Crisis of Idealism: A Space Opera

The World is destroy. Nearly a thousand years later a sinister plot that could destroy all faith in a transcendental power is revealed. Will Good prevail, or will Evil gain power?

Saturday, December 04, 2004

In Print

If for some reason you absolutely love this stoy and would like the first edit in print, contact me and I can hook you up with a URL that will allow you to order a copy of Crisis Of Idealism ... in real paperback form!
Don't get all excited, its not really published. I just learned that I could get a copy in print for free if I self-published it on a website. And the fact is, they can print these things to order. It looks real pretty and everything is spelled right (I edited and formatted the entire 185 page book myself) ... Special bonus! Its has about 500 more words than the edition on this Blog! See what I changed! See what I added! See what I took away!
The best part is - I'm not charging any royalties, so all it costs you is the printing and shipping cost. Hoorah.

So thats my sales pitch.
Thats all for today

Monday, November 29, 2004

That was intense

Final word count: 50,533.
Thats right sucks! You're looking at my official novel, in its ugly, ugly first draft format. I've already run through the first ten chapters to clean up grammer and its gained 200 words. Weird.
At any rate, It was a long arduous journey, but here I am at the opposite end, one of the proud winners of the NaNoWriMo contest, 2004.
Its a pile of crap in its current form, but once I go through it, add in the climactic battle that I didn't write, actually write the subplot that deals with the romance between Jonathan and Marcelle and flesh out some of the philosophy, explain it a little better and clean up all the theological stuff I got into there just before the climax, well, it might look a bit better.
It also might be half again as long as it already is... but oh well. If I can make it better, thats good. If I can't, oh well... It took me a month to write. honestly, its no huge loss. As an excercise to learn how to pump out a lot material quick, it was good.

Chapter Thirty-Three: An Example

Jonathan spent a sleepless night in his cell. He feared the nexty day because he did not know what to expect.
In the morning, the guards came and took him down to the landing bay, past the broken elevator and the burned out Angel of Redemption, and into a shuttle. He was shortly joined by the rest of his companions and the Port Orpheus elder known as Lucas - the form that Septimus took when he wanted to speak to the people of the idealist civilisation.
"Why the disguise, Mr. Jones?" Jonathan asked bitterly
"It's really quite simple, Jonathan." Septimus said in the calm friendly tones of Lucas. "It's all about my age. People would never accept that Septimus Jones is still alive, and yet, I need to be in contact with my people."
"What about all of the people who staff this ship?" Jonathan asked. To the last, he was curious.
"Oh, they're selected from the best of the best. The people with the strongest minds are interviewed, and if they pass a number of loyalty test, they next speak to me in this form. If I think they can handle the job, I tell them my true nature and they are taken into my inner circle where there are no secrets. They are essentially the modern Apocalyptists, Mr. Brooke. Now, no more questions. I'm afriad if I talk to you too much, my resolve will break and I will take pity on you."
the shuttle ride down to the surface was a quick one. They landed at the spaceport and were all led outside. Jonathan was once again met with the familiar double red suns of the Port Orpheus system, but the city looked nothign like it had during his previous two visits. There was the smell of burning in the air, and he could see more than one plume of black smoke stretching across the sky like an inky hand foretelling doom. In the ditance he could hear random cries and sporratic bursts of gunfire.
As he marched through the city with a troup of armed guards around him, he was surprised to see so much ruin. There were buildings toppled, ships laying in pieces arcoss entire streets. Bodies could be seen, scattered. All dead, lying in the street like the trash of an oppulent society.
It wasn't long before Jonathan could hear the unmistakable sounds of a large crowd. It was growing ever closer as they marched through the unsafe streets.
At one point, there was a clatter of gunfire, and one of the guards dropped to the ground. Almost immediatly, spetimus took cover with surprising agility for a man of his age. The guards forced the four captives down behind the cover and began searching the surrounding ruins for the origin of the shot.
It did not take them long to find a small cell of idealists hiding in the remains of a nearby building. Jonathan watched as the bullet ridden body of an unarmed man fell from a the third story of the building missing it's wall.
The guards soon returned and continued the escort. It was a slow walk thought a war torn city; neither side had clear controll of the territory.
the trip eventually led them to a sort of parade grounds. Jonathan looked and saw what was in store for him. There were a great many people, non-combatants, he assumed, missing about in the feild. There were armed military men watching over a large group of people sitting with their arms bound behind their backs. The crowd was all looking at a new structure, the likes of which none had ever seen before. Jonathan recognised it instantly.
A gallows.
He turned towards Septimus. "You're going to hang us." He stated.
"That's right." the old man said. "I told you I had to make an example of you. I offerend you all a chance to renounce your ways. You could have joined me and ended this revolution without more bloodshed. You could have had a peacfeul sollution. In the end, however, you chose to stick with your beliefs. I must admit, i find this commendable, if foolish. An example must be made to the people. I saw two ways to stop this revolution. In the first, the leaders, that is you and your companions, Jonathan, would have to revert back to the original ideology. If the people saw that the leaders had changed bake to the true path, then they would follow. The second possability would be to cut off the head of the rebellion. Destroy the leaders and the people would lose faith, they woudl want to stop fighting because they would know that they would be next swinging on the rope. I amit that it's a brutal death, hanging, but it makes for a wonderful example."
Jonathan was mounting the stairs by the time Septimus finished speaking. "The only example you'll make here today, Mr. Jones," Jonathan shouted at the old man "Is that of martyrs. The people will see that we believed so strongly in our cause that we died for it! Today, Mr. Jones, all you are doing is sealing the fate of Idealism, and outdated and quite simply wrong philosophy of the universe. Today, Mr. Jones, will be the greatest victory for the realists. Its will forge their characters and they will fight until they have won!"
"Inspiring words, I'm sure, Mr. Brooke." Septimus replied. "But everything remains to be seen."
The nooses were tightened around the necks of the four companions.
Septimus Jones walked up to a a podium of sorts and spoke to the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Today I, Lucas, the head Elder of Port Orpheus have brought to you an end of the conflict that has cause so many problems in our once beautiful city. The very leaders of the rebel insurgence have been captured. Today, for their crimes in insiting the most terrible war since The Destruction of our homeworld, Earth, they will be given a punishment that only crimes of their nature deserve. They will be executed by the ancient right of hanging. Let this be an example to anyone who believes the the Realist ideal is worth fighting and killing for. In the end, all you are doing is giving up your own life."
Septimus' speech was interrupted by gunfire around the complex. Realists were pushing in, Jonathan could see them. they were making a bold offensive agains a heavily guarded area in an attampt to save their leaders. The glimmer of hope was lost, however, when Septimus turned around and started walking for the staris down. As he passed, he nodded to the executioner. He would not even hive his opponets the dignity of watching them die.
Jonathan looked over at Marcelle. "I love you," he said to her.
And then he dropped.

The End

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Battle of Port Orpheus

The ship started to rattle the next day, Jonathan could hear centuries old machinery kicking into action deep in the bowels of the large vessel. The power need to drive something so massive was more than the ship could output while running all interior functions, so for the time the ship was accelerating, the light went out. Jonathan thought of when the Angel of Redemption was pulled into the bay. The lights were off then as well. the Beast must have been in poor shape after a thousand years. No amount of upkeep could have ever kept it looking new after that amount of time, and the ship missed quite a many repair dates.
The acceleration took hours, and Jonathan sat in the dark. He began to get hungry and realised that his meal was late. He wondered if the crew ate during the blackouts. Eventually the lights flickered back on, silently.
About a day passed, and Jonathan thought about what was said to him in his last discussion with Septimus Jones. It was a difficult set of questions to ponder, but Jonathan still felt that he was in the right. He believed that the realists were the right choice to make.
He was surprised again when the guards came by with a request for him to go speak to septimus once again, but even more surprised to see his companions in the hall with the guards as well. Jonathan knew by looking at their faces that they had all been told the same information he had, in one form or another. Perhaps it had been presented to them in a manner more fitting to their position in the realist underground movement, but there was no doubt in Jonathan's mind that they had faced the same difficult questions that he had.
They all moved silently towards the conference lounge. What could they have said to each other?
There were enough chairs for each of them facing septimus. The table appeared to be less rotten than it was, and it held a few peices of equipment.
"Ah yes, the intrepid and steadfastly realist group of guests." Septimus said as they trouped into the room and sat down without any sort of defiance. They felt broken, but in approaching Port Orpheus, perhaps there was hope.
"You might wonder why I brought you all here. Quite simply, I wanted to show you something that I thought would be best presented to you in a group. Miss Oberholtzer, as a sort of impromptu leader of this realist campaign, i understand that you have used violence before. But would you condone planet-wide rioting and reckless killing in teh name of your philosophy?"
"Of course not." Marcelle replied. "I'm not a monster or a planet killer like you."
"Such harsh words. I of course agree with you that that sort of rioting is not a good thing in today's galactic society. unfortunetly, it is a sad reality here on Port Orpheus. We will be in orbit by tomorrow, and, as you understnad, I will have to put a stop to these riots. I asked each and every one of you if you wanted to stand beside your Realist ideals or if you wanted to once again support Idealism. The offer of conversion, you understand, stays open."
Septimus looked across the table at the group, who sat silent. Grinder matched his gaze, but it had none of the fire that it should have. "I'm going to tell you a story." Septimus told the group. "You might think that I am biased, but I assure you, because of Mr. Grinder's familiy on the surface, I am the only person in this conflict who sees both sides of the issue clearly. it all has to do with what happened on Port Orpheus after you started to spread around your little book. a great many people read this book, and it seems that some of those people thought that it had merrit. Other thought that it was rubbish, clearly. Unfortunetly, too many people read the book, and each side really began to foster ill feelings towards the other." Septimus frowned. "Such a shame."
The old man took one of the pieces of equipment on the table - a video screen, and turned it towards the group. It had footage playing silently on it. there was a large group of people fighting in the street. There were no weapons, nothing but bodies throwing themselves at each other. There was blood on more than one face. There were even a few of the local authorities in the crowd, being beaten by those around them.
"These images were taken a few days after you left. It seems that a group of realists were talking loudly about their new system of beliefs when some old school idealists walked up. I cannot tell you who threw the first punch, but I can tell you that this incident ignited a bloody riot. Eventually somebody was shot," at this comment, the video screen angled in on a body bleeding from a neat hole laying on the ground. "That man, as I understand it, was somewhat of an important figure in the realist movement."
Jonathan immedialy recognised him as the man who had printed Andy' book.
"Well, the realists took none too kindly to this death. Mr. Grinder, perhaps you will be pleased to know that your wife tried to stop your son from going to fight. She argued rather eluquently in favour of a peaceful solution, in fact, but it seems that human nature took over in the end. Your son, Mr. grinder, gathered together a posse of men who immediately went hunting for blood."
There were more images in the screen. It showed a group of men and women toting weapons walking down the streets of Port Orpheus. They were serious looking, and evnetually they were met with opposition. The local military force met them in the street. guns began to blaze in the soundless picture and people started to fall.
"This conflict, you understand, was the real issue. The military took losses in this fight. And so did Realist mob. It inticed people all over the city to take to the streets. Many were fighting one another, nobody knew what side the other was on and some people just took to taking advantage of the material gain in a war torn city. Looting was widespread and fighting prolific in the streets. Groups of either ideology would find each other, and pick a fight with a group of the other. The fighting continued to escalate."
There were pictures on the screen of two buildings across teh road from each other trading shots with many sorts of weapons. Eventually a few rockets straked out of one building and slammed into the other, destroying the fascade. A few bodies could be seen falling to the ground along with the rubble. No one could tell what side had take the forceful action.
"Understandably, there were some mistaken cases of friendly fire, but for the most part, it was ideology sgainst ideology in the streets. The battle raged for days, and eventually teh military began to take drastic action in teh intrest of preserving loyal idealist lives. they began to bomb the buildings that were known to be realist strongholds."
The images on the screen showed the millitary ships of the world streaking above the city, bombs dropping at what seemed liek random interval all over the city.
"Of course, the realist were not pleased with this action, so they took to shooting down the aircraft. There were enough weapons in the street by that point that they could easily find what they needed on the bodies of dead soldiers. Ships were brought down, and they crashed through the city, turning blocks into rubble."
The screen once again showed an aircraft zooming thought the clouds above the city, but eventually an orange ball blossomed out of it and the craft tumbled to the ground, striking a building and casing it to collapse.
"the destruction, you can see, is very widespread. Both sides are responsible for the horrors of war. Both sides killed many people. The death toll on this world incalcuable at this time."
The screen switched again, this time to an aerial view. The camera must have been affixed to one of the craft above the city in ruins.
"Mr. Grinder, I regret to inform you that your family has all passed away. Your son was killed in the initial fire-fight. Your daughter was killed when she turned up in the wrong place looking for you son and your wife was killed when the building she was in was bombed by a passing aircraft."
Grinder's head fell. He had to know that this sort of information was coming, but he began to shake in silent sobs.
"As you can all understand from Mr. Grinder's plight, this sort of fighting is merely unacceptable. I have to bring it to an end. There are two ways that I can think of that provide a way out of this dangerous situation. In both cases, you all will be made examples of. The question is, would you rather do this as my enemy, or at my side? It is perfectly reasonable for you to support me now - you have seen yourselves what damage your ideas have done to an otherwise perfectly peacable society that has not seen conflict that I did not engineer myself since its creation a millenium ago. You four are the key to repairing this damage. I ask you now, and this is your last chance, will you join me? Will you stnad by my side, and renounce realism? Will you once again join idealism, show the poeple the error in your ways? Can you help rebuild Utopia? Or must I do it myself?"
Andy slowly lifted his head. He looked more mature to Jonathan than he ever had before. Camly and with great accuracy, he spit on Septimus and said "go to hell, bastard."
With as much grace as he could muster, Septimus wiped the spittle from his face. He did not betray himself and showed no anger towards Andy. "I assume the young one speaks for all of you, then. It makes me sad, but I guess it is inevitable. You will stand by your realism, but I must still stop this war before it speads beyond the borders of this one world. You understand, of course."
Septimus rose from his chair, and the guards came in to take the prisoners back to their cells. before they left, Septimus said one last thing. "You know, Mr. Brooke, if you had joined me, I might have been able to convert Earth. Now, of course, I'm going to have to go back and finish a job I started over a thousand years ago."

Chapter Thirty-One: The Third Discussion

Jonathan expected the return of the gaurd the third time. The door opened as soon as he stood up from the cot. Jonathan took the data pad with him.
The walk to the conferance was almost familiar and Jonathan did not even wait to be asked to sit down. He decided that he should show some sort of self will.
Septimus stared at him steadily for a few moments before he spoke. "Mr. Brooke, the last two time we spoke with each other, I questioned you. Perhaps you would like to ask me a few questions today."
Jonathan looked at Septimus. "How are you still here?" He asked bluntly.
"That, my friend, it a very broad question. I assume that you mean how have I managed to live for over a thousand years? I'll tell you the truth on this one, Mr. Brooke. I don't know. Maybe I have some sort of devine purpose to fufil, maybe it the close relationship I have with the eternal universe. Perhaps it poured itself back into me. I know that might not be the answer you were looking for, but it's all I can offer."
"Alright, I'll except that," Jonathan told the old man "but how did you manage to escape the moon?"
"A more refined version of your earlier question, of course. Also a vauge question, I've been on many moons and escaped more than one. But again, I'll assume that you mean the Earth's moon. That one is simple, after The Beast finished her firing sequence, there were two hours before the nuclear arms arrived at the moon. I managed to change the perceptions of the Universe just in time to get this wonderous ship behind the moon, and from there I managed to take it out here to the Ranch system, where I reburied it. In all these years, this is only third time I've taken it from it's berth in the rock. Of course, your interesting experiment with the light speed ship managed to ignite the planet here and a flare destroyed that moon as well, but that escape was just a matter of flying the Beast out."
"Alright." Jonathan looked at Septimus "Why did you destroy Earth?"
"I wondered when you might get to the heavy questions, Mr. Brooke. You won't believe my answer, but I swear on your transcendental power that it is the truth. You of course remember the Apocalypists? I was the leader of their group. The ideology behind the group, I am afraid, was lost through the ages of time. I was there, I know what it was about. We wanted to save the human race, not destroy it. 'The Apocalyptists' was a title given to us by USNA propoganda. It was not our name nor our ideology. We were a religious group - Christians, if that means anything to you. I've long since seen the error in the dogma of that religion, but the principal distilled beliefs were sound. Our group could see what was happening in the world. There was a claim of equality that masked terrible biggotry, a claim of economy that masked terrible waste, and fiction of a prospering economy..." Septimus sighed. "The world was in sorry shape, and we thought that we could save the human race. We would take the worthy - a word, I might note, that was translated into wealthy in the past thousand years - to a new sort of promised land and returned to Earth to destroy the unworthy masses. I made a mistake that day. I assumed that the Beast would destroy all life on Earth. It obviously did not, as I expected. The in system colonies, I though they would destroy each other. Apparently I was merely lucky in that respect. the Colony on Mars almost survived."
Jonathan was processing the information in horror. He closed his shocked mouth, but said nothing.
"You look so horrified Mr. Brooke. Tell me, in all honesty, is what I did really all that different from what you and your companions are doing now?"
Jonathan, on the defensive, said "We were not planning on destroying entire worlds!"
"Of course you weren't. But tell me this - what of the people that reject your message? What would happen to the people that wished to continue to follow Idealism?" Septimus waited for an answer. None came. "I see that you cannot answer my question. In that case, I will permit you to ask me another."
"Why wouldn't you let anybody return to Earth?" Jonathan asked after a few moments.
"This question should have a very apparent answer, Jonathan. What if my fellow Idealists went there and found out that I was the one that destroyed their fellow humans? The worthy did not want to condemn those on Earth. The wanted to believe that they could be saved in time. Some even tried to stay and preach. I had to use another moniker when destroying the planet. I was two seperate apocalyptists. One was Septimus, the radical. The other was Warren, the saviour. It was the only way I could get the worthy out to these systems and still destroy earth without being destroyed in turn. I did have an elaborate death planed to Septimus. Thankfully, the USNA took care of that for me. Simply put, I hid the location of Earth from everybody in the new soceity and forbid people from returning. I was afraid, should they find any evidence of what I had done, they would turn against me. I could not risk that. Not even I returned. Of course, in retrospect, I feel that maybe I should have, because you led your realist friends right to Earth, and have caused the very problems that I was trying to avoid."
Jonathan and Septimus sat in silence for a few moments. There was a certain amount of tension in the air. "I suppose it might be useless to ask, Mr. Brooke, but I must. You have certainly given thought to everything I have said in these discussions. I have to ask you, will you consider renouncing realism and taking into consideration the path of the idealist?"
"I would never follow an evil man like you." Jonathan said to Septimus.
"You know, Jonathan, I expected an answer like that. I knew miss Oberholtzer would never accept my offer, but i wondered about mr. Grinder and your young friend Andy. It seems that none of them would accept. But, I am still willing to let you change your mind. In a few days, we will engage the in system drives and push the Beast into orbit around Port Orpheus. A bloody revolt has broken out there. The only way I can think to quash it is to appear, in my moniker of Lucas, of course, and make an example of the leaders of the rebellion. That would be you and your three companions, of course.The question is, Jonathan Brooke, what kind of example should I make? It's entirely up to you. Should you change your mind about what side you wish to take in this conflict, all you need do is speak to the gaurds."
Septimus paused for a few moments. "I have one last idea for you to consider, Mr. Brooke. You called me evil. What if I told you that there was no such thing as evil, Mr. Brooke, but only lesser good? What if I told you that either philosophy would be just as good for humanity, and that neither would lead the human race into eternal damnation? Is your philosophy not self destroying when it says that no interpretation of the Transcendental Power could ever be accurate? Is it not acceptable to believe that Idealism and Realism are equally as valid? What is less good, Mr. Brooke, destorying one world to create a utopia among the stars, or destroying that utopia to make a system that will condone violence and destuction, and take a bloody war that will destroy billions of people? Who here is the evil man, Mr. Brooke?"

Sunday, November 28, 2004

Chapter Thirty: Echoes of the 21st Century

Jonathan was left alone in his cell for days. He had nothing to do but think. He kept on pondering the conversation he had had with Septimus Jones. Often, though, he wondered what had become of Marcelle and his other companions. Jonathan also though about how he could escape. Every few hours, he would look over his entire cell and try and find something he missed, but he never could.
Three times a day food was delivered to him to the two gaurds. Jonathan saw no point in refusing the food, and ate it everytime it came. There was never anything useful to be found on the flimsy plastic tray that might aid his escape.
Jonathan spent the days wondering what might become of him. It was genuinely a surprise when the armed guard walked up to the door and said "Your presence is requested by Mr. Jones in the conference lounge."
Jonathan wasn't sure he wanted to go, but he saw it as an opportunity to perhaps get some information. He stood up and walked to the door. the guard outside gave a signal down the hall and stepped aside as the door swung open.
Jonathan was no manhandled this time, but rather just led by the one guard to the same room he had been in when last speaking with Septimus Jones. He walked inside and found the old man once again sitting on the far side of the rotten table. He looked up from the same pad he had been holding the last time when Jonathan walked in the room. "Ah, welcome back Mr. Brooke. Do take a seat."
Jonathan saw no need to refuse, and sat down in the old chair opposite of Septimus.
"Looks like you're willing to be a bit more civil today, Mr. Brooke. Your friends certainly were on their subsiqeunt interviews."
"I suppose I can talk to you. After all, how else am I going to learn anything new?"
"A man of logic, I see. Well, as a matter of fact Jonathan, I did bring you here to talk today. First and foremost, I wanted to know about that strange creature that seems to have come with you. I disected it myself, and the physiology was really quite fascinating. It appeared to have the right traits for an intellegent species."
Jonthan's jaw clenched tight. His eyes went cold. "You treated him like an animal. He was a rational communicative being. He didn't deserve to be killed."
"You talk about it like it was a person... the fact is, your small alien companion was an animal. As for killing it, well, I'm sorry I did. It looked to be a such fascinating creature. I would have liked to study it when it was living. But you understand, I was just devending myself from it. It did attack me after all."
Jonathan was having tourble keeping himself in check. "He had a name. It was Norman," he hissed through clentched teeth.
"Surely you gave him that name? But that is beside the point. I realise that your pet was rather special to you. I understand it... he was your only companion when you were stranded on a world otherwise along for quite some time. I did want to apologise for incuring such extra emotional strain on you by being the progenitor of Norman's death. It was Norman, correct?"
Jonathan just stared at the impossible man.
"You know Mr. Brooke that your philosophy is as much flawed as mine is?"
This caught Jonathan's attention. "What do you mean?"
"I read your companions Andy's book. It seems you are exhaulted as the saviour sent from Earth. The one that allowed the realists to learn my true nature. Of course, that isn't the point I want to discuss. I was wondering, what makes you think that I am the one that is described as a," here Septimus consulted his note pad, "oh yes, a 'corrupted evil from a confused millenium'? Who is to say that I represent this concept of evil, Mr. Brooke? It says in this book that my descendants, I'm sure he meant the colonists and not my children directly, had forgotten the true transcendental power and replaced it with the Mind. Who says that is true? What Idealist truthefully believes that The Mind is a god of sorts?"
Jonathan could not answer the question. He thought back to his discussions with Captain Fortworth, but thought of nothing that was relevant to this argument.
"I see that you cannot answer. I would like to read you something, Mr. Brooke." Septimus flipped through a number of pages on his pad untill he found what he was looking for. "Ah, here we are. This is something that was written by an anymous philosopher sometime around the dawn of the 21st century.
"'Space Invaders is just a game, but it has to be one of the largest symbols of hopelessness I've ever come across. In most video games you overcome the great evil and defeat it, everybody's happy in the end and such on and so forth. In short, you save the world. That’s the point, you're supposed to go through trials and much difficulty, and in the end you are left with a feeling of accomplishment - that is what makes video games entertaining. Not so in Space Invaders.' You do know what the philosopher was speaking about, right?"
Jonathan thought about it. "I can't say I do, no."
"Back before the destruction, computers were used as much for entertainment as they were for tools. I remember those days. The game that the philosopher is lost on me, I don't really know what it is, but he does describe it as he goes on. Basically, the premise is that the people of that century used computers to be their opponent in when they played a game. Do you understand this concept?"
Jonathan nodded.
"Excellent, then I shall continue. 'Space Invaders is different. You shoot all of the weird flying jellyfish that feel that the best manoeuvre they can make is to march on your little green vehicle at the bottom of the screen in a stepwise, geometric pattern downwards.
"'You can line the aliens up in your sights and shoot them all, you can even blast that red mother ship at the top of the screen and get four question marks worth of bonus points, but you can never really defeat them.
You whittle them down, and you take refuge behind your shields, and then, once you think victory is at hand, you shoot the last alien out of the sky and there suddenly appears, as if out of nowhere, a new hoard of invaders. Only this time, they started just a little closer to the surface of Earth. You work fervently to destroy this wave of aliens as well, and if you do, it buys enough time to get an extra vehicle to defend Earth with. But this is just a kind of false hope. Every wave you destroy, there's one new vehicle for you, but there are hoards of aliens, and each time you defeat them they get a little bit closer to the ground.
"'The premise behind the game is that it's supposed to get more difficult with each subsequent wave, so each one starts closer to the ground, is a bit faster than the last and returns more fire. The way the game is programmed, however, dictates that if you should continue to quickly defeat the aliens, another wave will always follow - Literally, there is no end to the invasion.
"'The fight you put on, pushing the joystick back and forth and desperately mashing the fire button after you miss that last alien in hopes that you will somehow coax another shot out of your guns before your first one reaches the top of the screen, it's all in vain. It's like trying to read Hemmingway with only your teeth. You can't do; in Space Invaders, you cannot save Earth. It's hopeless.
You can hide behind your sheilds, but as time passes the fire from the alien ships will wear them away. There is no hope. Space Invaders is a tragic symbol of inevitable defeat. '"
Septimus pasued for a moment. He let the short essay hang in the air. Jonthan looked at the old man and asked "Why did you read me this?"
"I found it to be oddly prophetic." Septimus replied. "I've had a thousand years to read the library on this vessel and of all the things I've read, this particular peice stuck out to me. It's such a tragic description. You can tell by the narrative that the author, whomever he or she may have been, had spent time with this game. It's almost like a confession. They fell enteirly hopeless to stop the aliens, and yet they always go back to try again. Now, Mr Brooke, I want you to apply this to yuo life. You are the defender down on Earth, the realists are your sheild. Who do you suppose are the aliens in the sky?"
Jonathan knew well what the answer should be. "The idealists" he spit out bitterly.
"Of course, Mr. Brooke, you are correct. I knew you could work it out, you are an intellegent man. The question I want you to think about, really, however is this: would you rather fight a futile losing battle against the ever closer aliens, or would you rather come out from behind your sheild and keep it from being destroyed?
"That will be all for today Mr. Brooke, there is a guard outside waiting for you. He will take you back to your cell." With that, Septimus Jones turned back to his pad of paper and began to scribble in the strange figures that Jonathan did not recognise.
Jonathan left the room and was taken back to his cell, where his thoughts again followed the conversation he had just had with Septimus. Jonathan was left to try and figure out what Septimus had meant coming out form beuind the sheild.
In his cell, Jonathan found a data pad with the short essay and Andy's book saved in the data file.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Legacy of Septimus Jones

Jonathan felt a tingling down his spine and inadvertantly took a step backwards. Looking at the man, he knew he looked familiar. There wasn't a doubt in Jonathan's mind that this Septimus Jones was the Septimus Jones - the one who had established the colonies and the one who had destroyed Earth.
The old man looked at Jonathan, and then at his offered hand and retracted it. "You seem a little upset by something Mr. Brooke."
Jonathan could barely believe the friendly tone of voice he was hearing. "You might say that," he replied.
"Of course, you are from Earth. I suppose I am responsible for some misunderstandings and minor unpleasntries there. But, Mr. Brooke, that was a millenium ago. Can't you forgive an old man?"
"Quite honestly, I don't trust you or feel comforatable." Jonathan told the man.
"Why not take a seat, then? I apologise for the state of The Beast, it seemes that it's rather fallen into disrepare over the last few hundred years; but I assure you, the chairs are as solid as ever. I always told myself I was going to fix this place up, all it would really take, you understand, would be a moment of thought. I would just have to focus my perceptions and tell the Mind what things really should be like. But, honestly, it's gotten to the point now where I can't really remember what anything looked like before. And who am I to destroy this marvelous wonder of archeology. I'm not sure you noticed the emblem on the door when you came in?"
Jonathan was still recovering from the shock of what he saw before him. His mind was mostly blank, but questions were slowly forming. The first was about that very emblem. He sat down carefully in one of the chairs, opposite the rotting table of Septimus. "I did see it."
"Ah, excellent! Then you might have noticed that it said 'USNA' on it; stands for the United States of North America, you understand? This ship is probably their most incredible wonder of technology. They couldn't build it out in the open, so they had to build it underground. On the moon, in point of fact. It's the last remaining fuctional peice of technology from that era, as far as I know. It really does carry a powerful weapon, a great cannon that can destroy human minds. I haven't used it since those days, of course."
"You bastard. How did you get off the moon befor the nuclear missiles obliterated the surface?"
"Now, now, Mr. Brooke, is there really any need to be insulting?" Jonathan still couldn't place what was wrong with the way Septimus was speaking. It was like he had an accent, but it was so vauge. "Remeber that I am an Idealist; in fact, I discovered this particular form of the philosophy."
"But it's wrong!" Jonathan demanded.
"So you would think, Mr. Brooke. So you would think. It's all because you fell in with the wrong crowd. You see, there was not supposed to be any sort of survival on Earth. I was a fool and assumed that the in system colonies woudl destroy themselves and that all life on Earth had perished. Apparently I was wrong - imagine my surprise when we spoke in the hall of Elders on Port Orpheus."
"You weren't there."
Septimus, in the blink of an eye was no longer the same bald old man in front of Jonathan. He had taken on the appearance of Lucas, the elder of Port Orpheus. When he spoke, it was with a different voice and the accent was gone. "Wasn't I?"
Jonathan's jaw dropped at the sight. It was impossible that Septimus could have changed his appearance like that. In an instant he was back to the same wiry old man. Septimus seemed to read Jonathan's mind. "The thing about Idealism," he said "is that the more you practice it, the better you get. I've had a thousand years to hone my skills, and, of course, I was the first to start changing the perceptions of the entire universe. Of course, it really is against the social laws of the colonial society to change your appearance with the Mind, but I feel it's necessary. I mean, most people in the worlds thing I'm dead."
"Maybe you should be," Jonathan said acidly.
"You know, your friend James Grinder said the same thing. Interesting really. If I had died, he would never have been here. Its through him that I knew where you were and were able to capture you. Blind luck, really, that you ended up here in the Ranch system and I didn't have to bring you from another world."
"What do you mean by saying through Grinder you could capture us?" Jonathan asked slowly.
"Oh, it's this strange side-effect of being so close to the Mind so often that I noticed. It seems that as I pour my perceptions into the universe, so the universe pours its perceptions into me. I was surprised at first when I could see thorugh the eyes of my children, but soon learned how useful it was. To my great pleasure, this trend continued through all the generations of my family. Most of them don't know that they are my descendants, of course, and none of them know about this strange ability I have to see through their eyes. Except, of course, James. I told him when we had a bit of a chat. He seemed to take the information very poorly. It's wonderfully really; the abillity I mean. I have hundreds of spies out among the colonies and not a single one of them knows what they are doing for me."
"You are a terrible man." Jonathan told Septimus.
The old man made a clicking noise with his tounge and said "Now Jonathan, did I really deserve that?"
Before Jonathan could reply, Norman dropped off the ceiling and onto Septimus Jones' head. The creature was attacking the old man, using his many thin legs to try and puncture the man's skin. a few scrapes began to appear in the flurry of movement, but Septimus managed to grab hold of the creature and throw it. Norman bounced off the wall, and handed on the ground. A strange clicking noise began to come out of his carpace once again.
Septimus calmy drew a gun out of the recessed of his clothing and pulled the trigger. Norman fell flat to the ground, and the clicking stopped.
"I think," Septimus said, wiping a dot of blood of his forehead "that our interview for today is over."
Jonathan felt speechless, and looked at the body of Norman. The creature had taken on a generic grey colour. Although Jonathan really knew nothing about his physiology, he was sure that the creature was dead. He was ready to attack Septimus himself when the two guards grabbed his arms and dragged him back to cell.
All the information he had learned on that day weighed down on him, and he felt heavy. The talk alone had been enough to justify the lack-luster pace the other three companions had adopted after their interviews, but Jonathan had the added weight of a lost friend.
He colapsed onto the cot when he was thrown into his cell and wept. He felt more hopeless in that moment than he even had in his entire life.