BIBLE STORY (Copy of Drishnu)
Part one; THE OPEN BOOK
A drop of glistening mercury appears a meter above the rocky sand of a harsh, beautiful desert. It glitters and fizzles like lithium in water. It grows and flattens, a thin shimmering membrane, oblivious to the wind. It stretches like a drumskin. A man slips through with a lithe jump. He looks around sharply, every movement both controlled yet casual.
A wind laden with blurring tan dust blows across the skin of the desert. Quarter of a huge orange moon shines down. It was night but the demon could see clearly. He had the body of Milton Brown, but what was his name this time? Vode? That would do for now. He saw that both hands carried something. He had a large bluish jewel in his right hand and a black book in his left hand. So he’s be called Vode. He had Milton’s body but none of his previous movements. The look in his dark blue eyes was rather inhuman. Now he needed a cover name.
Self-naming on a new planet was the first armoring ritual of his profession. The portal shrank and fizzled out of existence behind him. It was close to the end of The Age of Myron in this universe. More and more beings were learning to use their own portals and escape Myron’s Temple portal monopoly of transport.
“Em en,” he murmured, recalling his Earthling alphabet. It was one of the most deadly and secret Alphabets known to the Demon-assassin, a part of the black arts he had studied for the last thirty seven years. “Welcome Planet Hades, my name is Nonyra.” The sobbing of the wind was his answer, a sound that had been rising and falling continuously. Now it rose. Dust clogged his nose and got in his eyes.
Nonyra blinked and studied the jewel. There were many kinds, but most encoded great stores of information at the molecular level. They had projection and exfoliation capacities. If he had wanted to seed this planet with an entire new ecology he would have used such a jewel. But this blue jewel with complex facets was of a different kind. It was similar to the planetary one. They could include civilizations of any known kind of being, down to the thoughts in the minds of each being.
But this jewel was something he had not seen before. Nonyra turned his attention to the book. The cover had a curious symbol. He opened the book and began to read.
THE ORIGINAL BIBLE
Harold Anton Kruger 20005
CHAPTER ONE
“Ow! Hold on, is this thing working? Are we recording?”
In the beginning darkness ruled the non-existent universe and Queshar the Demon Lady groaned. She had to wake up and create everything and she still felt hung-over from the party. She first created a green tree-frog, a few witching-clocks and she made the stars also as a dim light tolerable to her puffy eyes.
“What a bother,” she muttered, “How can we have a beginning? Linear time makes no sense to me and circular time is not going to be…er, wait, this isn’t making much sense. Frog! Wind up my witching-clocks. One forward time and one backward time from here. Then the third time can---,”
“Hold on,” said the frog, “He started as a wart on my stomach.”
“No time for jokes, silly frog. You suffer disorientation at the beginning. Now we have to organize creation. We have a few trillion stars but I’m not getting close to any bright light until lunchtime, so wind up the witching-clocks. To do it properly I could give birth to the cosmic Demon Lord and call him Rashalika. That would be a huge effort, however, and I’m exhausted already. If we make days I’m going to start with the Sabbath and go back to bed.”
“I’m winding the first witching-clock and we already have both of us and heaps of stars,” Said the green tree frog.
“Dratted doobries on toast,” Queshar complained, “there’s no rest for the wicked. I suppose I have to make a day of it, but next creation on my list is coffee and a serving-Hobbit to bring it to me. So that’s frog, clocks, stars, coffee and Hobbits. Now what can we have next and what goes first?”
“Well, surely you go first and I’m the number-one creation.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions frog, time is also running backwards and sideways from this point. I may start with a mousy little mouse..”
“Pure pest to some. Let’s have a tree next, a tree for little young me.”
“Very well, here is a tree. Now we need planets.”
“Start with Earth, I feel a bond…”
“Nothing too obscure. First the Planet Nuvol and the planets of the Nuvol sector.”
“Why not leap from Nuvol to the major planets of each sector? Then details come later.”
“Well, I’ve been offered a Goddess position in the Nuvol sector of planets. The other sectors may not even know of my name.”
“Is that by the backwards time clock? They might learn if you create them.”
“That’s a point, and it is a bit more systematic…where’s that coffee? Cornel!”
A Hobbit in colourful clothes appeared with a silver tray. On the tray was a steaming cup.
“Good Evening, My Lady. Coffee is served.”
“Good Morning, Cornel. Creation is a headache.”
“As you say, My Lady. What are you creating now?”
“Well, we had tree, which as you see has a frog on it now, and we are doing major sector planets.”
“Let them ripen as round fruit on the tree of frog.”
“Very poetic, Hobbit. Now we must name them. Nuvol, Tegal, Jaragul, Kuvia, Meliop, Zatog….mmm, let me see, Bassal, Rovia, Rashalika, Peel, Duvol. Your turn, frog.” Queshar quaffed her coffee.
“Frep, Jal, Fel, Tibal, Serath---,”
“Alright, enough sector planets for now. Look at all the work we have cut out for us. We have to go into each sector and fill them up with named planets. So within the Meliop sector we have Meliop, Dodcap, Medlap, Kukan, Kazop, Teshtop, Seswar, Nekia, Sepina, Toshdoc, Lulashan, Zmushan, Keyshan, Senuit, Tocufan, Glaria, Bacuic, Shamuskwon, Syronsene, Devus quoll, Modpa, Janken, Droset, Sedia, Tutisvar, Zoda, Shemisya, Kasukul, Nydal, Gesulary, Trablan D, Esturas, Mondwa and Payzu. It strikes me as tedious work, I must say. Your turn, Cornel. Choose a sector and fill in the planets.”
“I’ll do the Gweldorf sector with Gweldorf, Hades, Capanecta, Susemor---“
“We don’t have a Gweldorf sector yet, that’s all out of sequence.” Said Frog.
“Listen to the planets, Frog, you get your turn later. Susemore, Fratac, Bakshelia, Verath, Serath, Dalurth, Earth, Jaragul, Twilight 7, Pangolin, Trafel, Moraden, Kesteel, Jalantra---,”
“Kuvia! I go Kuvia, Meshwesh, Krilo, Tenk, Yop, Delcos….”
CHAPTER TWO Genesis
Nonyra looked up. The wind had died down. The huge orange Moon had moved to another part of the sky. He frowned, hating the way they encoded his vital mission information in such silly, long-winded text. But there was nothing for it. He had come across none of the indicators early in the text. It was even possible there were errors in the organization system, and real junk was getting in, but he could only judge by reading on. By the end of a very long list of planets the story appeared to start again.
CHAPTER TWO GENESIS
In the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth. From my perspective at the time I just didn’t know enough to see things differently. There I am in the womb being contracted and squeezed to death by something all around me I assumed was the whole universe that loved me and gave me everything I desired. The nightmare squeezing sessions went on for hours. Then they stopped completely. My surrounding Universe died. Then God Almighty cut the universe open with an Iron knife he’d bartered from the Hittite, and that knife is still in my possession. He said “Let there be light” How amazing was that? I had eyes developed for sight and the universe had no light in it until God created the whole world and let the light seep into my painful, greedy eyes. I cried and cried, and my father looked around the simple shepherd’s tent in dismay, as if he didn’t know what to do, so he chose a new persona, to be called “The Lord God”, and just began to improvise with the material handy. Well, we had an entire week to create a world, and I lived by the nanosecond. Surely we could sort it out together by then. But father had lost his Goddess. He liked to pretend that flesh was his transformation out of clay, and he tended to resent me for killing the Goddess.
I really didn’t mean to. The problem for me was the end of gestation, when the universe hurts and rejects you for no apparent reason. I thought the whole point was for me to keep growing in the womb, since at that stage I didn’t even know I was considered a separate being in the first place. But God resented me and made a very big deal about the difference between us, so he tried to make the world without my help at all! He thought I was just a burden or a problem or a mistake. Later in life he got good at shouting my name, “ADAM! What on Earth do you think you are doing?”
“Playing?”
“Well stop it and look after the Goats. I’m working hard at some special secret adult business, and the important work around here, in the physical world, is minding the goats. You mind those goats, Adam, and you might be forgiven. But that's all up to me, and lately you just put me in a bad mood with your naughty playing. Just mind the stupid goats!"
Insert Beta; Creation Summit 4004 AD
Nonyra squinted at the page. The orange quarter moon was too low, he could hardly see, although there was no dust blowing now. “Vode calls Guru” he whispered in a curiously precise tone. Guru, the silver crow was on that frequency. He slipped through a little reddish portal and landed on Nonyra’s shoulder. “Vode calls chair.” His green leather armchair appeared and he sat down. It was good to be home. These days he didn’t do many missions, and did not deal with many material objects. His home was the planet location where he sat in his special chair. The chair and guru were usually his only companions, and the only material objects close to him. He already felt the extra burden of the book and the jewel. Guru shone a soft yellow light on the book and the Jewel. The light beamed out from the iridescent feathers of his chest.
Nonrya studied the jewel again. It seemed to be specialized for beings, and in fact Nonyra could now read the pattern of the facet. It was not set for ordinary colonists, but aimed to barter for the time of very powerful and important beings. Perhaps it was an army to invade Hades with a highly advanced warrior general or two. They spread themselves thin and were wanted for battles all over the galaxy. Warriors were usually in demand near the end of an age. Should he summon them now and plan the campaign? There were always tough decisions to be made. He did not know for sure that is was an invasion. That made his mind up, he would have to read a few more chapters. If the indicators did not show up soon he would use the jewel.
THE CREATION SUMMIT
VENUE : The Moon Qaugeloiths of the planet Dalurth of star Migripesh 2212
Chairman Myron the sorcerer Demon Lord
Secretary Android 912 of Dalurth
Butler Homo Habilus droid klug of Trafel
God Yahweh, God of Abraham of Earth
Cat Little Mouse guilt-droid of Venus
Mouse Mus nibblus of Pangolin
Churchman Bishop Liverby of Nuvol
Token Female 1 Cyborg Wamillia of Tiboria
Token Female 2 Clara Bent of Trafel
Token Alien 1 Klorshdid Snruukpn of Kuvia
Token Alien 2 Master Ring Slruoshdip of Meliop
Frog Guilt-droid Green Tree-frog 660S
Philosopher Dr Sebastian Deathridge of Duskavin
Myron called for order as a glint of golden light flashed across the room reflecting off 21 shiny things; metallic sunglasses, gold and diamond rings and so on. Actually three of the rings were worn by Bishop Liverby of Nuvol and were in communication with the Bishop Liverby of Serath.
So, when Dad cut me out of there with the sharp iron knife, there was light, and far too much. I complained, so dad gradually turned the dimmer down. He certainly took his time, but after a few days the light was OK. Actually it was similar with most of my senses. I grew Up listening to odd, organic underwater sounds, but after the waters were separated from dry land, the same way Caesar was born, I think, Dad turned the volume up way too loud, so he always though I was deaf and I always thought he was angry. Well, emotion was quite a problem for him. But he wasn’t all bad. I remember being right into natural science as a kid. I collected any kind of weed or beetle I could find, and I would ask Dad what it was. He got sick of this because he didn’t know the names of plants and animals, so he’d say, well Adam, why don’t you tell me? And I would make up the names of all the living things.
Insert lambda beta;
Nony looked up. The desert was dark aside from the immediate pool of light projected by the silver crow. “Found it?” asked Guru softly.
“Yes, this is the indicator. It’s not going to be that kind of battle. Two Demon Lords will fight to the death after a party. At last I can skip a few pages. The Jewel information can’t be far away.”
“Well I don’t see why we can’t do this from Serath.”
“Vode is Nonyra, and I could only find out by visiting Hades.”
“Then perhaps a third name would speed things up. I can call you Nony.”
“Well, that’s possibly for the one I am to meet. The thing is I don’t need to speed up at the moment. The timing is subtle. I like time to think so I like the information fast. Action is another matter. The timing of any mission at the end of a dying age is crucial. You know that I just don’t enjoy wading through all the trivia. Just part of the job, I suppose.”
“Nony, I don’t want to skip chapters”
“You don’t even have to read”
“Well I have been, and I don’t know your indicators, but I think I’m on to something else. Please turn the page.”
.
How exactly will it happen? There are many possibilities.
Ah, well you notice that the father puts a huge distance between his son and himself, then he likes to be ultra-conservative and lay down strict laws when the child wants to change and grow and learn. In the end he lays down ten commandments which the descendants must break, thus they come to honor the prince of darkness. It’s all very black and white you see. The commandments are contradictory.
!2 02, at last the witching hour has arrived husked Wamillia. She opened her eyes. She was in the boardroom for the New Creation Summit. The Android 912 was saying something about a Kruger who he knew. Apparently the Kruger knew very little about the 912. Had Wamillia missed much of the proceedings? She gazed out at the harsh Moonscape. A great gas giant hung in the scintillating skies. Wamillia flashed an eyebrow message to the feline guiltdroid called Little Mouse. Little Mouse responded in ear twitch language that they were up to the Holy Bible.
“Order” called Myron, the sorcerer Demonlord.
“Excuse Me,” said a purple alien called Klorshdid of Kuvia, “Myself and Master Ring Slruoshdip of Meliop are representing a vast range of different Species that you class as alien and none of us have developed the precise concept you call “Order”.”
Myron took a flat gun from the tabletop and shot Klorshdid dead. “There, I understand we now have order.” Said Myron in his precise yet casual manner.
CHAPTER THREE The Holy Bible
“Order! Order!” Called Myron from the head of the table.
“On our planet,” began one alien, but his sentence was cut short.
“The creation Summit will come to Order!” called Myron enthusiastically. Apparently there’s was something ironically funny to him, that he pretended to struggle to conceal.
“Secwa from beyond the void of power sends his apologies, as do most of the beings. No Buddha, no Christ, not even Ringo could make it from the Earth. The Christian God could not make it, though we have Yahweh of the Jews.”
“Not even Rashalika from the Demon Lords? “ asked 912, the android secretary.
“Demon Lords. No, Rashalika said I could be free of the Little Ring If I stood in his proxy, as they used to say.”
“And you are . . .Myron?”
“That is correct, the Sorcerer Demon Lord.”
“It sounds a bit on the evil side, to be blunt.”
“Well I am the most evil card in the deck, that is to say I dabble in darkness a bit.”
“This is a most disappointing turn out for such a Summit,”
“An unpatriotic statement, I think I should melt you.”
“Oh it’s even more unpatriotic to melt an android.”
“This was supposed to be a prestigious Summit for the creation.”
“That’s right,” said Yahweh, “I’ve already created the Earth. And the Heavens.”
“That’s why we have to do it again,” said Myron.
“Please don’t shoot any more visitors. They have come from so far to reach the Summit on time. They take this fiasco seriously.”
“I take this fiasco most seriously myself,” said Myron in a curious tone. “Now suppose we start the universe after lunch? It can start at one O’clock, or Zero O’clock as the Curuls would have it. At British meantime as various Earthlings say.”
“It’s fifty of my clock, and this is said, so this is written. Gosh, that was close.” Said the green tree frog.
“So who will transcribe this Holy Bible when it comes around?”
“Frank could do it.”
“Frank sent his apologies.”
“This is tedious.”
“We can get an Earthling Author write it. Kruger is in the best condition for writing the Original Bible right now. Let’s get him to do it.”
“We say OK to that.”
“And the Creation? Shall we stick to Yahweh? Few of the Demonlords seem to enjoy this kind of creation. Let a God do that kind of work, they say. Meanwhile there is an eclipse.” Said Dr Deathridge,. “It’s this strange Earth cult that wants to culturally dominate.”
“That’s right, only two beings here have alien origins, everything else can be traced to Earth; Men, Androids, Guiltdroids, Cyborgs. All from Earth, Gentlemen.”
“I’m from Venus,” said Littlemouse.
“The new God can create the new world.”
“Which God?”
“I thought there was only one.”
“Apparently there are huge populations of Gods in distant dimensions.”
“Perhaps, but if we stick to one Bible then we have one God.”
“There are lots of Bibles, and I am from Venus.”
“You can’t be the creator God, Little Mouse.”
“I don’t really want to be. It sounds like a lot of physical labor. Even God needs a rest after six days of it, which is an interesting notion to ponder.”
“We are not here to ponder notions,” said Myron, “we are here to fulfill the objectives of a creation Summit. I think we should concentrate on creating the universe and writing it in a Bible. That’s the idea. Do you think all you knuckleheads can handle that?”
“With all due respects we are not knuckleheads,” said 901.
“Then why do you talk like knuckleheads?”
“Look, Myron, we have many divergent species here all trying to agree on some very arcane subject matter. It will be moot toast if the French come up with it first.”
“An interesting retreat within Jargon, yet I can only speak of subjective intelligence, and compared to me you happen to be a bunch of knuckleheads.”
“No word we call “tact” on Hades? I knew we should have had at least Rashalika from the Demon Lords.” Said 912 sorrowfully.
“Come on,” said Myron, “I am an excellent example of a Demonlord, I just don’t like to talk about it. Methods vary, but the aim remains the same. Shall we create a world?”
“Oh, lets get on with it,” said Little Mouse.
“I want to be the creator,” said the green tree frog.
“We really need a Goddess,” put in Wamillia, “There are only two females here, and I’m not even a womandroid, I’m a Cyborg. Every other being here is male or sexless. It’s a disgrace. What we need is a Goddess.”
“How interesting,” said Myron, “What else can we come up with?”
“We need a Semolina style God,” said the alien Master Ring Slruoshdip, “we’ve never had a God before and I must say it is very exciting”
“This is most irregular,” said Bishop Liverby, “this whole discussion is totally fantastic. You can’t re-create the creation.”
“Then why are you here?” asked 912
“To make a statement for truth. You are all hideously Postmodern as far as I can see. The Church needs a political voice and that’s what I represent. You simply cannot, long after the creation, hold a creation Summit to do it again.”
“Ah,” purred Myron, “but that is exactly what we are doing. Time is not what it seems. I use about eight different temporal dimensions myself, which helps if I want to get a lot done. In fact I’m probably more equipped than anyone else here to create the universe as we know it. I’ve even completed a workshop on Celestial Mechanics. We were learning to spin galaxies to start with. The lecturer was Rashalika, as it turned out.”
“Wait!” called Wamillia, “what you are suggesting is not what can happen at a summit.”
“It just has,” said Myron, “I’m the Judge here, but just to be polite I can compromise. I won’t bother being the Creation God, but I nominate the Demon Lady Queshar, she can do it, which will please the feminists. Also I will inspire this Kruger in the past to write The Original Bible. That’s some kind of Bible as far as we know. This Summit is declared complete and ended.”
“It was a total fiasco,” Wamillia was saying to Bishop Liverby in the lobby after all the noisy shuffling out was over. “But this is a wonderful location. Such a beautiful Moon.”
“I don’t care for the Moon,” said Liverby, “but I can agree with your remarks. I simply cannot see the point. We must be existing after the creation. Eight times, I ask you. And the Original Bible! I ask you. I’ve been told that we appear in it but the only copies are now locked in the Vatican library. It’s a total fraud, a bunch of fantasy writing just given the name of “The Original Bible.” It’s nothing like the other Bibles.”
“Oh, I always assumed that the Bible was a bunch of fantasy writings.”
“Ah, no, It’s historically accurate.”
“So was the second world war.”
“I think we have crossed wires.”
“Well you won’t cross my wire, wiseguy.”
“Oh dear, another social blunder.”
“Ah, Liverby,” said 912, “I understand that none of the Popes could make it.”
“And I understand that there is only one pope and he sent me.”
“We do seem to have a communication problem with the Church.”
“And you will have until you go back to real time. I’m sorry but I must be firm. One Time, One Bible, and only One God.”
“Well there’s Yahweh. Is he your one God?”
“Not exactly, no. God is not so, ah, physical. I must doubt that he is the real Yahweh.”
“You are pretty hard line on this Reality business.”
“Yes, and I will insist on it.”
“Gosh, that’s so old-fashioned. The year is now 4004.”
“I know that.”
“The Original Bible was written in about 2004, thus Two Thousand years. Someone up there is counting.”
“Well, Kruger can’t count, that’s for sure.”
“Can you count up to zero, starting with minus infinity?”
“Little Mouse, we are having a serious discussion.”
“Oh it doesn’t sound like it to me. I bet Kruger could count. I was built in honor of his very own personal cat. He used to call me mousy little cat pussy dragon mouse cat.”
“Did he really? I thought he had lots of cats.”
“I was the favorite.”
“How can you tell?” asked Wamillia, “and what does it matter?”
“What does creation matter? But we all came to the picnic anyway. I can just tell that I’m a highly favored cat.”
“Then why is your name Mouse?”
“A Silver Crow told me.”
CHAPTER FOUR The Silver Crow
The Silver Crow remained perched on the polished brass handle of the casket. Despite the expectations of Milton Brown, it would not be scared away.
“Your shadow is behind you, but don’t look back over your shoulder or you will end up inside the casket, and take my word for it, you don’t want to look in there.”
“I’m just not used to a talking crow.”
“Silver Crow.”
“Yes, silver. Why silver?”
“That’s a long story starting with C.”
“Listen, I’m really in no mood for riddles here. I think I’m dying of thirst.”
“You will unless you follow me. There’s an oasis, but no people. No Hobbits. I have to guide you there. Water! Water!”
“OK, I’ll follow you.”
“And you won’t come back to look in this casket at a later time.”
“I won’t?”
“No, you won’t. What do you think is in here? Interesting books or something? This is your coffin. Keep away.”
CHAPTER FIVE Biblical Magic Reference
“Listen, Guru, we don’t really have to wade through this silly story book. The real mission just requires a bit of extra data. Let’s flip through all the nonsense and then have a long discussion on mission strategy. I like to have plenty of time.”
“I’m already in the story,” said Guru, “We must read on.”
CHAPTER SIX Guru
The Crow was still on the handle of the coffin when Milton approached.
“Caw”
“That’s very bold, for a crow.”
“Thank-you, maybe I am.”
Milton took a step back, “Oh, a talking machine!”
“Likewise, I’m sure. You see all that time I was perching on Myron’s shoulder. Nobody seemed to notice.” The silver crow looked at Milton, first with one eye, then with the other. “I suppose the crows never talk where you come from.”
“Ah, no. But do you know where I come from?”
“Trafel. Only the larger guiltdroids are given speech circuits on Trafel. That’s Cadwell for you. Actually he owns a silver crow but no one else has heard it speak. The rules are a bit different here. This is Pangolin. The resident Demon Lord is kind, are you not?”
“Um, that’s not me, I’m afraid.”
“How do you know? With that rickety epistemology? You don’t even know how you know as something with a history and a beginning.”
“And is that, ah, relevant?”
“Completely. You have to know what knowledge is or it hardly counts that you know something.”
“This is hardly the time for ..”
“Time to be going.”
The crow cawed very loudly and beat its wings. Flashes of reflected sunlight dazzled Milton. He seemed to fall. His sensations became dreamlike. Sounds stretched and distorted. He felt cool at last, then cold.
“Milton?”
“What? What happened?”
“I transported us. You were stuck in a repeating loop of events, you know.”
Milton found himself lying on unpleasantly cold ground. The silver crow was perched on an ancient tombstone. Milton climbed unsteadily to his feet. The grave was in sparsely wooded country, and Milton could see more of them dotted about. Guru hopped to the next tombstone. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”
“Late for what?”
“The summit.”
“Look, I really don’t understand what’s going on here. Where are we?” Milton began to follow Guru.
“Secret location for the summit.” The silver crow flew to another tombstone as soon as Milton got close.
“And why would I, of all people, be invited to any kind of summit?”
“That’s a very good question.” Guru waited until Milton was close and prepared to launch again.
“Wait! What is on the tombstone? It’s in a different language.”
Guru hopped to the ground before the stone. “Yes, an ancient language. It says Mesoc son of Yattarak. He lived 721 years, begat sons and daughters, then he died. They all say something similar, and I don’t think we have time to read them.”
“721 years? It hardly sounds human.”
“Oh, it’s human alright. Trust me. Come on, we have to get going.”
As he walked through the woods from grave to grave Milton found that the patches of sweat on his jumpsuit were freezing cold, and the suit itself seemed astonishingly flimsy for the climate. He wondered if this was another part of Pangolin or not. It could be anywhere in the colonized Galaxy as far as he knew. He gazed at the endless expanse of Tombstones. It was all a bit morbid.
Eventually they reached an area suffused with golden light. The light came from a small globe that hung in the air. Below the globe was an alien sitting in a leather armchair. It faced an empty armchair across a small table with a chessboard surface.
“Please remove your watch,” said Guru.
“What?”
“Take off your watch. Strap it on to one of these saplings. A watch here would be very impolite, you understand.”
“I don’t understand anything,” grumbled Milton, but he followed the instructions. Then, cautiously he approached the alien and sat down in the vacant leather armchair, under the golden light.
“Benison,” said the alien.
“Um, what did he say?” Milton asked Guru, who was perched on a nearby branch.
“He said Benison.”
“Yes, but what does it mean?”
“Well, he is speaking English for your benefit, and Benison is an English word.”
“Yes, but I’ve never heard of it.”
“Well, it’s related to terms such as benevolent and benefit, and means good intension greetings or something similar. I suggest you reply with the same term.”
“Benison,” said Milton, with an almost questioning tone.
“Please drink water.” Said the alien. There were glasses of water on the chessboard table, and a plate with what appeared to be buttons on it. Milton found that he was still thirsty after his ordeal in the desert, and gladly finished the water.
“Would you eat cake?” The alien gestured towards the plate of buttons, “I warn you of the toxicity.”
“What?”
“If you don’t eat, you live. Then you live in debt to me, for I will have saved your life. Will you eat the poisoned cake?”
“No, of course I won’t eat it if it’s poisoned. What is this?”
“Oh it’s a standard friendship ritual where he comes from,” said Guru, “Now you can trust each other because he has just saved your life. He was not obliged to tell you that the cake was poisoned, you see.”
“Isn’t it bad manners at the least to even provide this poisoned “cake”?”
“Not according to his species, at this point in cultural time. Now just avoid the cake and you will have made great progress. At this moment you represent all mankind. He was not at all happy with his treatment at the creation summit, so he decided to hold another one.”
“But no one else is even here.”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know. A large group of important people, I imagine.”
“That’s what the first summit was, and he didn’t like it. As such alien-human relations got off to a very bad start. Luckily he thought of holding a second summit where less could go wrong.”
“Less could go wrong? I could have eaten the poisoned buttons.”
“But he saved your life instead, so everything is off to a fabulous start.”
“Help my tactics for dealing with the Demonlord,” said the alien
“What on Dalurth is happening?” asked Milton
CHAPTER SEVEN
Milton hurried to catch up with the silver crow as it fluttered from headstone to headstone. The air was cold and foggy, the terrain sloping downhill. Milton thought he saw water.
“Wait, translate this tombstone for me.”
“Issariac, son of Groshnor. He begat sons and daughters. He lived 902 years and then he died. Now we better get going or we will die. Mustn’t miss the boat after all this.”
Milton scrambled down a cloying earthen bank and they came to the edge of a large body of water, perhaps a lake. There was indeed a boat, and some kind of man or robot was provided, with oars.
Guru jumped to the narkuswahl of the aft flotsam retaliator, “All aboard!” he hooted
“Um,” said Milton.
“Come on, we are expected. It’s all arranged. This is our rowing robot, Glerph. And we are in escape mode. I arranged a holographic copy, a simple replica of you to deal with the alien, but he could be onto us at any time.”
Milton jumped into the boat and they pushed off.
“Well, actually,” said Guru, “that simple replica might keep him entertained for the next decade.”
“Really?” asked Milton with some irony, ”and how simple is this replica?”
“Well, it’s actually a similar complexity to you, but simple to produce.”
“A bit like fractal geometry…” began Glerph who was rowing steadily towards the island of enlightenment.
“None of that!” cawed Guru, “there will be no higher mathematics on board. I may have to proclaim myself Captain and lay down the rules.”
Milton watched eddies of fog drift over the dark, placid water. He settled himself in the part of the boat called the de scubbers and rubbed a sore knee. The steady motion of the boat led him to a profound snooze.
Milton stood in the blinding sunlight of the desert on Pangolin. The silver crow rustled its metallic feathers and flapped its wings, cawing loudly. Milton felt the reflections of burning light attack him, and then an unknown part of himself woke up. His body ducked and swivelled, hands lashing out to chop at the surrogate bird. It fell to the sand and made strange noises.
Milton rushed to the polished casket and heaved the lid open. Inside he found books. Books and a cool breeze. His hands focused on one volume in particular. A certain book. It was the Original Bible by Harold Anton Kruger. Milton had no time to read any of the document. He could hear strange sounds. He looked back to see the Silver crow projecting holographs of people. One was dressed in flowing robes and had an ornate, cumbersome mask over its head.
“Trumple your vestuaries, piker” he cried, gesturing melodramatically. Then several things happened at once. A voice called out , “Oh Quelshar!” A shot fired and bounced off the coffin lid. Milton jumped. His foot went through the rusty floorboards and soon he was falling among vines and creepers. The creepers became a mass of people. They all slowed down and spilled out into the lobby of a huge building that may have been a million light-years away from Pangolin for all he knew.
Running around an unknown city with only a jumpsuit and a Bible was not known as a great recipe for success. Milton blamed the bananas. He sat on a metal bench, and began to leaf through the book. Curiously enough he featured in the story.
“This is bizarre,” he muttered.
“Some new backgram hulch you got there?” asked the youth next to him.
“Oh, this book?”
“Theesbuk? Never saw no pager-spiel like that one.”
“Nor have I.”
“No hulch? Take it up to Uni. They know all the latest peacemeal up there.”
The prism span gently in the breeze, directing coloured light first one way and then another. Milton woke up in the boat. What strange dreams.
Milton took the local tram up to the uni. His ride was uneventful except for one small detail. A man on the tram had a mouse in his top pocket. Milton saw its white, whiskery head emerge from time to time.
Once inside the Uni, Milton was eventually directed to professor Kario, who seemed intrigued by the book. Kario had a round, bald, tanned head. His face was a mass of wrinkles and little bloats of fat done in tucks and gathers like surrogate pork.
“So what have we here?”
“A strange book.”
“You don’t remember me, do you, Milton?”
“No.”
“And now you have found a buk. Where was it?”
“On the planet of Pangolin, in a coffin.”
“These are as rare as men’s beaks, you know. Lucky you brought it to an expert.”
“Do you want to read it?”
“Woah, not so hasty. We are not even sure the machine has a ‘read’ capacity.”
Milton gazed around the Professor’s office. He noticed a curious chart. All letters of the alphabet, complete with punctuation marks, were represented, but scrambled, so not in alphabetic order at all. The chart read; K, O, B, L, S, P, J, Q, and so on.
Milton tried to talk to Kario about this but they were on different wavelengths. He called the chart a superficial graph and tried to explain how the semiconductors on the Buk surfaces regularly came in these shapes and nobody knew why. Milton wanted to demonstrate reading from the Buk, and Kario talked about the nanotechnology he would need in his irises. He set up some equipment with a prism, which Milton assumed was a recording devise. He Opened the Buk. Light from the prism shone directly in his eyes.
“Ow! Hold on, is this thing working? Are we recording?”
“Everything is working fine, Mr Brown,” said Kario, leaning in close to spot the nanotechnology in Milton’s irises.
“Wait, I don’t want to start from the beginning, I’ll start with the strange writing about me. Here we go. I used a leaf as a bookmark…”
Milton woke up on the boat. He could feel the steady surges as Glerph rowed them to the enlightened island or wherever it was they were going. He could see patches of fog all around and above them. The air was chilly. Glerph and Guru were having the kind of absurd, brainy debates he had come to expect from so-called intelligent machines.
“So OK, we are talking by telephone,” said Guru with deliberate slowness, “we are talking by telephone and you say that to me. I respond, well, you are such an elaborate machine that I can’t tell you from a human being. This is like the person, electronic or otherwise, who has mastered the English language although he is not a native speaker. Don’t you see? He sounds just like a native speaker of English since he has mastered the language. If we talk by telephone, so he does not look like a machine--,”
“The telephone looks like a machine,”
“Shut up. Listen carefully. We talk by telephone and avoid your visual apparatus clauses. He sounds exactly like a native speaker, yet is not. So how can you ever know then, smarty-pants?”
“Well, let me see. The telephone rings and I pick it up,”
“So what?”
“Wait a moment. This native speaker talks to me.”
“No! No! He’s not a native speaker.”
“I thought he could speak natively because he was really a machine.”
“Don’t try to confuse your way out of a lost argument, Glerph. The non-native speaker is just the analogy for a socially skilled machine. The whole point is that he rings you up and you can’t tell the truth according to what you hear because he sounds just like a native speaker. He is not one, but he sounds exactly like one. That’s the point.”
“Have we arrived yet?” asked Milton. He was ignored.
“In that case it’s simple. After he says hello on the telephone his next words are “I am not a native speaker of English”. So, according to what I hear, I know this fact.”
“…What?” asked Guru weakly.
“Likewise he could say “I am not human, I’m a machine,” by exactly the same token.”
“This is highly pedantic,” said Professor Kario, “yet I don’t quite see how you can be sure you are actually “reading” the Buk correctly.”
“Well, I know how to read, that’s no mystery. You are looking for something much more complex that does not exist. I read the printed letters because I know how to read. It’s an old-fashioned art on my planet, Trafel, but I learned. Apparently you never learned, so even your alphabet is jumbled up.”
Kario smiled in a humoring sort of way. “This is an advanced field, young man, and you are a raw beginner. I have studied machine-reading for many years, and I assure you it is a highly complex field. I happen to be the expert on these new Buks, of which I have five already. The black ink of the characters must contain printed circuits of semi-conductor material which….”
As the Professor burbled on Milton got back to his reading, but this time it was just in his head, not the spoken word.
Milton looked up in confusion, “this is bizarre,” he muttered in agreement with the text.
Guru cawed loudly, then said, “The French machine lied on the telephone to you!”
“How do you know that it’s French?”
“What does that matter? It could be German or Japanese. The whole point is that it’s not English. And in fact it might well be an English machine. Cop that. An English machine rings you up on the telephone and it lies. It says “I am not a native speaker of English.” So you go back to square one.”
“Not at all,” said Glerph placidly while he continued his methodical rowing, “because if you knew anything about the English, that is one thing a truly English Machine would never say.”
Milton sat up and gripped the side of the boat, giggling. There was a certain irony in this pair of arguing machines which neither seemed to appreciate. A truly English machine? What on Earth was that? He laughed at the rippling slate-gray water. He peered ahead but their destination was apparently pure fog. The argument seemed to have left the main road and was veering down a side street.
“It makes no difference,” said the rowing machine, “So I pick up the telephone, and I hear a lie. Perhaps the telephone lied to me.”
“What? The telephone?”
“Yes, the telephone tells me it’s French when it’s Japanese.”
“No, this is long ago! These are old, ancient telephones. They don’t talk.”
“Honestly it makes no difference how old the telephone is. Talking is just about the only thing it can do. And if the Old telephone can still talk it can certainly tell porkies."
“This is highly irregular. You have a way of twisting a normal conversation into something .. well, something else entirely. You obviously just can’t imagine how old these telephones are.”
“They are carved of ancient rusty wood and run on pennies.”
“No, you just have no idea. They are molded of black shiny bakelite and come in two halves, connected by a curly poodling wire. You can talk on it but it can’t talk back. I can see now that you were aiming to bamboozle me with your knowledgeable telephone jargon but you have no idea what a true telephone once was.”
“I think you’re making a Godzilla out of a Mozzarella. The only thing to know about telephones is that talking happens between the English and Japanese machines. If one of the native speakers does lie the telephone is bound to notice and…”
“NO!” screamed Guru, flapping his wings.
The silver crow launched itself into the air for a little flight and returned to the folkscastle of the boat. “No, no. The Telephone is too old to notice! You just don’t comprehend what I mean when I say telephone. I regret ever saying telephone in the first place. You insist on thinking it’s some kind of intelligent machine that’s getting on in years, but it’s no kind of intelligent machine at all. It’s a devise, a simple gadget with dialing tones all soldered together and connected with lengths of wire. It can’t talk by itself or notice lies or anything a sentient machine can do. It’s so old it hardly even has a sense of humor. The only reason I mentioned the old telephone was for a French machine to ring you up with a perfect English accent and fool you into thinking it was an English machine. The telephone itself does not get involved.”
“What does it matter? If I answer the telephone I don’t know how old it is. When the French machine begins lying to me in perfect English, I’m still liable to think I’m just talking to the telephone itself, thus hearing the more subtle lies of the telephone who pretends to be a French machine pretending to be an English machine. Then you see the Japanese machine could give you a call----.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Guru fluffed up his silvery feathers.
“Why ever not? If the French machine is calling me?”
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Well, you see I can be thinking the phone is lying to me in perfect English when it’s a French machine using an old phone, but when the Japanese phone starts lying to you in, say, perfect French---,”
“No more! Please! You twist ordinary debate into an insane caricature that I cannot stomach.”
“I don’t want you to stomach it. This is purely mental fodder.”
“No more machines with Nationalities from old Earth lying to each other on postmodern telephones. I’ve had enough.”
“Land Ahoy!” This was Milton.
“We already know where the land is, human,” said Glerph.
“He may be human,” said Guru, “but surely he can’t help that. At least treat him like a machine.”
“The lying French kind or the Postmodern English telephone kind?”
“Now that does it, you are just attempting to annoy me with the selected terms you know I want forgotten.”
“I’m not programmed to forget. I can’t until I get an upgrade, you know. I’m just designed to row this boat.”
“I wish that’s all you did.”
“That counts as utter nastiness, you’re lucky to get any conversation out of me at all.”
“Am I?” asked Guru sarcastically.
“Yes. The earlier models didn’t talk.”
“How tragic,”
“They could flash their lights to other boats in pinafore language, but they couldn’t answer Neanderthal telephones, for example.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m so glad the jetty is in sight.”
“You’re just peeved because you lost the argument.”
“Lost? Lost? That does it! OK, the French machine lies to you in perfect English, saying I am a native speaker. How do you know the difference?”
“Well if the French machine can speak perfect English then it is able to think and be English, for all intensive purposes, so I know for a fact I’m dealing with an international operator.”
“Oh this is hopeless! Can’t you see it’s just a lying French machine ? Just admit you can’t know from the end of a telephone.”
“No, since the lack of knowledge you refer to is a gain in knowledge in the ex-French machine. He really knows how to click the mice don la fanetre, so his identity is no longer “French machine”. He can think and behave in a totally English way by now, so the English machines consider him English, but in his Englishness he never lies about it and admits he is an international business machine, with only Earthly culture.”
“Wait a moment,” said Guru, flustering his feathers, “The machine is really French, and that can’t change no matter how good his English is.”
“How can you tell?”
“He was made in France.”
“But there can be British companies that make machines in France. Are they French machines?”
“No, these are French companies in France making the French machine. This machine is utterly, utterly French.”
“Circular logic. You call the companies French ones, without demonstrating what it means, and I have already shown that being in France is not an identifier.”
“Was the place that made you aiming to get a good rowing machine, or what?”
“What?”
At that moment the proud of the boat crashed resoundingly into the jetty. Guru lifted easily into the air and was unhurt. He circled and landed on the polished mahogany planks, which made up the upper surface of the jetty, and here he was on firmer ground.
Milton screamed and was thrown about, almost capsizing himself overboard. Glerph just fiddled with the mooring controls, and raised his voice, “Under analysis it is very hard to assign identity. Location and language can always change. If the French machine moved to England he would soon be considered English in most of the ways you assign identity, just as some English humans must have been born in France and emigrated back to England a little later on.”
“But if you call him now British, or international, then he could have lied to you on the phone to start with, when he was French. Come on Milton, this is where we get off.”
“I can see that,” said Milton unsteadily. His left hand was hurt.
“Not so,” continued Glerph, “since he never was purely “French” while his English thought and language were perfect. But I fear the debate will have to end here.”
“Indeed it will. That’s too bad” said Guru in a toneless voice.
“Thank-you for your company. I will be ready for contingency eight.”
“The pleasure was mine. Contingency eight it shall be.”
By then Milton had clambered onto the jetty. Guru hopped along beside him as they disembarked towards the landmass. Milton was puzzled.
“How come you left him like a good friend when you argued like enemies all the way across?”
“We are not human,” was all Guru said, “we are machines.”
CHAPTER EIGHT The Big Cooking Pot in the sky
In another way this is not the original bible that I wrote. You see I wrote the original in Tasmania when I visited the Greens before Christmas in 2003. At the time I was forgetting to take my lithium so I was going manic. I did a bit of writing and used up about three sheets of paper. Rosie then gave me a big bunch of paper. I took it as an order, and being manic stayed up for three nights filling the paper with madly inspired writing. My sister looked in on me at one point.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m writing the Bible.”
CHAPTER NINE The Very Big Flood
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Noah, “It’s coming down in buckets now. Ham! Shem! Round up the sheep and get them on the boat. And get the dogs, chickens ---all the animals, come on Jep, or whatever your name is. Help me pack up the tents. The river is flooding. Those banks are breaking already. Come on! Hurry up! The floodgates of Heaven have opened by the look of it. Get the whole family on the boat, this is going to be a very big flood.”
Later, as they crouched under the awning drinking mugs of cocoa, the children of Noah gazed out at the rising waters they told each other stories and tried to decide what this dramatic event could mean. Excitedly they broached the topic with their old, bearded father.
“It must be God’s Plan,” said Ham, “all the other people are going to drown. All the evil ones.”
“Oh don’t exaggerate, sonny. There’s other boats and much higher ground. This is the biggest flood I’ve ever seen but it won’t get everyone.”
“We should gather every animal in the world,” said Shem, “By two’s and by sevens, and put them all on the boat.”
“And every herb and seed,” added Jep, “because it’s going to cover the whole world for forty days and nights.”
“What are you daffy kids babbling about?”
“It’s God’s plan to wipe out the evil.”
“Oh no it isn’t, Ham. You may be my dear son but honestly you have the brain of a sparrow. Is God a madman? Wipe out evil by killing it all? Are we talking genocide? You can’t wash blood away with more blood, Ham. You can’t kill evil. Killing is itself evil. If this is God’s plan he is both mad and evil. If we repopulate the Earth after this forty day flood believe you me all that you call evil will come back again. In other words the plan will fail completely. Evil will not be wiped out. God is not as stupid as you are, Ham. God knows everything. Why would he devise silly plans that even I know will not work?
“And don’t snigger into your cocoa, Shem, your idea is just as absurd. Collect all the animals by twos and sevens and cram them on to this little ark? It’s only thirty cubits long, sonny. You kids have no idea at all how big this world is and how many animals there are. There’s over one million animal species. We’ve got no hope of even getting a big zoo together with the animals limited to Judea. Try to think of all the thousands of birds, reptiles, mammals and insects, and that’s the short list. Use your head Shem, we are just one family of shepherds. We don’t know how to trap wild animals. Be realistic, I mean if I gave you the task of collecting two seagulls, how on earth will you do it? Trek all the way to the sea, and devise some kind of net? You’d spend dizzy weeks trying to get just one gull, and can you tell the sexes apart? We look after sheep, my lad, we are not field zoologists or anything. Now if the pair of seagulls might be a problem, think of all the other birds.
“And that’s just in this part of the world. You think a family of shepherds could then go on safari all the way to Africa and collect all the animals there? You have to be joking. If the seagull is hard the elephant is absolutely impossible. We don’t have the man-power or the technology. Single out a likely breeding pair of wild, dangerous African elephants and separate them from the herd? I wouldn’t dream of it. Put them in a huge cage or what? Make wheels for the cage and pull it across all kinds of rugged terrain and mountain ranges with fifty donkeys? Ha Ha Ha ! That alone would be the feat of a lifetime.
“And that’s just two from Africa. Let’s get a couple more. We then trek hundreds of miles across the vast continent and aim to pick up a couple of venomous green mamba snakes from the jungles of the Congo. Good idea, God. So we poke around in the jungle for a few months. These little snakes hide on trees and look exactly like branches. When you get close enough to see the mamba you are probably dead. How do you catch it? How do you tell the male from the female? I wouldn’t have a clue. Great plan, don’t you think? Sounds more like mission impossible to me.
“And remember, Shem, I have only talked about four animals so far. We haven’t yet mentioned all the other countries teeming with life either. So after we round up all the African snakes, monkeys, baboons, giraffes and God only knows what else we troop around Europe and Asia performing similar feats of the absolutely impossible. Then we put the whole collection on this little boat.”
“It’s a big boat, Dad,” said Ham.
“And God will help up,” said Jep
“Boys, boys,” said Noah, shaking his head and stroking his beard, “You have absolutely no sense of perspective. Now you are my own sons and dear to me, but please listen. When you grow up you can tell your own children fabulous lies and call them true stories if you want to, but I am a literal man fond of factual truth so I feel it is my duty to nip this thing in the bud. Now Ham, this is a big boat to you, perhaps, but you have never seen an aircraft carrier. That’s much bigger, but you can pack it full of zoos and still the million species will not fit. If a Hebrew cubit were stretched to a kilometer, well, that’s a huge ship, but I can’t imagine any nation being able to construct it or a material strong enough to hold the thing together. So as well as an amazing animal collection world safari, we also build this monster vessel. What do we use? Gopher wood? Ha Ha Ha. Not enough trees in this part of the world, and pay attention, even if the boat was that big, the million animals we could never collect still would not fit. We are talking of a multilevel monster craft the size of Tasmania. And don’t look away Jep. This is not boring. Now tell me we could also collect one of every plant and tree. And imagine how long it would take. More than a few thousand years at the least.
“And if you think God is going to help, I can tell you he will do just about all the work himself. Our contribution would be so small we’d hardly need to bother. Besides, you can’t just change the story later on to suit yourselves. God does not help. He gives the orders and we do all the work. Why would God do a million miracles to make a silly story seem possible and prop up a doomed plan? It does not make any bit of sense. Just look around you. It’s certainly a very big flood, the biggest I’ve ever seen. Why do you need to make it bigger? Now the rule is, no more silly stories until tomorrow. Just use your brains and drink your cocoa.”
CHAPTER TEN Satyr Island
Guru let out a series of long caws and flew up into the branches of a nearby tree. It was dusk and fog clung to the margins of the hills. Milton looked around and shivered in his thin jumpsuit. He wondered why Guru had to make that noise, just like a real bird would to signal it’s own kind. The silver crow remained perched in the tree and Milton gazed around at the wooded hills for a while, wondering what to do or what would happen next. There was an island of confusion in his mind. Around it circulated the conversation on the boat and it’s strange ending. The meanings were elusive. The identity of humans and machines. The difference between the real and the apparent. Some of the meanings were part of the island of confusion.
“Welcome to Satyr Island.” The voice was very deep and beautifully modulated. Milton was startled and turned to his left. Someone very large stood there.
“I have brought him Noble Pan. This is the one.”
“Thank you Guru. Now remain in the tree.”
Milton listened to this exchange in the numb haze of absolute shock and horror. The little ripple of his first shock of hearing the loud, unexpected voice was utterly swamped by the huge wave of emotions that simply galvanized him to the spot. He almost peed in his pants.
“What’s wrong Milton?” asked Guru conversationally.
His eyes seemed to focus slowly on the broad red chest, on the long handsome face with deep black lustrous eyes. Some part of his mind thought “What a large man”, but his eyes had already traveled up to the little horns and then down to the great goat-like legs. The barbed tail waved like a snake. In the creature’s hand was a black book.
Milton’s Jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, then abruptly he yelled aloud, “The Devil!” and found himself running for the hills with all his strength he had. He sprinted at a speed that astonished him.
“Time to go? I also love to run,” said the deep melodious voice. If anything this caused Milton to speed up. He scrambled over rocks and through bushes. It was wild country. To his ultimate horror he heard a regular kind of hoof-beat behind him.
“Some love to fly, and if fear can give you wings, well, that is the function required.”
But some part of his mind could not accept what was terribly real to the rest of him. He was being chased through the wild hills at night by the Devil himself. Surely such nightmares could not be true. Milton ran down gullies and up hills, dodging old, gnarled trees, ripping his jumpsuit on outreaching branches. He could hear the footfalls of the Devil, and of course they were gaining on him. The creature was not just very large, it was incredibly strong and fit. Milton sort of knew there was no escape, there was no point running. When would it end?
“When you reach yonder slippery hill in the heart of Satyr Island.”
The Devil could answer thoughts in his mind! He tried to run faster. The running and the mental tension were exhausting.
“Then Milton reached the slippery hill and later the creature tried to clear up some of the confusion in a way that just trembled in his mind going what the Hell…”
He tried to scramble quickly but the spoken words utterly confused him, and his hands and feet were slipping on the mossy surface. He thought he was almost up when the voice behind him literally boomed as if the Devil was using a microphone and a big amplifier.
“LET THERE BE DARKNESS!”
With a shriek Milton lost his balance and slithered down the slope. He tumbled a few times and came to rest sitting in a mossy hollow looking up at the night sky.
“And there was moonlight,” the creature added in a most soft and natural tone. Milton blinked. There was indeed moonlight. He saw two little moons with different shades of blue.
“Once in a blue moon Milton looks around and sees for himself what is really going on, and when he does it is not as he imagines. The curious comments of the creature in front of him.”
With a tingling sense of horror Milton lowered his gaze and focused on the thing he both feared intensely and didn’t think he believed in. There it was, as real as anything Milton had ever seen. But it did not look at Milton. He settled in the hollow, which by some freak of nature and dint of moss was more comfortable than the average armchair. The creature was further away than he had thought, across a small gully and halfway up the other side of a hill. It was not as he imagined. While he recovered his breath he saw that the nightmare thing had not come to get him. In fact it was not even looking at him. By the light of the blue moons Milton saw that it was reading from the book it carried in one hand. It made no sense to him at all. Reading a book?
“Then Pan read between the lines because he hated tedious introductions and said something both confusing and hopeful. That’s right, the name was Pan. Guru had used the same name. What did it all mean?”
Milton opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish. It struck him then that the creature now identified as Pan had been reading his lines from a book, like an actor at his first rehearsal. Somehow this made both more and less sense at once. Firstly Milton thought that the words were less strange and threatening since they were much less personal. At the same time it was a totally baffling situation. Why would Pan who looked like the Devil chase him through the woods reading to him from a book? And then how could the lines fit the situation and refer to him? How could words printed in a book be reading his mind? It made less sense than before.
Milton could smell something nice. He looked down. What he saw was almost too much for his tattered nerves to cope with. Not because it was bad, but perhaps just because it was the opposite. There near his right hand was the surface of a little wooden table, and on the table was an old fashioned goblet full of steaming cocoa.
“I must be dreaming,” whispered Milton. “Oh this is too much. Hot cocoa for me? It’s all a vivid dream.”
“Perhaps it is, but don’t all the mystics say that of life? Life is Maya, the illusion, the appearance, not the real. And as for me, yes, I am the Greek God Pan who reads his lines so eloquently from the black book. Don’t be afraid to speak. He is not being the Devil, and even so, the Devil is a gentleman.”
“Um, why are you reading from a book?”
“To teach you something.”
“Well, oh this is strange . . .The book, what is it? How can it…” Milton trailed off in confusion. He felt as if he was in a very peculiar play and he was supposed to know his lines or improvise them.
“Oh do not fret, kind sir, the book is just a kind of Bible. It was written some time after these events, yet clearly time is not at all what it seems to the spiritual beginner. This exchange will help you grow and learn. Do not blame Pan for what I write, for the author may address his character how he wants and you may call him your creator, your God, your Demon Lord, and so on. But every God needs a maker and a Devil. Let’s bring them all into the picture and expand our minds.”
Milton shook his head while listening to the resonant voice. The ideas bombarded him at a time when he just wanted to rest somewhere normal and forget all the impossible confusion. He closed his eyes. Pan was silent. Milton rested, his breathing almost even and shallow again. He had the impression that Pan was waiting for him to speak. Perhaps they could wait a long time and he would wake up in his bed on Trafel. But he thought of a good question, and Pan looked far too much like the Devil for Milton to keep him waiting.
“Are my lines in the book, too?”
“Oh yes,” read Pan with his precise enunciation, “The whole episode is here, including what you say next.”
“But if we know about it, can’t we change it?”
“Why, that it just like changing destiny or the question of time travel. There is no singular answer and the meanings do not work in normal linear time, as you think of it. Please think about the answer I have given carefully and I will scare you less with my next lines.”
Milton paused, struggling with unfamiliar ideas. He tried to frame a few sentences, regretted the ideas and remained silent. Then he thought of something.
“All I can think of is testing it out in a logical way. Can you please forget this scene, go back a bit to another part of the book and read me some lines at random?”
Pan flipped some pages.
“Just use your brains and drink your cocoa.”
Milton was stunned. The impossible kept demonstrating its reality. His mind worked feverishly over the whole incident on the Island so far, especially the recent conversation. He lifted the cocoa and sipped it. He loved cocoa, and there was even a marshmallow melting creamily on the surface. He began to doubt this Pan/Devil creature. Was he really reading what was written in the book? Perhaps mind reading was more acceptable. He was scared to say anything. But during this pause he felt that he did not have to. The random line was a pretty harsh order, so Milton felt more comfortable to obey---thus to think and drink his cocoa.
“The satyr read between the lines once more and launched into a little speech,” Said Pan, who had flipped back to his previous place in the book, “Oh the character must apologize for his lines out of season, but is he responsible for the voice of another? Surely not, my friend. Yet since you find yourself more comfortable to drink a beverage and worry in the patterns you mistake for thought why don�