The Hades Connection by Gabriel S. Timar

Table of Contents Chapter 1, part 1 Chapter 1, part 2 Chapter 2 Chapter 3, part 1 Chapter 3, part 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5, part 1 Chapter 5, part 2 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8, part 1 Chapter 8, part 2 Chapter 9 Chapter 10, part 1 Chapter 10, part 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12, part 1 Chapter 12, part 2 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15, part 1 Chapter 15, part 2 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18, part 1 Chapter 18, part 2 Chapter 19, part 1 Chapter 19, part 2 Chapter 20 Chapter 21, part 1 Chapter 21, part 2 Chapter 22, part 1 Chapter 22, part 2 Chapter 23, part 1 Chapter 23, part 2 Chapter 24, part 1 Chapter 24, part 2 Chapter 25, part 1 Chapter 25, part 2 Chapter 26, part 1 Chapter 26, part 2 Chapter 26, part 3

Chapter 3 part 1 of 2

Although I was rather apprehensive because of the name of my boss, I had no reason to worry; Lucifer was a disappointment. I expected him to sport horns, hooves, tail, and a pitchfork; but I was wrong: he had none of those. Instead, I was facing a medium-built, typical Bay Street executive wearing a pinstriped suit and a college tie.

His black, marble-topped silver desk, like the door leading into his office, was tasteless, but it fitted the surroundings precisely. Anything else would have been out of place. He had a computer terminal next to his desk like most terrestrial managers and a strange contraption behind him, similar to a studio mixing-table with many levers, dials, switches, and a microphone.

I gave the gadgets a long look. He must have noticed my preoccupation with his toys, because after the perfunctory greetings he remarked, “Do not be alarmed, Mr. Pike. Those are not the heat controls to adjust the level of torture for the poor damned souls. It is the operating console of my new supercomputer, a voice-activated experimental device. It does the routine work quite well, but occasionally I need some of its special functions. As the voice command system has limitations, I need the additional flexibility of the direct input devices.”

“I’m sure it is useful,” I remarked.

“It is,” he replied absently. “I suppose you had terrifying visions, like most terrestrials have when they enter our offices.”

“Like the inscription on your door,” I stated.

“Yes,” Lucifer said with a smile. “There is no inscription; it comes from deep down in your own soul. It is the effect of a lifetime of adverse propaganda. I know people who actually smelled brimstone and felt the heat of flames when they entered my office.”

“Curious,” I remarked.

“Anyway, I can’t put you through the standard orientation course because there is no time,“ Lucifer continued. “We urgently need your expertise or the expertise of someone like you. Therefore, I will give you a thumbnail sketch of the course. Normally I meet new professionals only for a few minutes.”

“Just to make them feel at home,” I noted.

“Precisely,” he replied. “It is very good for corporate morale. Your case is different. As we are in a rush, I will give you a general briefing before tackling your mission. If we can come to terms, the project team will take over the detailed briefing. Yours is a very important assignment, because the future of the corporation may well depend on its success.”

“While I appreciate the honor, sir,” I said, “I’m very much surprised that you even considered me for such an important mission. You must have some well-tested, experienced personnel on hand. Perhaps they are more reliable than any new guy.”

“You will do well with us, Mr. Pike,” he replied. “We like inquiring souls. Don’t worry about my motives and the justifications of your selection. They are part of the briefing. I am sure you will agree with my choice. By the way, what should I call you?”

“George will do nicely, sir,” I replied.

“Okay, George. Call me Luce, and we’ll get along fine.”

I nodded.

“Well, George, place yourself in a comfortable position, put your feet up, have a drink if you wish, and listen carefully.”

“I’m ready,” I replied.

“You are not,” snapped Luce. “Don’t try this terrestrial courtesy routine with me. I want your maximum effort in attention and concentration. Without being comfortable you cannot do that.”

“But sir...”

“Don’t ‘but sir’ me, George,” he interrupted. “Just relax and concentrate as if your life depended on it. Don’t worry, everything will be all right.”

His method to put people at ease was strange, forceful, but effective. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

I quickly reviewed my options. I could act the well-bred, disciplined professional as I had been taught in law school or as my family would expect it. I could put myself in an attractive pose creating the impression of utmost concentration. Alternatively, I could act natural and just be myself, the charming, informal George Pike. I choose the latter, as it was the easiest.

“Okay, Luce,” I replied. “You’re the boss.”

I loosened my tie, kicked off my shoes, put my feet up on the coffee table, and leaned back. I was very comfortable.

“That’s much better, George. If you want a drink, just flip the cover of the armrest on your chair. There is a microphone underneath, and order your drink.”

“I’ll have something later, Luce,” I replied. “Business before pleasure. Let’s get started.”

“As you wish,” he said, smiling. “First, I’ll give you a quick run-down on how things are here, including the physical and philosophical aspects. Then we’ll dive right into the details of your mission. Please note your questions and do not interrupt until I ask for your comments. Is that clear?”

“It is,” I replied. “I’m ready.” I gave him a long, probing look, the look I normally reserved for hostile witnesses in the court of law.

“I’m sure my name and the name of our corporation have frightened you,” he began. “In view of your lifetime exposure to Terrestrial culture in the Western hemisphere, that’s not surprising.

“I was not born Lucifer. I took the name recently since it helps to emphasize the difference between my main competitor and me. The bastard changed his name to G.G. Lord and renamed his firm GST Soul Management, Ltd. as Heaven, Inc. He caught us flatfooted and snatched a great deal of business from our traditional market.

“Since most of the high-quality souls we acquire come from Earth, we were forced to change the name of our corporation from Rainbow Soul Management, Ltd. to Hades, which means ‘Hell’ in Greek. And to be consistent I changed my name from Pierre to Lucifer.”

“Was it really necessary?” I asked.

“Yes,” grunted Luce obviously annoyed with my interruption. “This way, the incoming valuable souls, the high-quality doubters like you, can immediately distinguish between Heaven, Inc. and us.

“The change of name was necessary because our firm has certain similarities to Heaven, Inc. Many people feel that we are nearly the same, just like the Democrats and the Republicans in the U.S., or the Tories and Liberals in your country.

“As you can see, I do not have a pitchfork, a retractable tail, or hooves; I am Terrestrial in origin, as you are. In the First Dimension, I was an engineer. Although I was talented and invented many things, my name slid into obscurity.

“Originally, I was called Gorugh and, among many other things, I invented the wheel. In the Third Dimension, I changed my name to Pierre, just to look more sophisticated. Have you any questions?”

“Not at this time,” I replied. I thought the explanation of the name changes was unexpectedly thorough.

“As you may have noticed, George,” Luce continued, “life and death are not really as serious and important as people in the First Dimension think. Death is nothing other than the separation of the body and the soul. At that point, the soul automatically moves to the Second Dimension. There, a soul can exist without a body. Next, a driard collects the floating souls and takes them into the Third Dimension.”

“Who are the driards?” I asked.

“One could call them dimension travelers,” Luce replied. “However, they insist on being called driards. I would not argue with them, because they are very vindictive. If you offend them, they may just pop you into the Second Dimension and let you float for a few months. They are the only beings capable of moving souls between the dimensions. In the Second Dimension, they just grab the floaters, stuff them into a container and away you go. Simple, isn’t it?”

I didn’t think so, but I nodded.

“I’m sure you want to know what the essence of the soul is, but I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. We don’t really know. If we knew, we would manufacture the damn things, and we would not have to go to all the trouble of acquiring them from the First Dimension. Perhaps the best definition I can give you is that the soul is the ability to reason and create.”

He took a deep breath and continued: “Obviously, nothing is more valuable than that. This is why on the advanced planets of the Third Dimension the monetary standard is the soul. The banks must back all currency by the stored ability to reason and create.

“The soul is something like gold used to be in the good old days on Earth. Unless you have solid monetary standards, the alternative is complete financial and moral chaos, just as it was on Earth before your departure. Any questions?”

“Nothing significant yet,” I replied. “Those questions can wait. Otherwise everything is clear and straightforward.”

“Very well,” he said and continued: “Our business is the acquisition of monetary standards: the souls. Soul management is similar to gold mining, but there is a catch. The soul is peculiar. The average soul is like the gold dust. The soul management firms pick them up based on their corporate image, reputation, and indoctrination in the First Dimension.

“The rare larger nuggets, like you, are subject to intense competition. These souls must freely and consciously decide by themselves which corporation they want to patronize. We have a central cache where these special souls are stored. Occasionally we use them ourselves or rent them out to certain industries, for a fee. Any questions?”

“Yes, I have one for you,” I started. “I assume I got a new body with apparently little effort. Why couldn’t you set up a production facility with the artificial bodies, like mine, and actually breed high-quality souls?”

He smiled. “If it were that easy, we would have done it a long time ago. The catch is that only two naturally evolved intelligent beings can produce a soul. Production in the Second or Third Dimension as you suggested is impossible. We tried it and we still have research going on, but so far without success.”

“Do you think it will ever work?”

“No,” Luce said firmly. “It’s like alchemy.”

“Strange,” I mused. “Did you try the test tube babies?”

“It works in the First Dimension only,” Lucifer stated. “Your current body is very effective in all aspects of sexuality, but the functions have entertainment value only. You could not reproduce in the Second or Third Dimension. Consequently, we must leave the production to Mother Nature in the First Dimension. Of course, we can nudge nature a little here and there, but we cannot control it.

“In addition, the souls at birth are not worth much. They begin to develop in their early middle age and become valuable only after they acquire a measure of ability to reason and create. It takes about thirty years of concentrated effort in the First Dimension to turn a basic soul into monetary quality. Is that clear, George?”

“It is, Luce,” I replied seriously. “I must say the concept of the soul and its use are rather disappointing and upsetting to me.”

“When you hear it for the first time, it is,” Luce agreed. “I was very much shook up, too; but as I thought about it a little more, I realized it was logical.

“You see, to create and reason requires energy. If you remember your early physics classes, you understand the concept of the perpetuity of energy. Accordingly, energy cannot disappear, only change and mutate. If the soul is in essence energy, then it is easy to accept the concept. I’m sure eventually you will realize that too.”

“Since there is nothing I can do to change it,” I replied, “I’ll accept it. The concept of the soul is totally different from what I was taught, and it is not easy to forget forty-odd years of indoctrination.”

“You’re right of course, but we must go on,” Luce continued impatiently. “As you may have noticed, upon your death when the body and the soul separated, the driards took possession of your soul. At this period, you desperately wanted to return to life.

“Next, they graded it. You most likely did not notice it because it never takes much time. When the souls are graded, the driards put them on the opaque or the black public transport and deliver them to the reception hall. The piercing white light accompanied by intense pain is the actual transfer.

“The opaque container is the first class and is reserved for souls like yours; the black container is the equivalent of the tourist class and is used to transport average souls.”

I swallowed hard and wanted to interrupt; but with difficulty I controlled myself.

“The driards are strange beings,” Luce continued. “They are the only ones who can move freely from one dimension to another. They operate the public transport system and do all the inter-dimensional transfers.”

“I see,” I noted without really understanding anything.

“In the reception hall,” Luce continued, “the representatives of the Board of Trade disperse the souls to the appropriate bank vaults. They interview the ones rated over one hundred Bertons and find out which company they wish to patronize. Then all souls go into the appropriate vaults where they are pleasantly stimulated until needed. Any questions?”

“No,” I replied, “but I think I’ll take that drink now. This is a little too much to take dry.”

“I understand,” he said. “It is not the easiest concept to swallow dry.”

He turned around in his chair, picked up the studio microphone, and said: “Ari, dear, please bring us a couple of drinks. Make mine a little bit stronger than usual. Have you got George’s preference?”

“Yes,” came Arabella’s voice out of nowhere.

Luce turned around: “Please, George, continue.”

“The concept is simple and logical,” I said. “The problem is that it is contrary to a lifetime of indoctrination and tradition. It is difficult to accept that we were misled or brainwashed for centuries.”

“Brainwashing in the First Dimension is a regular feature with some soul management firms,” Luce said. “We try not to do it, because it usually doesn’t work in the long run. With brainwashing, one can hold on to some simple souls rated 1.0 or 1.5. The good ones always have a little doubt, and they usually end up in our accounts. Therefore we don’t brainwash and we don’t bribe.”

Arabella entered with a silver tray carrying my Campari and Luce’s Singapore Sling. Luce just nodded to the secretary, who quietly disappeared.

Proceed to part 2...

Copyright © 2004 by Gabriel S. Timar