Gods OF Gods
By TMS
Copyright 2012 TMS
Cover design copyright TMS 2012 all rights reserved
TMS
https://thisistms.wordpress.com
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THE GODS OF GODS.
The birth of a savior lay floating on his back, arms and legs hanging down, as the force of the raging river ducked him, leaving him where he lay. Looking up, beyond the atmosphere the sky was crystal, a solid mass wrapped around the whole planet, creating a permanent refraction of the suns moons and stars, whose light somehow managed to reach the ground. The old race of the Silgjans had named beings like Saviour Nwarete Aba Duju, the children of the gods, because of the ease at which they could communicate across the black, and move through space-time. The Silgjans where telepathic, but their level of cohesion was the equivalent of infant verbal talk, Compared to the telepathic cohesion that Savior was engaged in. The level was beyond words, a communication density of one hundred thousand years in split seconds.
“I have just received a notice of audit from the high council; the thought just flowed into my consciousness.”
“I see, it is about.” Replied Savior
Yes.
“Go.”
Yes.”
Nobody knows where the Nwaretes came from or how old they were, or where, or when their home planet was, or if there is one. What is known is that they have always been there. Always traveling alone, never in numbers, known by the old, a myth ghosts and spirits to the young races.
The one known as the feeling that you get, as you witness a supernova sunrise on a doomed ice planet, reduced his contact with the birth of a savior into a secondary form, and tuned his physical state away from the arctic tundra of Neberon, that that he was meditating in, and teleported into the councils outer chamber. It was a temporary chamber, housed in the space colony named; The feeling when you realize you’ve crossed beyond a blackholes’ event horizon.
The sand was warm to the feel, the sun was out, it was a beautifully day. Supernova observed the beauty of the beach, and thought;
I always enjoy it here, one of those stored moments of time, I would revisit into infinity. The breeze was warm, the sea magenta. supernova breathed in the peace from the surroundings, appreciating the after effect deriving from the atomic constellation.
“Does the beauty of the universe come from the atomic constellations, or the design? The constellation is but a macro representation of the design, so does the beauty therefore lie in the design, and not the constellation?”
Asked Supernova
A voice that spoke through the wind rustling the trees spoke,
“The design and the constellation, are the two ends of a straight line, enter supernova.”
Supernova started walking into the sea, then swimming; a few meters in he dived down, into the dark. The water was gone, he was in black, the inner chamber of the council.
Floating in darkness, too infinite to grasp, no beginning no end. A belittling, isolating black that would empty out a weak mind in moments.
Streaks of colored lights started to float about, and fade, reappear and fade into the darkness. Slowly engulfing supernova in a light display, until his physical being was gone, and he was one with the Uni-mind
The sky was vast and bright, a small fire burned, in this lonely desert the wind hissed, even thought it was night, the temperature was pleasant. A small group sat around the fire, Supernova was one of them.
And so the audit begun.
A female whose head rested on the shoulder of a male who seemed to have been carved from black stone spoke;
“There is concern about your current actions, Explain.”
In those few seconds, she had communicated a millennia of feelings and thoughts, lifestyles of fallen civilizations, and stories, so that he could understand clearly, and grasp all of her nuances, as was their way of communicating. Supernova sat across from her, passing a translucent pipe to his left, as a shooting star streaked, his reply was denser;
“I have been harvesting emotions, and time moments from this race ever since they left their oceans, I know them inside out, all their hopes, dreams, fears and aspirations. I have watched and captured them growing up, the emotions that I have provided for you from them, are of a higher quality, and complexity, are they not? Have I not provided excellent time moments for all of us to experience from them?”
“We dispute the extension of their period, instead of a natural, now you need to create an artificial end.”
Replied an old male with a face the seemed to possess a hundred lines
“Have they not been good to us, have they not provided us with high quality, time moments, emotions and thoughts? It could be argued that if their end if it had been left to occur, it would have produced spectacular time moments, and emotions for us to feast on, I agree, but having been there from the beginning, I feel the end that would have occurred would have been premature. There is still a lot more and deeper pain and sorrow, joy and anguish. I have unwound their timeline and seen that their Genoc has yet to be born, it would be a waste if we let them end without witnessing the Genoc.
The man carved out of black stone spoke,
“You are rogue and out of order, an abomination. It is not in our nature, to engineer planetary scale emotional reactions, and time moments, our role is that of observer, and recorder. Regardless of the pleasures that we receive from the intensity of the emotions, and time moments. We never tinker with a races beginning or end to harvest emotions from it, it is against us.”
Supernova took the pipe back, and spoke;
“Do what you will; I’m leaving the Ice world, and going back to await the Genoc.
Absolute darkness returned, the audit was done, the uni-mind had integrated into its own, every thought that supernova had ever had about the destruction, and all his other thoughts.
Now it was going to be consolidated, and pondered. Nothing would happen to supernova, he was a part of the Uni-mind, and the Uni-mind was him. A single mind, existing as individuals capable of independent action to stop stagnation.
Supernova felt himself rise through the levels, as he left the council chamber, and returned to the beach, he touched the sand with his hand and was in ancient Egypt, listening to the night sounds of Cairo, under candlelight, watching as the blueprint for the first pyramid on papyrus is being drawn.
Looking at the man, but not hearing the question that the architect is asking him, lost in his own thoughts, thinking to himself, what beautiful creatures.
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ABOUT
If you want to find out about me, follow the link
Gods Of Gods, the songs that played while I was writing it
Colors Of Rain, Icarus & Pegasus, both from the album Sworn by Anders Ilar. Other inspirations Hardcore SF, set in distant lands and times, I’m a big fan of science and science fiction, especially the density of its ideas. I like the idea that Sci-Fi can take you so far away, from everything that you ever known, into worlds filled with things, societies, and practices that you could have never imagined existed.
I also like the recurring Sci-Fi idea, that in the future the people return to religion, even though that religion is different to those being practiced now, the idea is comforting. Oh and I almost forgot, here is a little something, up and coming titled In Between Lives
IN BETWEEN LIVES
In this business, there’s nothing more valuable than information. Lives, love money, all are meaningless compared to the value of information, more specifically intelligence. Nations spend billions trying to protect it, fight
to control it, embark upon countless efforts to hide it, and above all else, use any and all means to steal it, because intelligence gives you that piece of mind, the best sleep is had, when your enemy doesn’t know that you know what they’re doing. Especially during these times of uncertainty, where an ambassadors word isn’t as good as it used to be, and embassies serve as strategic asylums, to all sorts of agents masquerading as diplomats with immunity. The world as it is now unbeknown to those who live on the surface, is driven by intelligence. How much you know about your friends and enemies determines how much power you have, and how strong your grip is on this earth, so whenever you lose a source of information, it’s as if you’re losing a bit of grip, on your little piece of the dirt, and nobody likes to lose their piece of the dirt.
Jackie sat, in his purple gown, smoking on the wooden rocker, in the enclosed sky garden, watching the night sky as the snow fell over the city of Niberg, which looked to be in a slumber, not a car on the road, or air ship in the visible sky. All was quiet, asleep in peace. If only Jackie could be so lucky, he thought to himself...
Thought begets thought
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