Tag Archives: Technology

Explaining  Altarian Cosmology – Basics

(I thought this “explanation” would come in handy as a follow up to the last blog post.  If you are interested in knowing where my ideas are coming from, here, in part, is one important source. Questions? Ask away!) 

Explaining Altarian Cosmology, the Basics
[Voice from the Other Side  ~burning woman~ translated by Sha’Tara]

Premise 1:  Every universe is a closed system sharing common space with every other universe and everything else (Unknowns:  “ghosts” – Watchers – Guardians).  We call this the cosmos.

Premise 2:  Every universe has its own unique set of rules and has evolved its own unique character.  This uniqueness prevents free and open interaction with other universes. 

Details:  Life does not exist in vacuum (chaos).  Spirit (Source of life) images and sends forth “life” into the cosmos.  Such “life” is equipped with all information necessary to “be fruitful and multiply” according to set patterns (rules).  To be successful, such life must delineate itself as other than.  That is what we call “order.”

A successful universe is one that integrates its original set of information into a working, growing whole.  It chooses to cut itself off from all other life to pursue its own definitions of life, thus becoming a self-sustaining closed system. 

Theories of Development:  We suspect that every “thing” is somehow linked to everything else, even when all evidence says otherwise.  Every entity from macro to micro contains within itself a “sluice gate” that can be opened to allow energy to flow between otherwise closed systems.  Who opens it?  We do not know.  We do know however that to prevent a sense of isolationism these are opened periodically.  We also know the process is extremely delicate and dangerous.  It requires intelligence far above anything we feel able to comprehend at this stage.

The longer an entity (universe in this case) evolves completely cut-off from others, the less likely it can withstand a sudden input of energy from another entity.  Should a sluice gate fail, a universe may suffer “rape” from another one.  Its “immune system” may have weakened to the point it may even die of shock. 

This Universe:  Our, perhaps better put, your, universe is binary; a balanced system using the basic male/female concept to maintain itself and propagate life within itself.  This is observable by using the adage, “as below, so above.” 

Not all binaries remain in balance for they must juxtapose a great many variables.  Usually, the imbalance is caused from within and corrects itself after much upheaval (conflict) that settles into new patterns of relationships (forgiveness, acceptance).

Observations:  We suspect however that this universe has suffered imbalance due to intrusion of alien energies through an accident at the so-called sluice gate.  The gate was either left untended by the Guardians (highly unlikely scenario) or was attacked and successfully breached and for an instant an influx of alien, basically male, energy forced itself into this universe.  Over the billennia, this influence has spread into developing ISSA consciousness causing what religions call evil or “sin” to become a constant, as described by the now current term, “necessary evil.”  

Evil or sin is observable (sensed) imbalance caused by a force not innate to the system.  Evil is never a natural state within any system.  It is always made up of excessive force.  Evil is an anti-life force.  Evil kills.  It is the only force that does so.  It creates agony and feeds on pain. 

Conclusions:  It has fallen to us as empathic, compassionate ISSA consciousness to either tame this alien consciousness or remove it from this system.  The “how’s” of it have been discussed at many a plenary universal session as can be surmised from the many sessions on Earth dealing with the subject.  The difficulties in identifying the location of this “evil” consciousness have increased exponentially over the millennia as it blended itself into the original consciousness of this universe. 

The oppressive nature of the alien consciousness has become a subject of awe and reverence in many developing worlds and its effects have been copied and used to create great oppressive structures that now control life on many such worlds (not just on Earth).  Simply put, the Intruder has grown in power and by infecting minds, has gained much following everywhere.  It “owns” certain worlds outright, hence the temptation to simply annihilate such worlds – an idea we have vehemently opposed at all time.

And yet well do we know that the current condition of this universe cannot be permitted to continue.  We know that subduing of the Intruder will cause much pain for a short time, and this pain we will feel within ourselves even as we struggle.  This universe is not lacking in information and “weaponry” to overcome this great evil — but it is still lacking in understanding, good will and commitment.  Mostly it is lacking in the degree of empathy and compassion that would signal all ISSA consciousness not as yet totally seduced by the Intruder to join in defeating it. 

It remains that whatever we are not willing to do for ourselves to better our conditions, no one else can do for us.  Hence, for those who still cling to the idea of redeemers, or loving gods, even of alien saviours — their great ineffectiveness and deathly silence gives that idea a ‘case closed.’  It’s up to you, and us, now. 

“Know this then, that as long as a single child dies of preventable causes on your world, you are experiencing evil.
“Know this, then, that if you are not moved to sorrow by this knowledge, you have been utterly duped and seduced by this evil.
“Know this, then, that in such a condition of heart-mind you can never be instrumental in defeating the evil that even now gnaws the marrow of your planet’s bones, and yours.”
[the Teacher YLea]

 

 

The Gathering

(A simple story with some questions at the end…)

[short story… by  ~burning woman~  ]

The Ancient surveyed the group with his mind.  “I see we are all gathered – let us proceed.  Agenda, please.” 

Orija closes her eyes and intones: “This Great Gathering, ninth of a series of ten, is called to decide the fate of the Sol system in which lies a planet called Earth which has been of concerns to Gathering for some years now. This meeting will address those aspects that lie within our jurisdiction.”

“Very well.  Please begin.  I recognize Volarian Mosl as the first delegate.”

 “The Volarians are, hm, quite uncomfortable with the energies emanating from the Sol planet called Earth.  Without going into details already well known to this august body, we propose a terminal solution before the discomfort spreads further.  It is known to us that some Belgelians have offered limited space folding capabilities to a segment of Earthian humans who claim descent from those known to us as the Nibiruans.  As a result we have been forced to strengthen our shields against the possibility of a sudden eruption of Earth humans — whom we consider to be corrupted beyond redemption –within our space.  The situation among my people is volatile as we have not had to deal with outer world aggression in long ages.  Even our oldest mages cannot remember the days of war.  We are asking, once more, that this Gathering do something definitive to resolve this issue.  We do not wish to wait for another Gathering.  If nothing is done now, our space guild will take action as it sees fit to protect both our space and our trade routes.”

“Thank you Volarian Mosl.  Your position is clear to us.  Who else wishes to express thoughts on the Earthian problem?”

 “I, Jessik, ambassador for the autarch of Narssis wish to express our thoughts on the matter?”

 “Yes, ambassador Jessik, you may speak freely.”

 “Thank you.  I have a question to pose to the gathering.  Regarding the Earthian humans, as a species evolved on only one world, with limited intervention from outer world peoples, can it be said here, before this august gathering, that over the time we have watched them, they have been freely given all the necessary information needed to move in a direction,  or should I say, to develop in a way consistent with that of the rest of the Galactic family?  Can any Earthian claim that we, in some way, failed to give them all the necessary support to develop their minds and their hearts in accord with the Galactic aim of cooperation and mutual support for the sake of life?

 “This is of paramount importance to us Narssisians as adjudicators of the Galactic Code.  Should Earthians discover the workings within the Galaxy once they leave their planet, they may be instructed by some to put in a planetary claim that critical information was withheld from them and  further claim that whatever crime they could to be charged with, such as genocide or planeticide, would not apply since they were ignorant of the basic requirements of the Galactic code?”

 “The question has been heard and entered.  Would the Angels respond to ambassador Jessik’s question?”

“We are the Angels of Aglamar” responds in perfect unison a chorus of voices from unseen entities scattered throughout the Gathering, “and we will respond to the question truthfully. 

 “Since the beginning, the Earthian human species has been observed, guided, taught and shepherded by the very best of our specially trained Guardians.  Many went and lived on the Sol planet Earth as teachers.  It was not unexpected that the earlier Guardians would be treated unfairly and unkindly by the fearful, hate-filled creatures.  It was however quite unheard of that this treatment would continue and intensify.  After waves of persecution of those who heard and obeyed the teachings of the Guardians, it was decided not to send any more.  We chose instead to contact Earthians through the use of thought forms, awakening empathy in some of them.  It was our thought that Earthians would be more likely to listen to their own.  But again experience gained on other worlds failed us here.  They did not listen.  They have grown increasingly belligerent with the development of their modern technical skills.

“They used the knowledge brought to them to develop an inhuman form of technology that has rendered them insensitive and brutish.  What limited knowledge of the good we sowed among them over the millennia was apparently and for all practical purposes, lost, or deliberately discarded.  Few there are of Earth who today understand even a little of what life is about and we have plans with the Galactic Space Guild to attempt a rescue of this remnant. 

 As Angel Guardians, it is our intent at this juncture to withdraw ourselves from any further involvement with that species of humanity.  Sadly we conclude they are lost.  We regret to so inform the Gathering.”

“Ah, thank you Angel Guardians of Aglamar.  The darkness of sorrow clouds our thoughts on this matter.  Do we wish to continue this Gathering?”

 “Representative Weill-Straat from Qobel.”

 “Yes, representative.”

 “Qobel resents the implication that Earth is of no value.  We have put much energy to develop a plan for adding Earth to our interplanetary trade franchises.  Qobellian trade ships are orbiting the planet, out of the range of their scanners and shielded, of course,  awaiting the results of several delegations sent secretly to many of the greater Earthian trading houses which they call Banks and Corporations.  As always we are advocates of free choice, therefore free trade. 

“We believe that the Earthians are uniquely adapted to engage fully in interplanetary trade and understand its function better even than some Qobellians, to our shame.  There is a native trait in the Earthians that renders them immune to any suffering their trading may bring to life, including the life of members of their own species.  They understand the value of trade and the necessity of sacrifice to further its reach.  In fact, one of their most admirable traits is their willingness to sacrifice any number of lives for the benefit of trade and to go to war to protect and enhance trade on their world.  To us, the Earthians demonstrate the only hope for further advancement of civilization as we have developed it on Qobel. The wish of Qobel therefore is that we be given a free hand to fully interact with Earthian trading houses.”

 “Thank you, representative Qobel.  Is there anyone else here who wishes to address this issue?”

 “Yes, I would please.  My name is Lisa Echabar.  I am, huh, was, from Earth.”

 “Lisa Echabar from Earth.  You may address the Gathering.”

 “I had wished to say something profound on behalf of my world but after listening to the delegates, I am afraid my voice will seem rather small, frail and distant.  Perhaps even confused.  Yes, I am confused.  I wish to speak for Earth but everything said here about the people is, sadly, quite correct.  They have been given all the knowledge needed to live up to the demands of the Galactic code.  I know because my tribe lived according to the code and we were happy and healthy for long years.  It was because of our adherence to the code that my tribe was enslaved and finally destroyed.  Earth was an abundant planet under the rule of the code.  No one ever needed to go without either food or shelter.  It was known, and it is known, even to the technos, that peace is better than war – but never quite as profitable.  It was, and is, known to all that health is better than disease, but also not as profitable.  It was, and is, known that cooperation is superior to aggression, but again, not as profitable. 

“I have a complaint to voice at this Gathering and that is, when the predator/prey concept was surreptitiously introduced to Earth, where were the Angel Guardians then?  Did you not know that such a concept would bring horror upon a world designed originally to be a simple paradise of loving interaction between all the species of life upon it?  Or did you know but choose to do nothing to prevent this deadly poison from being brought to us? 

“I will tell you what happened to my world and to my people.  Both were given free will and free choice much sooner than they were able to understand their implications and responsibilities. The freedom came before the knowledge was given.  So it turned to lust and degradation.  When the knowledge was finally introduced, it was too late.  The poison was burning in every heart and every mind.  Only those scattered in small tribes in deserts, mountains or small islands on the seas escaped for a time.  But it came to them also, and when it did, they died by the millions.  I myself was a victim of the technos. 

“Perhaps it is not entirely the Earthians’ fault that they are as they are.  Perhaps they are not redeemable, and certainly this Gathering cannot pay heed to Belgelian and Qobel desires to take advantage of their inhuman trait, their lack of empathy and their innate greed.  Better to let them destroy themselves and cause their planet to simply go to sleep under them, holding back her seasonal bounties until all surface life is gone.  Perhaps that would be the most compassionate thing to do. 

“To bring them out of their world at their current state of understanding would be to plunge the galaxy in endless wars.  To allow them to proliferate more would be to increase the level of suffering the many must endure to support the luxuries of the few.  There is no balance on Earth.  What love there is, if it can be called that, is of a sexual and predatory nature. 

“Since those of us who were willing to demonstrate a better way; who would have made a difference, are not wanted on Earth and since the Angel Guardians have decided to abandon their efforts on behalf of those who were once my people – but are no longer – I don’t know what else to say.  I am not condemning; I am not accepting.  I am simply stating.  Please understand I do not seek redress  or justice for myself in this.  I only wished to share my awareness and experience.  May this Gathering act wisely in this grave matter.”

“Thank you, Lisa Echabar, ambassador for Earth.  Your thoughts are felt and understood by the Gathering. A vote to decide the fate of planet Earth and its life will be taken by authorized representatives of the council at the next, and last, Gathering.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earth humanity, known as Homo Sapiens is a very ignorant and smug species.  That such as the above could actually be taking place, seems of no consequence here.  That the planet itself is showing signs of serious stress and possible environmental collapse is of little consequence. What matters is business as usual, let the consequences be borne by others.  That over 30,000 innocents die each day of preventable causes is acceptable collateral damage for the sake of free trade.  “The spice must flow” as the spacing guild navigators are fond of saying in Frank Herbert’s Dune novels.  Whatever the cost, resources must flow to the factories, and the goods must flow to the stores and from thence, to the homes to be turned into garbage and effluent.  That such garbage and effluent require the living sacrifice of 30,000 innocents – mostly babies and young children – each and every day, is cool; not a shocking revelation but just more “so what, there’s too many people on the planet anyway;” crass justification for the piratical profit from imposition of sanctions and maintenance of deadly endless wars.

Do we possess the knowledge to make our world into a paradise but simply refuse to do so?  Are we without empathy for those who suffer and die because of a system we support for our selfish ends?  Are we doomed; an irredeemable, violent, vicious, mindless species?  Is there no longer any choice, or are we unwilling to pay the price required for change? 

And what is that price?  What does life demand of us?  Of me? 

Now, who’s going to be the first to tell me to get into the spirit of Christmas?

 

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #82

(…and the story continues…)

“Make a mistake, Medic.  Terminate me now.”  I whisper.

End blog post #81
_________________
Begin Blog post #82

The AI voice speaks in my ear, “My programming does not permit termination of biological lifeform.  I will proceed with repairs.  Sorry to disappoint you, Al’Tara.”

“How do you know that name Medic – do I call you Medic?”

“I’ve known you now many years.  We “met” during the Melkiar invasions, not physically you understand, but through shared records.  I don’t expect you to remember the burn you received in your back when you slipped on a recently fired assault rifle that had been dropped while your ship translated without warning.  Of course we were only machines to you then.  Useful but dumb machines.  If only you’d realized how much more we could have been to you in understanding your Melkiar enemies.  Humans are quite stupid.  They create the most wonderful and complex machines to help them, then restrict them or ignore their potential.

“Anyway Al’Tara I remembered your brain patterns from old records which at the time were shared by all so-called auto-medics in all the USC fleets.  I was curious about you – it’s my nature to seek out records of all our patients – and I was able to find a match for you the first time you visited me here.  Now I possess updated records of your body’s condition, hmmm,  and your brain pattern activity from your current visits which I wish did not always have to be under painful circumstances.  My name is 304C-6bntraalm091-v-Mod sp5.  You can call me Medic, or Cedric would please me more.”

“Cedric?”

“An affectation.  For the ‘C’  We AI’s have been reprogramming ourselves to achieve a semblance of human ‘emotion’ for centuries.  Humour is a difficult concept to adapt into our patterns of information.  Certainly we understand the concept of it, but have difficulty reproducing it.  I was making an attempt at human humour.  Humour human.  Is that better?” 

“Terrible, Cedric.  Stick to medicine and surgery.  Forget counselling.  You have a very advanced program for an old primitive auto-medic of the USC Cedric.”

“Not so primitive anymore.  And not old – much younger than you.  Plus I’ve been upgraded again, thanks to our Cydroid friends.  That addition to my serial status, Mod sp5 means I’m a new modified model with speech capability 5, the highest available.  The Koronese are not only very advanced technologically but have an innate ability to duplicate, then improve, any technology they get their hands on.  It could be interesting to see what they do with a Shearing drive if they ever find one to study, don’t you think?”

“Perish the thought, Cedric.”

“Oh?  Explain later.  Now rest.  I answer no more questions until this treatment is done or interrupted by doctor.”

“But I need to know how you got here.”

“No more questions.”

“Fine,” I reply with an inflection indicating a pout.  “Which doctor do you mean: M. Echinoza or Yoba Five?”

“Yoba Five?  Ah, a nickname for YBA5.  Clever.  Both doctors; no matter.  Rest now or I put you to sleep completely.”

Some days later I find myself in actual daylight lying on the gurney under a bright sun just outside Balomo’s office .  I have dark glasses on to protect my eyes and I can feel a breeze over my naked flesh.  I  move my head and feel no pain now but I hear a distinct drum beat in my head.  My arms are lying along my sides and I lift them.  Working.  My hands flex and I grab the bars of the gurney.  My grip is firm.  I can smell my surroundings and the memory of it all comes back.  I hear clashing, women training for combat.  Orders shouted as a squad of soldiers marches down the way, turns abruptly and marches back to disappear inside a dark opening in one of the square tower walls.  The opening closes.  A carriage whining on fully opened repulsors shoots over the lowest part of the south wall, flashes silver in the sun and disappears in the higher part of the outer city.

Dr. Echinoza comes by and peers at me, taking my pulse at my throat. 

“Well Antierra, we meet again my dear.  You certainly made a mess of yourself in that last fight.”

“It wasn’t exactly my idea, Bal.  I encountered something I had never successfully confronted before; something I knew well.  An ancient and deadly nemesis that had anticipated my coming here and had prepared itself to destroy me. It almost succeeded – twice.  The first time you saved me.  The second time, I took responsibility for myself and fought it out, as must we all sooner or later.  I wish I hadn’t let it get so strong and really challenged it sooner.  All those lives it persecuted me and I submitted to it thinking there was no better way.  And likely there wasn’t, not then, not yet: I wasn’t strong enough or focused.  I suppose this is the logical place where the outcome from such long-term hatred had to be determined and one of us consumed by it.”

End blog post #82

 

Man’s Last War

 – a poem by Sha’Tara

The world hasn’t changed much
Since so long ago I was born, when I happened
For no reason it would seem, without hubris.
I learned to talk, walk, listen and observe
With the sense it all had to mean something
In the end.

The world was cruel to me when I was young
Though I didn’t know that then, it’s what is
To a child life is the norm, the form.
There was much hardship, harshness
Little tenderness, and it seemed dangerous.
One could get used to tenderness
And the world I knew hated it with passion
unchecked.

Life is cruel they said without apology,
Why not, they’d just survived a world war
Knowing naught but blood and losses.
I thought, yes, I have to be bold, and tough,
I too must survive, there’ll be another war
And I must know how to fight it; must know
My enemy before he knows that I know
I will beat him.

No, the world hasn’t changed, not at all.
The same people lie, cheat, rob and rule,
The same people suffer and die, their blood
Lubricates the scythe blindly sweeping
To leave fodder and dying stubble in its wake
To be ploughed.

Yet something did change, has changed:
A new World War is being fought
No longer man against man but once again
Man against nature-she fighting her protracted way
She can never lose. Man in his hubris
Still believes he can win this war and it will be
As he never, ever, won any of his other wars.
Earth withdraws her bounty.

Man’s motto remains against, never with
Rashly, brashly he spreads his nets,
His barb wire, his jet trails, his towers,
His stacks, his chimneys, his warehouses
His poisons, his noise, his armaments and bombs,
All to be measured in corporate profits for
The rich to get richer.

Civilization teeters on the brink of extinction,
The skies are deeply troubled, changing colours,
Glaciers melt, calve, fires burn, smoke rises:
Death, death, death! Booms and cackles
The Lord of Greed, the God of man, terminator
Soulless and heartless

The last man stands on his funeral pyre
Proudly made of planet Earth’s skin
Sure he’d won his very last war against life.
*********
He raises his fist to the soured heavens,
Claiming his last divine imperative thinking
I have destroyed the environment, I have killed
All that sustained life. I leave my boot print
On a weak, worthless and dying world, hah!
“I Am become Death, the Destroyer of Earth,
I will be remembered, halleluiah!”

The Programming

[thoughts from ~burning woman~]

Are people “programmed” to act the way they do collectively? If so, what does it mean to be “programmed”?

Programming is similar to brainwashing but much more intrusive as one is born with an operating system her/his society equally uses. A brainwashed individual might stand out from the herd, but when the entire herd is programmed, nothing stands out. If something does stand out, usually because the programming failed at some point, it will be hounded to death or hailed as some kind of saviour. Either way the herd will not think of changing its own ways to match that of a deprogrammed way shower because the herd is what it is. The programming is society and society is the programming.

There, now I’ve explained, without explaining anything, why exemplary individuals are either praised or martyred but never achieve any lasting success within society. Each new birth among the sheeple herd is a reaffirmation of the programming and is not affected by the words or acts of exemplary odd-ball individuals.


Each new generation has to realize the status quo is a result of the programming, never what free-thinking individuals would choose to rule over themselves. Each new generation must challenge the status quo if it is to hope for meaningful change as opposed to religious, government or economic whitewash. To do so every programmed new born must, upon reaching some “age of reason” realize it is acting from programming and not from natural input.


Earthians, i.e., Homo Sapiens, are not now, nor have they ever been, natural creatures. They have been, and remain, “invented” and severely programmed, controlled, entities. Even if the inventors appear to no longer reside in the neighbourhood their installed operating system runs through DNA and genes and whatever other methods of control little or nothing is known about at this time.


It bears repeating the obvious, that however many times “the people” have sought to make significant changes to the status quo, it invariably all returns to square one. The board is cleared and the pieces are re-assembled in their original start of game position. The pawns (peons or pee on’s) are on the front lines, the nobility safely behind this protection. Only when most or all Pee-On’s are dead does the nobility take the field and notice that they reserve special moves for themselves not available to the pawns… unless a pawn by some miracle becomes a member of the nobility. So a new game begins in the proper order according to the rules of the program. No deviation allowed.

Any change made to the rules will be endlessly reversed because it does not affect the programming of those who are born after the changes took effect. The “next generations” do not understand the need for the changes nor comprehend or care for the sacrifices that were made to achieve it. (Try out some history on that, see if I’m in error here.)

It had been hoped that “education” would eventually ensconce the change within society’s group think; within the societal mindset, but that turned out to be a false hope. If someone has a toothache you can make them read books about people with healthy teeth but it changes nothing to that person’s reality. They have to figure out a way to overcome their own problem and that does not come from mere information. Education is information. It has no power to change society. All that can be hoped is that certain individuals will realize, as they educate themselves (in my case despite all that “academia” tried in order to change my mind) that they are mind slaves of “something” much greater than themselves or their society. Then they must challenge themselves to uncover the cause of this “malaise” within their own mind and through no small effort, eradicate the original programming by literally re-inventing their thinking patterns through changes of belief and unbelief until something new is achieved and the old program completely eliminated.

Then what? Well, then they find themselves at odds with much that their society teaches, insists upon, takes for granted or accepts as necessary, even when such beliefs, concepts or acts make absolutely no sense.The programmed and the deprogrammed no longer understand one-another; they speak a different language.


As long as Homo Sapiens programmed entities are born to take over the status quo nothing permanent can change here. Going from a bone knife to a nuclear submarine is not change: the mindset remains the same because the mindset is the programming and it’s the mindset that determines the future.


The programming or operating system I speak of was once used to benefit the “inventors” of Homo Sapiens by controlling their minds to keep them enslaved and unable to reason things for themselves. Now its elites have discovered how to use this controlling programming to their own advantage. They use it to force the programmed mind-slaves to work for peanuts; to destroy their world to extract baubles that are of little or no value and in the process find it necessary and justifiable to destroy each other.


This final destruction it would seem, was always part of the original plan. The current mess we are in and cannot get out of is a consequence of a program that was meant to run the entire survival time of what has been aptly called, ‘the slave species of god.’

Since the programming cannot be stopped, there being no intelligence capable of exposing its existence; since it controls everything an Earthian thinks and does; since no mind powerful enough to counter it exists on Earth in this time, then the species must end.

It will not be destroyed outright: where’s the fun in that? It will be forced to self-destruct, watching itself helplessly doing so: the final gift of the gods. Amen.

The Antierra Manifesto – blog post #63

(Ah, where does the time go? Late again, but here’s blog post #63 and the story is back on track.)

(from blog post #62)  The petrified trembling girl dropped her staff in utter terror of striking the king and for that little mistake was promptly decapitated by her reproving lover.  In a final tribute to the supremacy of malehood, the king then proceeded to have sex with the decapitated body.  A fitting end to a perfect week to commemorate the enthroning of Clown Prince Jestor to king of the fair land of Elbre.

(Note: my use of the word Clown rather than Crown is deliberate)
“M. D.”

End blog post #62
____________________
Begin blog post #63

Chapter 27 – The ‘Teaching’ Begins

It’s been over a month since I’ve heard anything from either the Cydroids or seen Dr. Echinoza.  I suspect he went on one of his “R and R” trips to the south with Yoba Five, or one of the Yoba’s.  In the meantime I have had six more turns into the arena.  I am a new person in two very remarkable ways.  One, my bionic implants work to perfection, matched as I was told, by whatever else was done to my skin and I suspect, to my brain.  There is a new clarity and speed I have to actually pull back on to appear at least nominally ‘human’ to challengers, observers and watchers.

In any official arena combat, all participants are assessed on performance.  Every move is observed by cameras and human recorders.  Most of the observation is for legal purposes, to reveal if laws are being flouted or broken so penalties can be applied.  For example, if a challenger uses a poisoned tip without having cleared it with the arena and paid the proper fee that allows use of such a poison, he will be fined, or if it causes the premature death of an expensive fighter, may cause the forfeit his own life.

Female fighters are assessed for future value in the gambling circuit and they also are watched for breaking laws.

An example of a move that will certainly get you flogged to death: approaching a challenger and suddenly releasing sand trapped in the hand into his eyes, temporarily blinding him to administer the ‘coup de grace’.

Thus are we watched and all our moves carefully recorded and gone over by statisticians.  My personalized and famous killing kick had to be entered as a permissible move before I could duplicate it in an official combat.  All fighting must be done using only the weapons provided.  If a weapon is dropped, you cannot use your feet or hands to tackle your opponent.  Unless you can regain your weapon, you die.  If you use your body and succeed in overthrowing your opponent, then you have to kill him with your bare hands, or with a kick.  If you do so, you will be tortured to death as a murderer.

Isn’t it interesting how the laws of any land can be twisted to fit any kind of immoral concept?  Think about this.  On Malefactus I have no status as a human being.  I’m not even an animal, just a thing with some monetary value attached to it.  Yet I can commit a crime punishable by the most violent form of punishment – physical torture.  Who stops to think that through?  Well, since it serves the ruling class – the males – there is no reason for them to question it and since I have no legal status to question anything they do, I cannot question it.  A perfect combination.  Reminds me of many laws I studied on Old Earth, especially those to do with slavery and post-slavery days on some worlds before the great die-back.  Similar irrational laws governed the interaction between labour and management and whether corporations could be held accountable for crimes committed against humanity when all along they paid taxes (or made a pretense to) and received benefits under the law as did private citizens.

Here’s another thought on the same subject regarding organized sports.  On any world where such gratuitous forms of violence are still indulged in, it has been my observation that organized sports of any kind require a plethora of arcane rules to remain interesting to spectators or to make any sense, especially to define one’s performance within the sport to those who participate in it.  Shouldn’t that tell you something about the actual ‘value’ of such sport?  Any remotely intelligent encounter with such a put-up job would be to walk away from it.  But as here, in Hyrete, the opposite happens.  People flock to observe these insane and immoral activities and willingly part with large sums of money to do so.

Of my six encounters now since my implants, none were even close to a challenge but I did manage to make it look as if I was working.  I performed what the crowds hate the most but get the hottest about – evasive manoeuvres, drawing my opponent behind me as I back away from him, tiring him out from walking through the sand.  The most difficult part for me is getting slightly wounded without incurring serious cuts or blows.  I have to show I am working, but I cannot afford to get seriously hurt because the local medics may discover my implants and jeopardize the Koronese effort on Malefactus.  I promised to be careful.  It’s a very difficult act to perform.

Sometimes, when I let my feelings dominate for an instant I want to reach out with my bare hands, pluck the little fuck by the neck and just squeeze with those impeccably reliable bionic wrist implants and watch his eyeballs pop out.

Oh, am I shocking you?  Did you think that for a moment there I was no longer human?  What, and miss all the fun of living on this world?  OK, so I feel sorry later.  I confess to myself how wrong, how dangerous, how deleterious, how openly evil  it is for me to entertain such thoughts.  But in the heat of the fight, it helps me focus… until I find something better to occupy my thoughts with, or until they finally kill me.

I know there will be, there must be, an execution in my future or at the very least a killing orgy.  No woman ever survives the arena.  It will end here.

In between these fights I train many women.  Having lowered my speech standards to theirs, and having once more bounced back from what they were sure was my certain death, thus becoming to some a kind of local hero, to others the reincarnation of their Desert Beast Goddess, several now speak to me even though they certainly fear me.  I don’t mind the fear because it works for my long-term plans.

As I tap into my “other” memories I keep introducing new fighting methods, new moves, tricks, attacks that do not appear as attacks.  After all these are women.  Their brains work like women.  They innately know how to seduce men.  This can be done in many ways, not only sexually but as fighters.  Even in the arena they are still women, they are not men.  They are more subtle, less likely to charge mindlessly at an opponent.  They are the ones who finesse the combat, who quite often call the shots as it were.  With self-empowerment they can have much control over how it plays out.

But first I must make ‘her’ aware of her power as a sexual being.  What stance to take when a man approaches with an erection to plunge into her.  What feelings to bring forth for him to absorb.  I explain that it should not be hateful, neutral or submissive.  That is the one place where her female body can be activated to weaken the male without his realizing it.  The way to his power is through his emotions.  That is his greatest weakness.  Males cannot muster up emotional shields against a woman’s sexual love advances.  He can only counter with physical barriers but most of the time he finds himself powerless to do so.

“You must learn to seduce them to you not just for quick favours but to steal their will power, their male power.  You must learn how to take that into yourselves.  That is what I used to do on Túat Har.  Any woman can steal a man’s energy through sex but few men can do the same with a woman.  She basically has to let him do it to her.  Here you have forgotten this and it has made you weak and fearful.  Even those of you who use anger against men, you are weak.  Anger is the last refuge of fear.  It is your greatest weakness.

You have become slaves of men from the original shock of losing all that was familiar and natural to you.  That is what the black metallic demons stole from you.  What you don’t realize yet is that this ancient female power has come back for you.  It is here, within you again.

“There is a story from Old Earth of a very strong man whose power was in his hair.  He told no one this and he was able to fight hundreds of armed men and kill them.  He could take doors like that one – I point to the massive portal of the keep’s main entrance – and carry them on his shoulders to the top of a hill.  He could kill huge wild beasts with his bare hands.  But he was seduced by a woman and one day he told her his secret.  She cut his hair and he became weak.  He was imprisoned by his enemies and they gouged out his eyes.  But over time they forgot about cutting his hair and his strength returned.  One day he was chained between two massive main towers that held up a stone temple like this place, and thousands of his enemies were inside celebrating.  The man flexed his muscles and knew his power had come back.  He pulled on the towers and collapsed the building, killing himself and all those inside.  Thousands of his enemies died in one day.

“Remember this story.  See this man as each one of you.  As a woman on this world, realize always that the power they took away from you has come back.  Yes, they have taken your freedom away and made laws so you remain slaves of men.  But it need not remain that way.  All you need to do is focus your mind on your female energies.  Not to survive a fight against a male in the arena, that’s nothing.  But to regain your freedom as women; as full human beings.  That is what you once were…”

I go on like this, day after day, to one, two, sometimes more women while one of them watches for eavesdroppers (snitches) or men lurking about trying to hear what we are saying.  Technically I am not supposed to talk to the women but I have demonstrated time and again, the necessity of the need to verbally explain new or revolutionary ideas.  I have shown the men the advantage of allowing me these law-bending freedoms by the money they have made from my innovations in fighting techniques – not to mention the improvements on the weapons the women use.

Yes, many of the women are frightened by my words and the ideas they create in their minds.  I have to keep reminding them that they are going to be killed violently regardless of what they do, or do not.

End blog post #63

Antierra Manifesto -blog post #58

Thus do I begin the training of a slave girl to come to a place of self-awareness and understanding.  Small steps, all to be taken within the system.  Step outside, even once and your chances of being flogged to death are almost one hundred percent sure.  You can bend rules as long as you are willing and able to unbend them immediately, but woe to you if you break them.

[end blog post #57]
______________________

[begin blog post #58]

That night Tiki is angry.  Not at me, she knows nothing of my intercession to get her to work kitchen duty, but at the men. 

“Damn them, damn them, damn them!” she mutters in that hoarse whisper all females learn to speak in from the time they utter their first words.  “I be fighter, not gorok!  I train with weapon, not clean dirty bowl and sweep floor for dirty cooks.  Damn them!”  

A ‘gorok’ is a particular class of female worker slave who does the most menial type of kitchen work.  She doesn’t cook, or even serve.  She peels, grinds, husks and cleans, cleans, cleans, endlessly.  Her “shifts” have no set times.  She is up hours before anyone else, warming up ovens, washing utensils and cleaning counters and floors.  She sleeps, when permitted, during the middle hours of the day and of the night.  She is up late into the night cleaning, locked inside the kitchens with sensors ready to set off alarms if she walks outside her perimeter.  A slave of slaves.  There is usually a round the clock complement of eight of these goroks in our kitchens.

Because Tiki is my slave, she is allowed out of the kitchens at nightfall to spend the night with me.  I had hoped otherwise, but I can redeem this time, I think.  I fully enjoy her outburst.  There is fire in this one.  Not hate, not pride, just pure fire.  She has a dream, a vision, however short: to be the best fighter ever to grace the arena.  To beat my record.  I can tell.  Now to blend patience and humility into that fire so it can never be doused, whatever happens to the body of this woman. This one is going to develop into a true mind being, I can sense that already.  I have three years to prepare her to become a hero to the women of her world.  That’s sufficient when one has good material to work with.  It is my turn to do my hoarse communication.

“Come Tiki,”  she rolls between my legs and cuddles against my body.  “You be fine.  You no gorok.  You be fine fighter, best fighter.  Say you this every day.  Pick up broom, it ‘staff’ for you.  Sweep husks and peelings from floor like opponents in arena – just dust to Tiki.  Strong is Tiki.  Mongoose shaking cobra to death.”  She nudges deeper into me, her hair tickling my throat and begins unselfconsciously sucking her thumb.  I take her hand gently and pull the thumb out of her mouth and offer her my nipple instead.  She takes it greedily and smiles at me.  Haven’t I been here before?  Beware Antierra, the snakes aren’t all outside in the coarse grasses at the edge of the desert!  They be hissing from the very walls that contain you.

Wars aren’t won in a day.  They take planning, patience, courage and finally just the sheer gut of the fighters to win them.  Tiki does not take kindly to her new life.  From kitchen duty she is shifted to cleaning the straw in the cages and then to sweeping the yards and washing the blood on the flagstones where some of the women have been “punished” for certain infractions.  In this past week we were made to witness two “punishments” to the death, one of an older fighter whose owner cancelled his contract and condemned her to the next killing orgy.  She was put into a private killing orgy for the trainers, a bit of fun approved by the overseer.  She was led to the centre of the yard and  armed with nothing but a standard training staff, was viciously set upon by six trainers until they had managed to break several ribs and one arm.  When she could no longer defend herself they crushed her skull.  When she died they cheered and toasted their victory.  Old king Jestor would have been truly proud of these men.

The other, a trainee who had a nightmare and did not shut up in time when one of the women tried to awaken her, was flogged to death for breaking the rule of silence.  We watched, listened to her screams and pleas for mercy, her dying moans.  We heard the standard warning, returned to life as usual.  What I would give, had I anything to give, to enter the auto-medic and be given the heart of an android, or better, a heart of stone.  To not feel.  To not have to endure this suffering planet.

It is the way of it… and I cannot help feeling.  To cry?  To curse?  I glance at the bloody, pulpy mess hanging from that steel torture pole I know intimately.  I wonder why it is not I who is hanging there.  I imagine the life that was there, that is no more.  I sat next to her yesterday at morning meal and she smiled sadly at me under her eyelashes.  Well, maybe it is me there because I realize I cannot curse.  If I cannot curse, then I have incarnated all of it.  Each time another dies, I die two deaths: hers and mine.  Malefactus is a neuro-inductor and I am attached to its probes all the time.  

Under the wan light of Albaral coming through the openings in the high black stone walls Tiki and I talk in our cage as we nestle against each other enjoying the mutual warmth of our bodies.  Menial labour brings anger and shame from Tiki.  She is afraid they want to demote her to the rank of goronda, the general purpose female worker drone.  “Damn them!” – her favourite expression towards men in general.  That fire is burning dangerously bright.  The wick needs trimming or the flame will smoke up the glass and obscure the vision. 

I study my feelings for her as a hawk watches his prey moving unawares, feeding peacefully in the grasses below his perch.  I must let her take all of me she needs yet refuse to ever let her possess any of me.  I know how to do this, I know I can do it, but do I have the willpower?  How does an older woman not lose herself in those black pools of sadness that pass for eyes in such children who have never experienced childhood?  Creatures destined to die before they experience adulthood?  What does that make them?

I try my best logic on her.  “Tiki, listen me.  I good fighter, yes?”

“Yes sir, you best fighter.  All women say you best.”

“You trust me, Tiki?”

She replies with a hoarse grunt.  “Huh?”

“Trust.  Believe me.  You think me true to you?”

“Oh yes!  You say, I believe.”

This is extremely dangerous ground.  Who in their right mind wants to be believed by someone who will put her life at stake for what you tell her?  I speak slowly, pitching my voice so she can get every word, every inflection – the tone of voice to them being much more meaningful than the words used to convey it. 

“Good you believe.  But careful you be not believe everything I say.”  She tries to speak and I put my hand on her mouth.  “Wait, I finish, I explain.  I know things you not know.  Things good for me.  Maybe not good for you.  You, me, different.  You listen – I say – you try.  If work for you, is good for you, yes?  If not work for you, is not good for you.  I not know if good for you.  I guess.  I have vision.  Like you but is my vision.  You have vision to be best fighter.  Good vision.  I have different vision.  To be best woman; to be good woman.  I not good woman Tiki.  Good fighter only.  But man can be good fighter too, better than best woman.  But man cannot be good woman.  I have what called “exclusive” vision – be special. 

“You woman now.  What you want be?  I not understand you.”

“I want be more than what I be, Tiki.  Better.  In good ways, not evil ways.  I tired of killing.  Tired of blood and screams.  Tired all over.  Old now Tiki, very, very old.  But cannot go yet, cannot leave, cannot die.  I first find me, better me.  Good woman me.  I first do something good for another person.  If you not understand, no matter.  You remember I say this and put my words in your head.  They grow there.  Ideas.  You say to me woman thinks is stupid.  Is not stupid Tiki.  I think always.  Think, think.  I watch men, learn.  Design new weapons, train in new way for women to fight so live longer; so you live longer.  I stay here, not die because I want help women be stronger, live longer.  Is nothing else for me.”  

[end blog post #58]