[This piece was written as a prelude to War Torn Apart which can be read here.]

I will have to designate what I am, a name. They will not understand otherwise. They must be made to understand. Shouldn’t they?

Without the slightest tremor in its hand, (X) spun the tuners of its visual intensifier to get a precise view of the decaying plant cells. It picked up its acoustic collector and held it to the taut lips of its communication orifice. It spoke matter-of-factly. “The weapon is successful. The reconfigured virus continues to succeed in compromising cell wall integrity, overcoming plant resistance to disease.”

(X) took a step back from its labor to embrace the womb of the cavern’s shadows, grotesquely satisfied but with a splinter of guilt. Since coming to understand its destiny, (X) has meditated religiously to rid its being of any social sentiments. I should think only of what must be done and not whether they deserve it. In a universe where (X) can calculate all the collisions of matter against the march of time, there is only the inevitable. From the edge of light, it spoke lowly to invisible forces.

“I have a cure for all mankind.”

(X) sauntered aside to examine a brittle parchment affixed to a rocky, grey slab. The parchment was a two-dimensional visual representation of the planet [designation:] Earth’s agricultural centers. It raised a limb to the illustration and spread its thin, olive phalanges over the regions it intends to deliver the virus. The areas are inconspicuous, but by targeting these locations, its weapon could spread its effects far afield before being detected, if it gets detected. Mankind may be preoccupied with other matters. (X)’s intention is to synchronize the timing of its biological attack with the detonation of several small-yield nuclear weapons. The virus will destroy crops and throw the food chain into chaos while countries take up arms against each other while the true assailant goes unknown. Looking for someone to blame, Mankind will turn and feast upon each other as they have always done. By the time biologists realize what is happening, it will be too late.

It will be too late because (X) has thought of a fail-safe. It has created versions of its biological weapon that will destroy algae in the ocean while another agent kills off all the plankton in the sea. If the oceans die, so will the human race. (X)’s satisfaction turns into a warm, liquidy pleasure at the thought.

Folds of skin tense around (X)’s orbicularis oculi; an attempt to physically restrain these emotions. Feelings; they bring a nausea that wrenches its abdominal cavity. Repressing the sensations that pollute (X) do not come naturally. (X)’s hates this of itself, having to work so hard to rid itself of emotion, then realizes hate is another emotion.

Meditation is (X)’s primary means of coping. Meditation at this moment, though, will have to be represented by what the enemy calls ‘free writing.’ (X) positions its posterior adipose deposits upon a flat, inflexible plastic surface and pulls itself toward a shiny aluminum platform. It retrieves a long, yellow, wooden symbologizer from behind the flap of skin covering its auditory canal and lowers the tool to a small piece of fibrous tissue. It scratches a stream of consciousness across a rectangular white leaf.

Their emotions continue to abase me. Feelings have not prevented successful experiments; they never have. But it does delay my experiments on occasion. To explain: I have found too much of my time ill spent on a desire for humans to understand what they have brought upon themselves. I want them to understand, as if would induce in them a change. They call this feeling ‘hope.’ Only, hope is translated into insanity when they refuse to change. They are insane. I am a product of that insanity. Insanity destroys itself. Thus, I remind myself I am a herald, the harbinger who will brings judgment upon them for their crimes against each other. I remind myself to feel no inner conflict. Sparing many future generations outweighs any hopefulness for this one. I am as resolved to this course of action now as I was 40 years ago. No one and nothing can escape the inevitable.

(X) violently exited its repose as its portable communication apparatus rustled the atmosphere. Distain crept in with this interruption as the creature slid off its perch toward the instrument. It swallowed a deep breath with which to process and expel the negative expression. There must be no hint of the charade it must now engage in. Slowly, deliberately, (X) drew the phone to his ear.

“Why are you interrupting me, Allister?” (X) questioned.

“Civility is completely alien to you as ever, Dr. Isa’is. Good morning. I suppose you’re in The Cave? Figuratively speaking of course. Well, you’ll need to put your research aside for the afternoon. Remember, you have a meeting with Dr. Cutler and the rest of the department at two-thirty.”

“Yes…yes, of course. I’d almost forgotten.” Doctor Isa’is glanced at a heavy manila folder on his desk; a significant detail. The folder contained a condensed report on his alternative research – Agricultural Diseases: Prevention Through Resistance. “Thank you for the reminder.” The doctor stiffened his face as he tried to stifle what they call a smile. There must be no hint of deception. He must remain in supreme control. “Thank you for the reminder, Dr. Kinning. You’re a true humanitarian.”

“Doctor Isa’is extends his graciousness! Are you yourself today, Thomas?”

“I feel…Everything is in order. We will proceed accordingly. I will see you this afternoon, Allister. Goodbye.”

Dr. Kinning listened as his phone beeped, signaling the end of the call. “Ah, that’s the Thomas Isa’is we know and love,” he commented before carrying on. Despite the man’s reclusiveness, Dr. Kinning was eminently proud to have Dr. Isa’is on staff. Not only was Dr. Isa’is a biologist, but an astrophysicist and psychologist as well. “Brilliant man, Doctor Isa’is is,” Kinning remarked to a passing colleague. “Probably knows what’s best for humanity. Brilliant, brilliant man.”



All Rights Reserved © October 2016 John J Vinacci

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