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In the name of virtue
Topic Started: Tuesday, 15. November 2011, 09:02 (166 Views)
Karzhani

EXCHANGE BETWEEN THE CHRONICLER AND THE SENTINEL. RECORDED AT ORBIT OF ELEVATION 12,000 MILES FROM PLANETARY SURFACE, 2nd ORDER WORLD, BOUND TO SOL STELLAR SYSTEM. ABOARD SURVEILLANCE CRUISER TAG NUMBER 157. WE ARE PREDISPOSED TO ARCHIVE THIS FOR REFERENTIAL AS WELL AS INVESTIGATIVE PURPOSES.

The stars in the vast void beyond gleamed and wavered, reclining in their sublime glory, each of them harbouring an immeasurable number of worlds and planets and untold stories on a scope that would boggle the minds of mankind. But not the minds of the two who sat aboard the small vessel. They knew the tales of most of the stars within the grasp of their vision, and had an iron grip on the reality of their galaxy.

Their vessel was anchored near the beginning of the territory which the beings of this planet “Earth” claimed was their own, although in reality, both on board knew it belonged to no one but the universe. Their craft evaded detection for the sole reason that it was quasi-dimensional, and was beyond the ability of humanity and their limited technology, operating within their three dimensions, to expose.

The older being, his form withered from ages of inquiry and eventual discovery, settled in his chair, made from hard metal; one would consider the discomfort brought about by such a design as an ascetic measure, but in truth both beings were beyond philosophies, beyond bickering over ideology. They had ended the history of their world by merging science and religion, primacy and subservience, and had gone on to shape the histories of others.

The younger being, pacing purposefully around the cabin, turned to the older one, with not a hint of reverence but still respectfully, and spoke.

“What do you see in this world, Sentinel?”

“I see something different than us, but lesser, Chronicler.” The older being relaxed further backward in his seat.

“They speak of things in this world that I have not heard of, Sentinel. From our onboard radio interceptors, I am picking up chatter on various frequencies in this planet, and it seems communicative. I hear words such as love; or faith. What do these imply?”

The Sentinel would have laughed, except he saw not the need to; it was a waste of energy and would not improve their situation.

“Long ago, my disciple, long ago, we knew of these things. A thousand cycles ago, maybe more – I forget, our world was wracked in chaos, where we fought for ideas we thought we believed in and defended powers greater than ourselves. We clashed on timescales and battlegrounds greater than us all. We defended our ground, killed, injured, maimed and massacred, in the name of freedom, love, honour, faith, all these high minded lofty abstract terms we thought were worth dying for. We were tragically mistaken. After that war, we shed the cloaks these principles had given us, and our generation saw the truth – supremacy was found in reason, and reason alone. This is why we are here, watching the creatures on the planet below languish in their cages of love and hate, ambition and betrayal, rather than they watching over us. Emotions, as it turned out, were the thing standing between us and transcendence.”

“So this is how our dominance came to be?” asked the Chronicler, not too sure of himself now. The headphones on his head that was connected to the radio interceptor on board their vessel was exposing him to a wealth of information from this planet that its inhabitants called Earth – mostly in the form of automated computer-generated commands and messages. He sieved through all this, the machine picking up his telepathic instructions, until he found what he was looking for – the frequencies broadcasting religious evangelisms, or soppy Saturday night dramas, or children’s comedies. His complex brain processed all this information in seconds, and he swapped channels to eavesdrop on one-on-one communications on private radio channels between different people.

The Chronicler stared into space whilst internalising all this information, a distant look in his eyes. All this interaction – this communication that was beyond necessary, was stirring up within him feelings he couldn’t comprehend, ideas beyond the cold hard logic he had been taught since birth.

“You know what to do”, said the Sentinel, with a tone of finality. “This world could pose a danger to us, with their technology and innovation and their insistence on emotion.”

The Chronicler had two devices strapped to his belt, the first being a remote trigger for the ship’s mainline weapon systems, which would instantly obliterate all life on this world, and resting beside that, a small dagger for personal defence.

“Go ahead, destroy this planet,” said the Sentinel, with no trace of anticipation or urgency.

“But why?” said the Chronicler, in sudden protest, “why, when they speak of love and forgiveness, and when we profess to be above that, do we still destroy others for our own personal gain?”

“Sympathy is temporary, ambitions are perpetual,” replied the Sentinel passively. “You do not doubt these thoughts or risk regression.”

“Why do we have the temerity, to order the stars, and these worlds, to change their ways?” said the Chronicler, his voice dropping to merely a whisper. His hand rested nervously on his belt, as if ready to draw the deadly device that would spell the end of mankind.

“By virtue of supremacy,” said the Sentinel, already slightly frustrated, “it is the logic that ended our internal battles as a species.” He motioned to the device at the Chronicler’s belt. “Questioning is irrational.”

The Chronicler touched the weapon he was about to unleash. “But don’t you think; that in the end, when our time comes and we leave this reality, all that remains is the sentiment and feelings we leave behind? Not what logic we used or what worlds we vaporized.”

The Sentinel betrayed no sense of emotion, and said nothing, simply motioned once again for him to activate the ship’s destructive powers.

“I concede, and I comply,” said the Chronicler, in what seemed to be resignation. “Something has to be eliminated for logic’s sake”

Slowly, he picked up the weapon at his belt – but it wasn’t the remote; rather, it was his dagger. Before the Sentinel could understand his motives, he had swung the blade, with lightning-fast reflexes, into the older being’s neck.

With the dagger embedded so deeply within his neck, the Sentinel stared at the Chronicler, questioningly, almost pryingly, and showed something he had prided himself in removing – an expression of surprise. His deep purple blood spilling onto the deck, the Sentinel collapsed without uttering a word, a faint gasp escaping his throat.

And the Chronicler, tossing the remote aside and retrieving the bloodied blade from the body of his mentor, stood staring at the blue globe beyond their ship, and wondered what they had lost.
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Koontay
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Wow! This is really great man. Interesting outside perspective on our lives. And then bam, such a powerful choice is almost nothing to them. Really great!
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Pureheart
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