured concrete.
77th Earth Hour
A Short Story by Eduardo Bautista
After a while of standing at the podium and delivering my speech, I felt the pain crawling on both of my limbs. But then I tried to stand up staighter, and strived to relieve the heat and the tension inside myself by breathing out the air trapped inside my throat. As I realized, even the flowing of the harmless air was being intolerably painful. It turned into a moan.
I closed my electric eyes and ignore its other pain. I imagine these people listening, and was interested in doing so further, had been through the same phase as I was being now; It was popularly my technique, until their eyes wandered here and there, confused, and started to mumble words that I couldn’t decipher. It was getting noisier and my sight was blurrier. I thought I was to lose my balance then all I could remember was the hand that held my body against its unfortunate fate of falling flatly onto the antiseptic floor. I soundlessly felt the weight against the hand and everything eventually went darker than pitch-black.
As long as I’m concern, I still remember waking up in a room well-lit by all natural sources of light. I felt the rays of the sun against my skin and the blinding light reflected from the glass-latex equipment that was nailed around my neck and forehead. And moments away from premature consciousness, someone even whispered few inches from my left or right ear that I felt tickled by its warm and consoling breath. But then… still then… my earthly essence chose to be blown away by the wind like the sands of the dessert. I died exactly 8:00 PM during the 77th Earth Hour.
Going through my life, being an environmental activist was the hardest lifestyle of all. And should I correct myself from labeling it as a lifestyle? It must always be referred to as a battle.
Our population wasn’t few after all. There was a guy named James Croft from New Harvard University in Milan . He was only 23 when he started to join the Battle of Man, which, by the time, was led by me. I was 22 then; the youngest of all the 400 official members of the revolution worldwide except Nan who was the genius at 17; a thin and wholesome kid from India who chose to change his citizenship.
James, or Mr. Croft as they usually called him, before joining the revolution, had his goal, and promised to every living essence of the planet that he would fight until his last breath and sight. Together with unfathomable courage and natural longing in curing the wounded of all the wounded, we fought and there we must find happiness and fulfilled dreams of living an attempt for green holistic awakening, and thereafter a prime peddler of climatic change.
On July 30, 2082, after two years, James and I had finally been married under the blessings of St. Francis Church that had newly been erected north of Venice . It was a day I surely love to cherish, but then the revolution really was over everything else. The very morning that came after the wedding we immediately flew to Spain , and there literally exposed ourselves and our lives to danger.
Mr. Croft went separately to Zargoza to breach the technical security of the Latin United Defense who sporadically runs nuclear tests in the growing marshland of Taurel in Spain . It was greatly rumored that it wasn’t what the local authority claimed otherwise than as a breathing ground of barbaric vigilantes who crossed the span of thousands of miles from the southern tip of France for territorial invasion. It's never certain why the government tried to hide this fact in the first place. Still, United Defense wasn’t at all in slight good intention of brushing the rouge vigilantes away from its territory, but, reported as a fact, indeed running nuclear tests in preparation and inevitable international show off for the coming World War III that has currently been burning the core nations of eastern Europe shedding its misled philosophy to its neighboring geographical and economical nations.
During the same day, and during the same month when whole Europe was flexing its nuclear biceps, with the growing revolution that I was with and few selected multi-national representatives, we marched boldly across the erects of the Blue Tower in Central Vitoria, Spain to the populated urbanity of Burgos without knowing that ill luck awaited for our arrival. From there, probably the most unforgettable moment of my life as a green warrior had marked its place as four of my friends, including Nan , who was already 19, and his sweet heart Susan were selectedly arrested by the Spanish National Police that was summoned to stop every civil threats of the coming war. And our revolution was then considered to be such. A year long imprisonment was charged.
To make the incident worse and more heart breaking, a year later, as Argentina, my homeland, was finally waiting for their release, we were reached by the news that a Greek fisherman saw a large oil barrel floating nonchalantly on the other end of the Mediterranean near the shores of Gibraltar enclosing all four of my friends, not all spared from the mischievous and brutal hands of human evil observing from the bruises and ubiquitous cuts found all over their half-consumed bodies.
You wouldn’t want to imagine the effect it had upon us as some of the members decided to detach themselves from the revolution and chose to hide with their own families from what they believe was far worse than the battle we declared.
There were growing bloodshed and famine, and humanity’s third downfall against itself was gaining momentum. Few months later, the war greeted Western Europe with a nuclear blast from Portugal orchestrated by its economic rival Bohemia killing 250, 000 multi nationals and 30 billion escudos worth of properties. After 2 weeks, Canada attacked Russia from behind by bribing economic moderators from the UN, a move that triggered the second wave of the war between America and Europe which was highlighted by a 3 cubic inch magnetic bomb delivered to the heart of American economic and military data hive, deleting information that almost equaled the worth of a small independent country the size of New Guinea.
In spite all this, James and I hadn't given up from the concern we were born to live. May the war be worse or soon better, which I doubt, the heroic and persistent aim of Battle of Man is really on its feet, pretentiously sound and well, continuously proposing various ways of conserving water, food, plants and trees, harnessing the great potentials of solar, wind, and the rest of natural energy sources; all along with the unbreakable and worsening issues of misled virtues,mass hunger, collective murders, and political abuse around the world. Our publication Middle Gospel was suddenly in the brink of suspension.
On January 25, 2083, I was diagnosed of eye cancer. It was undoubtedly caused by the nuclear exposure back in Taurel. And it was very unfortunate that it hadn’t taken a year before my husband, his sister Niña, Ronnie, James’ colleague from New Harvard, and the rest of us who intentionally put the cure of earth’s biosphere over our own lives discovered their own versions of the incurable cancer.
Yes. Time passed. The war had successfully spread and destroyed the civilization that had been the enemy of nature since its dawn in Mesopotamia . And with time, it goes along with my friends and treated family who had gradually lost their individual battles against cancer, all a year before the miracle of interlaced genetics had been written among scientific journals. With the passing of my husband, I managed to perform my promise that I would be the last thing he would see before the aching lids closed from the world he had known for 28 years. During that time, I forced myself not to tell anything about my plan of giving up the revolution that we both cared about when people all over the world hadn’t given a damn for trees when even their ownselves were slowly consumed by fear of dying in the midst of modern chaos.
It must end, I told myself, when virtually no one cared about someone’s dreams and aspirations and ideals. At the peak of the war, Middle Gospel was held back momentarily, or maybe forever. For almost 2 decades I spent distributing seeds of wisdom and insights that I developed myself from the love and care I felt for the future generation who would soon dwell on this planet, I decided that I myself wouldn’t last and so might as well with the revolution that had been neither strengthened nor emphasized during its greatest hardships against other relatively temporary human concerns.
After five years, the war officially ended as was announced by the D.O.V.E Legion, the new face of United Nations, though war-related crimes still remained and rampant especially in the dark corners of each disarrayed cities.
I was faxed one day, I just came home after giving my stem cells for the aforementioned medical breakthrough to cure my cancer, if I could deliver some speech for the 100th day celebration of the third post-war era in the Legion’s first new headquarters in Darmstadt , Germany . I asked why, and later on realized how stupid it was. Of course, I’m the founder and still the leader of my own battle.
That was a night I smiled, not because of the joy that appreciated neither their appreciation nor a temporary relief from my chronic pains, but because of the lie living on this world. But no matter how hypocrite the circumstances would be, who am I to detest the Legions invitation. So I said yes, I'll come. Why not?
-THE END
12
After a while of standing at the podium and delivering my speech, I felt the pain crawling on both of my limbs. But then I tried to stand up staighter, and strived to relieve the heat and the tension inside myself by breathing out the air trapped inside my throat. As I realized, even the flowing of the harmless air was being intolerably painful. It turned into a moan.
I closed my electric eyes and ignore its other pain. I imagine these people listening, and was interested in doing so further, had been through the same phase as I was being now; It was popularly my technique, until their eyes wandered here and there, confused, and started to mumble words that I couldn’t decipher. It was getting noisier and my sight was blurrier. I thought I was to lose my balance then all I could remember was the hand that held my body against its unfortunate fate of falling flatly onto the antiseptic floor. I soundlessly felt the weight against the hand and everything eventually went darker than pitch-black.
As long as I’m concern, I still remember waking up in a room well-lit by all natural sources of light. I felt the rays of the sun against my skin and the blinding light reflected from the glass-latex equipment that was nailed around my neck and forehead. And moments away from premature consciousness, someone even whispered few inches from my left or right ear that I felt tickled by its warm and consoling breath. But then… still then… my earthly essence chose to be blown away by the wind like the sands of the dessert. I died exactly 8:00 PM during the 77th Earth Hour.
Going through my life, being an environmental activist was the hardest lifestyle of all. And should I correct myself from labeling it as a lifestyle? It must always be referred to as a battle.
Our population wasn’t few after all. There was a guy named James Croft from New Harvard University in Milan . He was only 23 when he started to join the Battle of Man, which, by the time, was led by me. I was 22 then; the youngest of all the 400 official members of the revolution worldwide except Nan who was the genius at 17; a thin and wholesome kid from India who chose to change his citizenship.
James, or Mr. Croft as they usually called him, before joining the revolution, had his goal, and promised to every living essence of the planet that he would fight until his last breath and sight. Together with unfathomable courage and natural longing in curing the wounded of all the wounded, we fought and there we must find happiness and fulfilled dreams of living an attempt for green holistic awakening, and thereafter a prime peddler of climatic change.
On July 30, 2082, after two years, James and I had finally been married under the blessings of St. Francis Church that had newly been erected north of Venice . It was a day I surely love to cherish, but then the revolution really was over everything else. The very morning that came after the wedding we immediately flew to Spain , and there literally exposed ourselves and our lives to danger.
Mr. Croft went separately to Zargoza to breach the technical security of the Latin United Defense who sporadically runs nuclear tests in the growing marshland of Taurel in Spain . It was greatly rumored that it wasn’t what the local authority claimed otherwise than as a breathing ground of barbaric vigilantes who crossed the span of thousands of miles from the southern tip of France for territorial invasion. It's never certain why the government tried to hide this fact in the first place. Still, United Defense wasn’t at all in slight good intention of brushing the rouge vigilantes away from its territory, but, reported as a fact, indeed running nuclear tests in preparation and inevitable international show off for the coming World War III that has currently been burning the core nations of eastern Europe shedding its misled philosophy to its neighboring geographical and economical nations.
During the same day, and during the same month when whole Europe was flexing its nuclear biceps, with the growing revolution that I was with and few selected multi-national representatives, we marched boldly across the erects of the Blue Tower in Central Vitoria, Spain to the populated urbanity of Burgos without knowing that ill luck awaited for our arrival. From there, probably the most unforgettable moment of my life as a green warrior had marked its place as four of my friends, including Nan , who was already 19, and his sweet heart Susan were selectedly arrested by the Spanish National Police that was summoned to stop every civil threats of the coming war. And our revolution was then considered to be such. A year long imprisonment was charged.
To make the incident worse and more heart breaking, a year later, as Argentina, my homeland, was finally waiting for their release, we were reached by the news that a Greek fisherman saw a large oil barrel floating nonchalantly on the other end of the Mediterranean near the shores of Gibraltar enclosing all four of my friends, not all spared from the mischievous and brutal hands of human evil observing from the bruises and ubiquitous cuts found all over their half-consumed bodies.
You wouldn’t want to imagine the effect it had upon us as some of the members decided to detach themselves from the revolution and chose to hide with their own families from what they believe was far worse than the battle we declared.
There were growing bloodshed and famine, and humanity’s third downfall against itself was gaining momentum. Few months later, the war greeted Western Europe with a nuclear blast from Portugal orchestrated by its economic rival Bohemia killing 250, 000 multi nationals and 30 billion escudos worth of properties. After 2 weeks, Canada attacked Russia from behind by bribing economic moderators from the UN, a move that triggered the second wave of the war between America and Europe which was highlighted by a 3 cubic inch magnetic bomb delivered to the heart of American economic and military data hive, deleting information that almost equaled the worth of a small independent country the size of New Guinea.
In spite all this, James and I hadn't given up from the concern we were born to live. May the war be worse or soon better, which I doubt, the heroic and persistent aim of Battle of Man is really on its feet, pretentiously sound and well, continuously proposing various ways of conserving water, food, plants and trees, harnessing the great potentials of solar, wind, and the rest of natural energy sources; all along with the unbreakable and worsening issues of misled virtues,mass hunger, collective murders, and political abuse around the world. Our publication Middle Gospel was suddenly in the brink of suspension.
On January 25, 2083, I was diagnosed of eye cancer. It was undoubtedly caused by the nuclear exposure back in Taurel. And it was very unfortunate that it hadn’t taken a year before my husband, his sister Niña, Ronnie, James’ colleague from New Harvard, and the rest of us who intentionally put the cure of earth’s biosphere over our own lives discovered their own versions of the incurable cancer.
Yes. Time passed. The war had successfully spread and destroyed the civilization that had been the enemy of nature since its dawn in Mesopotamia . And with time, it goes along with my friends and treated family who had gradually lost their individual battles against cancer, all a year before the miracle of interlaced genetics had been written among scientific journals. With the passing of my husband, I managed to perform my promise that I would be the last thing he would see before the aching lids closed from the world he had known for 28 years. During that time, I forced myself not to tell anything about my plan of giving up the revolution that we both cared about when people all over the world hadn’t given a damn for trees when even their ownselves were slowly consumed by fear of dying in the midst of modern chaos.
It must end, I told myself, when virtually no one cared about someone’s dreams and aspirations and ideals. At the peak of the war, Middle Gospel was held back momentarily, or maybe forever. For almost 2 decades I spent distributing seeds of wisdom and insights that I developed myself from the love and care I felt for the future generation who would soon dwell on this planet, I decided that I myself wouldn’t last and so might as well with the revolution that had been neither strengthened nor emphasized during its greatest hardships against other relatively temporary human concerns.
After five years, the war officially ended as was announced by the D.O.V.E Legion, the new face of United Nations, though war-related crimes still remained and rampant especially in the dark corners of each disarrayed cities.
I was faxed one day, I just came home after giving my stem cells for the aforementioned medical breakthrough to cure my cancer, if I could deliver some speech for the 100th day celebration of the third post-war era in the Legion’s first new headquarters in Darmstadt , Germany . I asked why, and later on realized how stupid it was. Of course, I’m the founder and still the leader of my own battle.
That was a night I smiled, not because of the joy that appreciated neither their appreciation nor a temporary relief from my chronic pains, but because of the lie living on this world. But no matter how hypocrite the circumstances would be, who am I to detest the Legions invitation. So I said yes, I'll come. Why not?
-THE END
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