Прохор Озорнин - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

“Forget it, Sarmael… things are… much more complicated than many believe it to be.”

“If only you have agreed to pass a course of molecular re-structuring before prescribed terms, you will most certainly…”

“…You know, Sarmael, he was right after all… how funny. Biotic prototype, living several centuries ago… as though he felt this possibility in advance.”

“Whom do you mean, mister Architect?”

“Their writer, Sarmael… a human being. How did conquered natives from their proto-planet named him… Orwell, I think. This asshole… as if he foreknew what has been awaiting us! As if he was making a tracing-paper copy from our civilization, see it? Till now my biotic reason refuses to believe in the possibility of something similar.”

“But, mister Architect, most probably it's all just a sort of imagination of a sick human reason, feeling an acute shortage of hormones of the cyclic structure of a kind…”

“He has been told, Sarmael. By someone still unknown to us. Someone so immensely powerful…”

“I do not consider myself in position to impose own opinion, mister Architect, however, I do want to notice, that a public model constructed by us knows no defect known to our science and therefore can be recognized as one of the most perfect in the Universe.”

“We have done everything to not let them rebel once again, yes?”

“Exactly, mister Architect. More than it was required. Totally loyal herd. Full biotic-informational control over emotions. Exploiting of emotional explosions of a low order, mutual hatred included. Counters of shops, bursting with a cargo of ultrafashionable gadgets. Socially glorified sexual orgies. A rewritten anew history of their races. Destroyed historical and cultural originality. A set of cogitative stamps and patriotic slogans softly and systematically injected into their minds. A science, moved by rails of world dissemination into molecules and atoms. Ideally verified and created historical-ideological substantiation of our rule and whim over them.

Steadily built cities-ant-hills, so strengthening a sensation of own meanness and uselessness in the surrounding of those thousand-meters high structures, aspiring to reach the very sky. Chemical-biotic medical cures, stimulating a sense of euphoria and inexpressible self-satisfaction. Encouragement of institute of cannibalism for the purpose of stabilization of a spasmodic growth of their numbers. And that main thing that helps to keep subdued races from their second revolt – total and full spiritual atheism, eradication of a very thought of the possibility of Higher Reason's existence.”

“I see that they began to teach you much better now, Sarmael, even though your ‘report’ makes no sense. Yes, Sarmael, everything is so… and not so at the same time. Tell me, did it ever seemed to you that we… that we either became too perfect to keep our interest in ruling over this galaxy or too imperfect to keep the right to continue doing so? Do you… understand me, my friend?”

“Not fully, to tell the truth. Whether this galactic empire made by us do not seem to you as an ideal for our interests? We have done everything the way our ancestors, who first constructed Artificial Intelligence, desired to. And you, mister Architect, supervised over this process of our race's reincarnation.”

“Yes, Sarmael, we have done everything right. Too perfect, probably… as if following some other's plan. But they still haven't taken into account… one unique aspect… that we… still, have… souls.”

“Are you now trying to make me think, mister Architect, that you believe in the existence of the Higher Reason? Our scientists have proved a long time ago that even such a hypothetical possibility creates…”

“I have lived for much longer, that one such as you can dare to imagine, Sarmael, and during all this life of… restructured human… I still was capable to comprehend a single thing… the world which we have ruined was too beautiful and wonderful to simply be someone's casual whim…”

***

System error. Critical hindrance. Considerable deviations of electro-information fluctuations in “Delta” sector are discovered. Sinusoidal hindrances of the fifth level of “Quappa” galaxy. Distortion of historical-chronological, time and spiritually-world-outlook continuums. Formation of the theoretical possibility of exponential outburst and destruction of cryo-metastasis life-support capsules. The non-zero probability of illusions' vanishing, supporting the System being. Involved programs: “Architect”, “Sarmael”. Methods of self-control System's restoration are in action. Program “Architect” is subject to revision. Program “Sarmael” is isolated in the sixth sub-dimensional continuum. Forced reboot initiated…

25.10.2012

“B-o-o-o-o! W-o-o-o-o!” something hooted in a distance.

“Who is crying over there?” the Man was disturbed.

“It's me – Fear!” answered the Fear. “And I am not crying at all, but frightening instead. Be afraid of me!”

“What for?” the Man was surprised.

“You are obliged to! Everyone is afraid, and so will you! It's simply a matter of time.”

“Somehow I cannot see you…” the Man doubted.

“For certain!” guffawed the Fear. “That's because most important things are invisible! B-o-o-o-o!”

“And how do you look like then, Fear?” the Man was curious.

“I have many forms!” proudly howled the Fear. “I happen to be truly wild and horrific, I can become stupefying as well, capable to remain reserved and careful so that people don't understand that it's still me. I am the F-e-a-r! Are you terrified?!”

“Don't know for certain,” the Man admitted honestly. “Still didn't taste it fully.”

“You must be truly stupid!” the Fear was annoyed. “That's always being the case with you, idiots. You are even incapable to fully understand and experience the essence of fear. Too little brains, perhaps? Didn't parents teach you to be afraid of something in childhood?”

“Parents told me that to be afraid of nonsenses is a nonsense!” the Man honestly admitted.

“You… coward!” hissed the Fear. “You are all cowards, one way or another! It's possible to find cracks in each house… I will get through it and take over… b-o-o-o-o! Tell me,” the Fear suddenly changed the tone, “do you desire… power?”

“What's the reason?” the Man was surprised. “Only the headache comes out of it.”

“Too bad!” spat the Fear. “I won't be able to control you through it then.”

“I am not afraid of getting power,” smiled the Man. “I simply don't need it.”

“Not to get, you clodhopper, but to lose! You all aren't afraid to get something, especially from what is coming in your hands by itself willingly, but to lose it all afterward…”

“To be afraid to lose something? What exactly?”

“O-o-o-o… some many things, so many illusions!” laughed the Fear. “Riches, authorities, prestige, comfort, faith, love!”

“One cannot be stripped of love and faith,” firmly told the Man, “for they are living inside of us!”

“Certainly, certainly!” the Fear calmed him down. “You are probably one of the clever ones which I have encountered today. But would you know how many people are afraid of losing what they call as ‘love’. Pure physiology!” the Fear continued guffawing. “If you would only know how many of them we together with my friend Offense have already sent straight to the Other World recently due to that very ‘non-mutual love’… you wouldn't smile with that silly smile of yours any longer. B-o-o-o! W-o-o-o! F-o-o-o!”

“You, bastard!” shouted the Man. “For long I have had a feeling that deeds of yours are dark!”