The Hades Connectionby Gabriel S. Timar |
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Chapter 3
part 2 of 2 |
“What’s wrong with bribery?” I asked.
“To rule or influence people in the First Dimension,” he continued, “you can either brainwash, bribe or terrorize your subjects into accepting you as a leader. Bribing and brainwashing work only in the short term.
“If you bribe the subjects, they will eventually have everything. When you fulfill all their desires and actually saturated the people with good things, you cannot bribe them any more. At that point, they may demand the impossible, and you lose control.
“The best example is your own country. Your politicians kept bribing the electorate for decades, nearly to the point of saturation. Your country and many so-called Western industrialized democracies are already completely out of control or are going to be.”
“Interesting,” I remarked.
“If you brainwash them,” he continued, “you won’t be much better off. A brainwashed society evolves very slowly, like Europe during the Middle Ages. The masses will follow the brainwasher, but if someone appears with a logical counterargument, centuries of brainwashing may quickly unravel.
“On Earth, brainwashing was the approach taken by some major religions. It did not work. The only thing that works consistently is fear. That is why in the course of your history only the leaders relying on fear managed to hang on to power.
“Some of the churches, the spiritual terrorists, were not tough enough for a sustained effort. They did not have the stomach to maintain the level of terror. They tried to reform their business practices and reverted to bribery or brainwashing. They soon perished and disappeared. The Incas, the Egyptians, the Chinese, the Roman and the British Empires fell to the wayside; America is on the way out.”
“How about Russia, the former Soviet Union?” I queried.
“As long as it was ruled strictly on the basis of fear during Stalin’s days, there were no problems. However, when the Russians relaxed their grip and attempted to bribe the people, their strength evaporated.”
“It is sad, but I cannot disagree with you,” I said. “It is rather disappointing that all future governments will have to rule on the basis of fear.”
“Not necessarily,” Luce stated, “there is an alternative to fear: understanding. To introduce that, you need a well-developed, highly-educated, disciplined, and advanced society. On your home planet, it may come in a few hundred years, if the people do not destroy themselves first.
“However, we are not here to discuss the methods of influencing people. We are straying from our main topic. May I continue?”
“Sure,” I said, “You’re the boss.”
“Since soul-producing planets are rare, the major corporations more or less formally divided the traditional market in the First Dimension. As far as the major sources are concerned, we collect more than thirty percent from Sirius.
“We share Castor with Red Star half and half. Andromeda, Bardos, and Valeria are the biggest producers of low- and medium-quality souls; we divvy them up among ourselves. Nirvana, Heavens, and we share them in roughly equal proportions.
“We split evenly high-quality sources like the First System, Lyssia, and Quorus with Heavens. For many years, all the major corporations shared Earth One, which was another good quality source. However, we started making large gains and eventually collected regularly about eighty-five percent of the souls rated over twenty. We were on the way to a monopoly.”
“Is that the place I come from?” I queried.
“Yes and no,” Luce replied. “There was a George Pike there, but he married a rich woman, the widow of a lawyer, and had no need to develop to your level. He was only an eighty when he got on the public transport. He has gone to Nirvana anyway. You are actually from Earth Two.”
“Earth Two,” I mused, “there was a TV series with that name. It was very imaginative. Are there any similarities?”
“None, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Earth One is about thirty years ahead of Earth Two, your Earth. The development of travel, communication, and technology have progressed very rapidly on Earth One in the last thirty years. No doubt, their war had something to do with it. Otherwise the Earths are twin planets; their history, social development and almost everything about them are identical.”
“How is this possible?” I asked.
“Apparently the window of opportunity for the development of intelligent, humanoid life is very small,” Luce explained. “All the conditions have to be nearly perfect. The planets must be nearly identical; the climate, the flora, the fauna, and the timing of external intervention must be perfect. It is most likely that the history of the planets with identical species of humanoids matches.”
“Amazing,” I mused.
Luce gave me a dirty look and continued: “We didn’t know about Earth Two for a long time, because the souls were exactly the same as the ones coming from Earth One. When the driards looked into the matter, they found Earth Two at the opposite end of the galaxy. However, it is on the hyperbolic path formed by the soul-producing planets.
“When the existence of Earth Two was finally confirmed, the subsequent events turned into something like the California Gold Rush. All the other corporations waded in with brass knuckles. We were very well positioned to take over that market too, and it looked we would own both Earths nearly one hundred percent, because we based our strategy on the methods proven successful on Earth One.
“However, someone wishing to cut into our profits has been illegally interfering with Mother Nature in a forceful manner. Whoever it is, he decided to cash in as long as there was anything of value.”
“Can you do anything about it?” I asked.
“Sadly, no,” Luce replied. “It is too late. On Earth One, they started a nuclear war, and we had to cash in most of our investment. Granted, our liquidity improved considerably, but after the war the soul production almost stopped; it is down to a trickle. There are no more than five or six hundred thousand producing units left. They renamed their planet Khomu, which means ‘ashes’ in one of their ancient languages.”
“Could you have prevented the war?” I asked.
“It was too late when we realized we had to interfere,” Luce replied. “By the way, trans-dimensional interference is illegal. During the war, as we discovered later, our competitors somehow slowed the orbit of Earth One; it is going to be sucked into its sun. As a production base, it is finished.
“For a while, our experts and the Khomu scientists thought the nuclear war had thrown their orbit off. When we examined the details further, we discovered who was messing around with it. Now I understand why. They needed the money urgently and wanted to cash in before they completely lost the source.”
“Can you sue this somebody?” I asked.
“Unfortunately not,” he continued. “We don’t have enough evidence. Anyway, the Khomus, as we call them now, also discovered their planet was doomed. As they wanted to survive, they had to find another home. We gave them the technology to build spaceships and suggested they be sent out in search of a new home.
“The Khomus began building a fleet of ships to get away from their dying planet. When one of the ships located Earth Two, they were jubilant. However, their happiness was short-lived. On the basis of the data collected by their satellites, they realized that the orbit of Earth Two was also decaying.”
“Oh hell,” I remarked, “you’re liable to lose that source as well.”
“True,” Lucifer nodded, “but at this early stage the orbit can be corrected quite easily. We figured it out and made sure the details got to the Khomus. They can remedy the situation because they have attained a high level of technology. They should build a field of thrusters on the Moon, fire it at the right time, and correct the orbit. If it’s successful, we can hang on to Earth Two as a production facility.”
“So what is the problem?” I asked.
“Someone whom I know very well doesn’t want the Khomus to succeed. His group would do anything to thwart their efforts. Your project, should you choose to accept it, is to make sure that the Khomus get their chance to correct the orbit.”
“How can I help?”
“I’ll explain it to you in a minute,” Luce said. “An agent of the other corporation penetrated the Khomu High Council and persuaded them to load up the whole population on battleships, travel to Earth Two and start shooting. With their superior weapons technology they could batter Earth Two into submission and force them into building the thrusters.”
“What’s wrong with this idea?”
“Essentially nothing,” Luce replied, “but in the correction of a decaying orbit time is crucial. The longer you delay, the more thrust will be required to do the job.
“The conquest of Earth Two will take quite some time. It would take only a few minutes to subdue the Terrestrial military, but to eliminate their underground resistance would take a couple of years. Our supercomputer suggests that the probability of success using this method is less than fifty percent.
“However, if they persuade the Terrestrial leaders to cooperate without a fight, the probability of success would be no less than ninety-five percent. The Khomus know this, but they do not believe the Earth Two leaders can be convinced to help. This is where you come in.”
“How?”
“Well,” Lucifer said slowly, “during your life in the First Dimension you proved that you could impose your will on the Presidents of the United States and the Russian Federation. Perhaps you could negotiate with these guys more efficiently than any of the Khomus could.”
It was amusing. Sure, I could persuade President Holdsworth of the U.S. to do practically anything. Good fortune gave me a trump card: I caught him on videotape with my ex-wife, Jo-Ann, in a most embarrassing situation. By that time, our so-called open marriage was shot anyway.
With this material, I later blackmailed him into charging a major corporation with unlawful dumping of hazardous materials. He did not want to do it, because the corporation was going to donate generously to his election campaign.
However, if he wanted to win the election, he would have to do it. In the U.S., if you are a proven adulterer, you cannot win any election, even if you want to become a dogcatcher! That was a long time ago, before his first term in the Senate, but it was still a powerful argument.
I was sure he would want a second term as President, and if necessary, I could blackmail him again. I knew exactly where I could lay my hands on a copy of the tape.
The Russian, Ilya Kamarov, was a much more difficult character, but I was sure I could blackmail him just as well. Before becoming President, Ilya was working for the KGB, which would be a blot on his record. Lately he has been denying it most vehemently.
Many years ago he was assigned to a small African country, where he assisted the communist dictator in matters of security. Actually, he ran the Twelfth Province, the political prison. When the Army deposed the local dictator in a coup, Ilya blew up the prison with all the inmates and the guards in it. Not a single person survived. Some people knew what was going on in the prison but were elsewhere when it blew up. Ilya tracked them down and mercilessly eliminated them.
In those days, I was a U.N. volunteer teaching at the university within shouting distance of Ilya’s prison. For some unknown reason I was arrested, taken to the prison, and received the full treatment due to dissenters.
Ilya personally questioned me, and in a freak moment of sanity he let me go. The U.N. whisked me out of the country the next day. On my discarded body, quite a few scars reminded me of the visit. Later, Ilya somehow forgot that I was the only one of his guests in the Twelfth Province who had managed to survive his wrath.
I suspected Ilya might send someone after me, and I had to protect myself somehow. A friend took a videotape of all my scars; I made many copies of the tape, and hid them, together with notarized statements. I let Ilya know that I had the evidence available; if he tried anything, someone would publish the material.
Ilya’s new-found image of the “squeaky clean, super-democrat dove” would not mesh very well with his bloodstained KGB past, and perhaps the Russian voters would get rid of him quickly. I used the material to blackmail Ilya only once when I attempted to get a young English reporter out of jail in Russia. It worked.
Although I had become a blackmailer, I hated blackmailers almost as much as I detested politicians. I have a very low opinion of their intellectual capacity. I was sure I could negotiate effectively with both presidents without having to resort to blackmail. However, just in case they would become unmanageable, the blackmail material was there as a last resort.
The recall of these events from my terrestrial life took only a fraction of a second. I smiled, looked Luce squarely in the eye, and said in an even tone: “I’d like to do the job, Luce, very much. I’m sure I would be successful.”
“That’s why we picked you,” he said quietly. “Consider yourself hired. The indoctrination I gave you normally takes several days; it is a very pleasant experience. If you really want to, you may take the course upon your return. Do you have any more questions?”
“Tons and tons of questions,” I replied, “but they can wait until my mission is finished. This is an emergency, and our very existence is threatened. I like my new body and want to keep it. Therefore, if I do not want to go back into the kaleidoscope, I must make sure that we straighten out corporate affairs. I will do what I can. When and where shall I begin?”
“Aren’t you interested in your contract terms?” he asked.
“That’s immaterial,” I stated. “I’m sure you have standard contracts; there is nothing to be negotiated at this stage. Arabella mentioned that the firm would give me a P.5 level position. It is all right with me. I assume it is something like a writer’s first novel contract; he can take it or leave it. I am not interested in going back into the kaleidoscope; the job intrigues me. As I was saying, when do I begin?”
“That’s not as easy as you may think,” Luce replied. “We have to work out the ways and means of your taking over the role of negotiator for the Khomus.”
“What’s the problem?” I queried. “I’m sure you have enough pull with them to get me appointed.”
“No, George, I don’t,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “As I was saying, we are not supposed to interfere physically in the lives of the soul-producing planets in the First Dimension; it’s covered by the Board of Trade regulations.”
“But you said that someone else already interfered on Earth One and Two,” I said. “Don’t those Board of Trade regulations apply to everybody?”
“C’mon, George,” Luce smiled, “this is something like insider trading at your stock market. It’s strictly illegal, but everybody does it. Some are caught, some are not. If you learn to cover your arse, you’re okay.”
“So, if I understand you right, whatever I will be doing may be illegal?” I asked.
Luce nodded and remarked: “Do you want to pull out?”
“Hell, no,” I said in an annoyed tone, “anybody worth his salt has done something illegal in his life. There is an old saying that the road to the boardroom goes through the shadows of the prison walls. I wouldn’t chicken out just because there is something illegal about my assignment.
“First, they have to catch me and prove it. That would be difficult enough, to start with. If they caught me, I could always claim ignorance, as it is my first mission. Probably I would get off with community service, and in the worst case, I’d receive a suspended sentence.”
“It is nice to deal with a lawyer,” Luce remarked. “Go upstairs to the penthouse cafeteria, George, have something to eat and get back here in about an hour. I’ll have the rest of the project team here, and we can set up your program.”
I nodded, put on my shoes, adjusted my tie, and left the inner sanctuary of Mr. Lucifer.
* * *
Arabella was sitting at her secretary’s desk. As I came out, she looked at me: “How did it go?”
“I’m not going back into the kaleidoscope,” I replied. “I’ll be working for your boss.”
“I was sure you would accept his offer,” she said. “Are you going to the cafeteria?”
“How did you know?”
“With a new body you must eat during the first five hours,” Arabella replied. “Try to eat a complete meal. Have some salad, meat, lots of fruits and a large portion of cake. Don’t forget the wine and the cognac after the meal. Even better, when you get to the cafeteria, ask for Jenny, and tell her I sent you for your first meal. She’ll look after you.”
I thanked Arabella and left the office. As Luce had mentioned the penthouse, I got into the elevator. On the keyboard there was a sign: “Penthouse Cafeteria.”
Copyright © 2004 by Gabriel S. Timar
