Black Hull (26 page)

These, as before, are to be harvested.
Their lives will be a steady mourning, questioning, and confusion. Most of all,
pain and suffering. Why? Because humans have evaded the evil in their primary
principle: that might makes right. Because they have long-ago destroyed their
potential for evolving their empathy. But put most plainly, they wish to
consume the corpses of these souls. Do not think Mick, that either of these
worlds are isolated. They are as widespread throughout the universe as man is
itself. And humans have long ago decided to accept this as their birthright—the
resource of every and anything.

A new planet appeared. Mick watched a
green world, much the same as the first, grow larger before him. The landscape
looked like the animal world, except that the cages now, though still stacked
miles high above the planet’s surface, contained a strange creature, something
so different Mick couldn’t recognize what it was, or if it was an animal at
all. A long pipe ran along the side of each skyscraper cage, feeding whatever
it was that lay in rows in each small pen. An acrid stench filled him, as if
his sense of smell had been suddenly turned on.

Do not think, Mick, that man hasn’t
decided, in the end, to satisfy all his desires. This world, and the millions
like it, produce corpses to consume, just like the others. The culturally
created barrier that once prevented humans from dining on their most expensive
food has now been thoroughly dismissed. This is a free-range cage world. The
dish is human flesh.

This can’t be…

But I’m sorry, it is. Yet, only the most
wealthy can afford to eat this dish.

How can this all be?

How much did you pay attention to the
atrocities of your world Mick? When you read about the events of the galaxy in
your time, did you read one country’s media? Did you read the stories passed as
each nation’s understanding of truth?

No—I hated the news. Hated politics.
That’s why I went into FRINGE.

Because we all do that Mick—because,
deep down inside, we know how much we disgust ourselves, and we don’t want to
experience that reality. The truth has for too long been corrupted. The truth
is that we are a plague. And we must be destroyed.

Get me out of here—I don’t want to see
anymore. This isn’t my world.

But it will be. Whether you like it or
not. You’ll be participating in its creation.

I don’t care, let me go.

There’re two more things I want to show
you.

Mick recognized the distant shape of a
solar system. There were eight planets orbiting a sun. As they entered the
system, the outermost planet flew by. One single structure stood on it,
spanning half its globe, reaching so high that it was in space. The monument
glistened in the sunlight, made of what looked like diamond.

What is this?
FOD didn’t
reply.

The next planet swept past, this one
with a similar building straddling the entire world, only its construction
seemed to be entirely of gems. A million colors radiated, reflecting the sun’s
light.

These are homes?

Yes Mick. You’ve almost got it. They are
all in fact one home—this solar system is one of the homes of one of the
oligarchs. He owns many such solar systems.

My god…

There are millions of solar systems like
this: needlessly rich, filled with riches of a thousand worlds, all for the
pleasure, the immortal pleasure, of one human. Do you understand when I say
that this man, and each oligarch, is immortal?

I don’t know…

Some use expancapacitors, others remain
natural humans, using organ bodies. But regardless of their form, they are
unending black holes, resource cancers on a scale you cannot imagine, even if I
imparted a year’s worth of visions: food, money, sex, power, and every other
human pleasure.  

I can’t believe it.

Do you know how the oligarchs feed their
coffers?

No.

A golden sphere appeared against
blackness. Mick knew before FOD said a word:

Utopia.

You’re right. It is. But it’s not the
only one. There are, as we’ve said, millions. Do you know what Utopias are?

What?

Vacuums, merely vacuums. Do you know
what they suck?

I don’t…

Human souls. I believe that’s the term
used in your time. Today, we call them .HUM files.

But, isn’t it a heaven for those who get
in?

By heaven, do you mean oblivion, or a
total pacification of any kind of rationality, morality, or most importantly,
activism?

Mick didn’t reply.

Do you know what I am, Mick?

No…

I am the last activist. The only one.
And I will succeed. And if it pleases you, I’ll ship you back home before I do
it. Do you understand why you have to help me now? Do you understand why this
is necessary?

Why doesn’t the UCA intervene?

The UCA? How long ago, even in your
time, did you believe that government ruled?

I don’t understand.

Governments stopped ruling altogether
around the turn of the second century A.D. When society became globalized
through technology.

Stopped ruling?

A government, Mick, is meant to create
laws, and by those laws, rule.

So what happened?

An invisible force became the true ruler
of men, and in turn, the governments of men.

An invisible force?

Something entirely inhuman began to rule
over humanity, and despite that, it remained cloaked under the guise of being
the governments of the world. And eventually, the one single government, the
UCA.

What was it—the force?

What did the government want from you
Mick—why did you get into this mess in the first place, what was it you were
pursuing?

Freedom.

No, they wanted money from you. You went
on that smuggling run to get it for them.

Everyone knows money is the root of
corruption. You think you’ve figured that out on your own, and it gives you the
right to annihilate everything?

What does money represent? Power?
Resources? They all represent the invisible force.  

What is it?
 

Silence.

FOD? What does it represent?

Mick saw the dining hall table again.
FOD had been distracted. Before them stood, with a confused look on their
faces, GR, XJ, and Axa.

“What the hell were you two doing?” she
said, once again wearing clothes.

Karen’s body wriggled under a comforter.
She’d left the kids in the care of Aunt Rebecca. She lay against the warm chest
of Eric Reynolds. He was sound asleep, whisked into a land of peaceful slumber
through the sensual path she’d opened to him. She’d decided months ago that she
wouldn’t live a life without love any longer. But something startled her from
her sleep. She shot up, looked around the dark room, hit the lamp switch.

“Where’re you going?” Eric muttered,
rolling over. He watched her lower back as she stood, escaped the gravity of
his heat.

“I have to leave,” she said.

“Why? Did you have another dream?”

“Sorry, Eric. It’s over.”

“You’re not going to start this again
now are you? Jesus, it’s three in the morning.”

She didn’t respond. The voice—it had
been real. She knew it was just a dream, but somehow, she felt as if he’d
reached her through the dream. There had been no word from Mick in the last few
months. FRINGE claimed that they had delivered her messages, but he hadn’t
responded. He didn’t have to, after all. And so had begun her guilt, for she
felt he somehow knew. But tonight—the dream—he’d been calling to her, telling
her he knew what she was doing, that he wouldn’t be able to take it.

I have to tell him when he gets back.
There’s no other way to stop this.

She quickly ferreted her underwear and
bra out from under a pile of clothes, pulled on a pair of jeans and a top,
grabbed her car keys from the dresser.

“Go ahead. Leave. He’s in fucking space,
Karen. He’s gone. He’ll always be in space.”

She ignored him, the hint of anger
rising in his voice.

“I already booked the fucking hotel for
Thursday,” he said.

Saying anything, anything at all, will
keep you here. Just leave, leave and don’t look at him.

“We’ve been together for what—four
months?—and you can’t even tell me you love me? And now you’re gonna leave
again in the middle of the night?” He stood up, threw the blanket to the floor.
In his boxers, he raced to the door, barring her exit.

“Stop it. Move!” she said. Her hands
attempted to pry him off the door, but his will was implacable.

“Would you quiet down? You had another
nightmare, give it a minute, let it fade. What is this, the third time this
week? I told you you’d better see a damn doctor, get on some—”

“I don’t want any fucking pills!” she
yelled, drawing back her right arm and punching him in the shoulder. “Do you
want to lose your job, lose everything? Let me out of here.”

“C’mon baby, please. Stop, calm down.
You’re going to wake people up, get us kicked out.”

“I want to get kicked out, don’t you get
it? I’m done,” she said, starting to sob. She fell against his knees.

“Get up,” he said.

She sat on the floor, tears running,
Mick’s face mixing into her journey of lust, his voice loud at first, then
muffled, not so real as she’d believed.  Eric bent down, turned her face,
wiped her cheek. She didn’t look at him.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered. She
knew she couldn’t fight him. He was too strong. And he wouldn’t fight back. He
was everything Mick wasn’t—dependable, calm, non-violent.

That’s not true—Mick used to be those things—he did.
She couldn’t
really remember though:
Are you sure? Can you remember well enough to say
that?

Eric leaned down. He kissed her cheek,
under her eye, down toward her lips. Warmth flushed through her body. Her lips
met his lips, her tongue his—
god, why can’t I escape this? Why don’t I care
enough?

Eric pulled her up, pressed his stomach
into her, grabbed her waist, threw her down onto the bed. He pushed her legs
back, leaned his face down over her, stared into her eyes, grabbing her jaw so
she couldn’t look away:

“I’m not going to let anything happen to
you. Do you hear me?”

She stayed silent. A final tear made its
way into her mouth.

“Do you understand?” he said, pushing
his weight down on her, his musk into her nose.

“Yes,” she trembled, “yes.”

“Hello? What the hell happened?” Axa
said. The entire crew gathered around FOD, his hood down, his face luminous
under the dining hall lights.