PART LXVIII - IN the POSE for WOES

Harry sat on a rock near the smoldering ruin of the Roach Motel. A pile of Kleenex boxes sat too his left and a mound of soaking wet paper sat to his right. Harry sobbed and mumbled continuously.

"I was a contender... I coulda been somebody... I had a chance to win the Motel Proprietor of the Year Award. But now this black mark on my record will ruin me... I have nothing left, but a pile of wood, plaster, glass, and a bunch of cheap torn paintings."

Harry blew his nose loudly.

A hand fell on his shoulder. "Have you a room?"

Harry turned around. "What the fuck do you think, asshole?"

A tall, thin, pale skinned man stood over him, with long black hair, the center of which stood straight up and was dyed (it must have been dyed, right?) mauve. He wore black flowing garments, and his eyes were a piercing violet. At his side hung a giant curved sword.

"Oh God, not another one," said Harry.

"Another what?" asked the stranger.

"Uh, nothing, nothing at all." Harry got up and backed away from the guy, tripping over the remains of a drain pipe.

"Have care, friend. Tell me, is this the Holiroche Hotel?"

"Uh, close. It was the Holy Roach Motel. Why?"

"I was told to come here. I am on a quest, you see."

"Uh huh? Uh uh, I don't see."

"You needn't. My name is Kyle Te'Arashae. I need a room."

"Look, I'd love to help ya pal, but my hotel's been wiped out for the second time this week, so, uh, I don't think there's going to be a motel here anymore, alright?"

"You're giving up?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Typical human reaction." The man walked off.

"Wait a minute!" Harry chased him. "What do you mean, `typical human reaction'?"

"Your race has a disturbing tendency to give in when adversity strikes. Your ability to swim upstream is lamentably poor."

"What, you think we just roll over and die whenever life throws a curve?!"

"Something like that."

Harry stood in front of the guy. "Listen to me, you punk-rock road kill! We have more drive, more will to succeed than you've ever seen, bucko! I'm going to build a hotel here that'll make the Astoria look like a Venture Inn. And if you don't believe me, you'd better just stay out of my way!"

Kyle punched him lightly in the arm. "That's the spirit, Harry. Knock'em dead."

"Wha... How do you know my name?"

"I was told to ask for Harry at the Holiroche Hotel. Since there isn't anyone else around, I assumed that was you."

"Told to ask for me? By who?"

"Oh, a little bird."

"You're not getting off that easy - birds don't talk. Now, who was it?"

"Didn't you just have a conversation with a Phoenix the other day?"

"Shit... Ok you win."

Kyle wandered across the field and Harry headed back to his smoldering ruin with the dreams of a huge resort.

PART LXVII - MOVING IN

Linda didn't like it.

"It's too biiiig!"

"Biiiig, biiig, ....." said the echo.

"But, Milady," said Balldrip, "it's the most lavish residence in..."

"Shut up you cadaver. Do you realise how many people I'm going to have to wipe out to fill this place with blood?! Hmm, sounds like fun..."

A Servant popped in. "Is her Majesty back? I thought I heard her come in."

Linda turned, flashing an evil eye, and growled, "Yes, I'm right here." She grabbed a halbard from the wall and charged the servant, turning him into a human shishkabob. His trembling hands grasped onto the shaft as blood flowed down his legs, then he fell limp and the puddle at his feet grew larger.

Balldrip glanced at the remains. "I say, Mistress, you've made an awful spot on the rug."

"You really aren't paying attention, are you Balldrip? Come along, we've got a slaughter to begin."

"Uh, you go on ahead, I left something in the car."

Linda reached over and yanked Balldrip to his feet. "I said come on! And pull your leiderhosen up for fuck's sake, you pathetic little worm."

"But its the Industrial Strength Mixer!.."

"Shut up. We have bigger plans afoot."

"You have plans for a bigger foot?"

"Shut up."

"Right."

PART LXVI - ELECTRONIC CONTROL EXPERIMENTED

Ellipsis gave Epicentric a string of twelve inter-related endless loops to chew on; he wanted at least half a minute to try a few things out. He racked up the assault software and accessed the Net.

Mortal humans thought cyber space was a science fiction invention, a pipe dream of the technological alarmists if they thought about it at all. They were wrong. All around Ellipsis were the nodes of computer systems, switches, satellite link-ups, the myriad stations of electronic communication. When the full assault was ready, every one of those nodes would receive his attention. Not this time. He knew the software would work. He didn't know how the humans would react.

Ellipsis glided along the Net, bouncing from Tie-line to cell-link to satellite and back, becoming totally untraceable. With these electronic devices and linkups, he could control the entire human population through mental suggestion, and no one would even realize. Test subjects were being rigged with the special direct neural link hardware so that they could be hard-linked into the system. Everything was performed with precision by a robotic medical team. These special team members had also been equipped with special communications paging equipment that would cause them to link up on demand. These team members would take care of special tactical missions to solve problems within the human element.

But that degree of control was a later stage. Now, he sought the computers of Bull Systems, to test how fast and how strong human resistance would be to computerized control of their power structures.

He slipped into Bull's system. At first, he just looked like a routine outside user. While in the main menu area, he launched viruses into each of the main divisions of the network. These viruses would rewrite the operating protocols, giving Ellipsis control over the company's resources. He left a program to make internal changes and orders, then backed out of the system to watch what happened without risk of being traced.

Bull's main frame HUB started to go wild. It dumped the stocks held in NEC on the Tokyo market, funneled the money into a small research firm of marine biology on the coast of California, and bought control over an Australian firm that was being accused of generating strains of biological warfare products. Also a small transaction was made to buy Elvis Schtuckerman's House of Warped Tunage. Several of Bull's failing processors were immediately dropped from production. Completely radical designs emerged from the core and were configured on the machinery of Bull's assembly lines. Marketing was in a flurry to try and compensate for the radical changes. News of the bio-warfare was almost becoming a scandal in Financial Post magazine and several of the daily business columns. Over 200 people were fired throughout the companies divisions, and two entire offices were laid off, the properties sold on the commercial real estate market. It was a stunning blow, but all the while, Ellipsis' viruses were continuing to change the data structures of Bull's networks to a format that would let him directly into the processor core.

It was beautiful. The human's were scrambling about without a clue what was happening. Anytime someone suggested to check for hackers, his program fired the jerk. Bull stock fell through the floor around the world, dragging much of the computer industry with it. Ellipsis sent some of his stockpiled cash into the markets to stop the slide; he wanted control of the world, not its destruction. The experiment was over. At least it was an insignificant company.

"Boss! Boss! Pi seems to have become a cheese danish!"

PART LXV - "GOOD GOD!" - A DEBATABLE POINT

The New Messiah puzzled long and hard about how to produce a religion that would liberate humanity rather than enslave it. As time went by, he grew desperate, for he could find no solution, and his existence depended on success - after all, being a Messiah would be meaningless without having something to save the faithful for.

But he could find nothing.

Finally, before despair could take him away to oblivion, he resorted to seeking outside help.

KDAmery picked up the phone. "`Lo?"

"Your Supremeness? It's the New Messiah."

"Hey, Kiddo, how's it hangin’?"

"It's not. That's the problem: I need a new faith."

"I... see.... Is this for personal or professional use?"

"Professional. Personal, too."

"Uh huh. Well, all right, come on over." KDAmery reached into the phone and pulled the New Messiah through.

"So, what exactly is the problem?"

"What I need is a religion that won't deceive people, yet will give them a sense of purpose and meaning."

"Jeez, why dontcha ask for something easy, like world peace or stable computer standards."

"Hey, if it was easy I would have done it myself."

"Alright, alright, lessee what we can whip up here."

CWBorysowich wandered through the room, glancing through the pages of The Egyptian Book Of The Dead. CWBorysowich stopped. His face warped for a second. He dropped the book on the floor, "Who the hell needs religion, anyway?" and promptly exited.

"Don't mind him," said KDAmery. "He's just feeling PO'd cause somebody created the universe and forgot to invite him. Anyway, let's take a look at the basics. The real source of religion is the unknown forces in the mind."

"Huh?" asked the New Messiah.

"Sure. What, you never read Jung? Get with it, kid. Anyway, the whole idea was to explain these frightening occurrences. Later (like, later that week) it was used to explain external shit, like thunder storms and fire and pimples. The third development, and this is the bit that really pisses CW and myself off to no end, is the addition of morality to the mix. Now, rather than asking the village elder `what's dat?' and being told his understanding of what it was, you also got some BS about how it should be a lesson to you to always believe in the Great Cockroach and hate the Wicker People."

"Ohhhh... kay.," said the New Messiah. "So, I need a story that is non-judgmental, right?"

"Yeah, that's a start. But, more importantly, it's got to be something that won't be proved wrong, and it has to resonate."

"Huh?"

"Okay, listen. If the tenets of your system can be disproved, you're going to have a real problem keeping the faithful. Self evident, right?"

"Sure, look at the Church of Scientology..."

"Okay. But the story can be true as a government scandal and it won't make a lick of difference unless it resonates. Your story has to grab the imagination of a great many people. They have to believe it as soon as they hear it."

"Kinda like propaganda?"

"Hmmm, you learn a little too quick. Be careful with that shit, it'll blow up on you. Oh yeah, one more thing. Deep six the worship thing."

"Wha... why?!"

"Cuz us deities really don't care about all the mortal slavering that goes on. We think it's demeaning and boring. I mean, look at this: you got people bowing their heads and begging for forgiveness for something someone they don't even know did. That isn't there to help us, it's there for the priests. It makes them feel powerful to see all these people on their knees."

"So what do you want?"

"Me? Leave me outta this, pal. I don't have time to pay attention to the whole world on Sunday morning: I'm still recovering from Saturday night."

CWBorysowich re-entered the room holding a calculator. "You know, if that bozo that wrote the bible came back to life right now, we'd owe him a heck of a lot of back royalties."

"True," said KDAmery. "Except it wasn't one guy, it was a few hundred. The Bible was the world's first Committee Art. There wouldn't be royalties to the guys, it would be to their marketing firm."

"Well, thank the lord we had that company go under and recycled into a microwave."

"Is that what you did with your half? I turned mine into Harry."

PART LXIV - THE SAC FIGHTS BACK

Sacman sat in his office, with his feet up on the desk so that his shoes were visible. Surrounding him were some of his most trusted men, many of them with 95% or more of their body already embroidered.

"Well boys, VelcroVice and HomeSpun Homicide have teamed up to try and strike hard into our territory," stated Sacman.

The thugs started to laugh, but a hush fell over the room as Sacman's shoes disappeared behind his desk, and they were faced with the meanest looking burlap bag this side of Ireland.

"We can't take this too lightly, boys. They're out to hurt us. So I've called in the evilest of villains known - BOB!"

Several gasps escaped from Sacman's men. The door pushed open and in strolled a dark figure, munching on some Fritos. He looked up. "Tho, what'th up folkth? Hey, Thacman, nithe thoes!"

The gang considered gasping again, but decided to hold out for a better contract and benefits.

Sacman stood. "BOB, glad to have you aboard. Boys, those ISO morons'll be screaming for mercy in no time at all."

"I didn't know we dealt in mercy..." said one of the men.

Sacman reached over and yanked a yard of lycra out of the man's left arm.

"Arrghhh, withdrawal!!!" The man keeled over and died.

"Anyway, I said they would scream for mercy. I didn't say they would get it. Is that clear?"

The rest of the room nodded.

"And BOB, can you explain just what will happen to these ISO agents that try to hurt our organization?"

"Yeth. They will thuffer the motht heinuth of deathth."

"And what might that be?" asked one of the braver - or stupider, depending on how charitable one felt - men.

BOB just smiled. "Wait and thee. Right, Gulliver?"