---ZO'OR: FINAL CONFLICT---
a story on several instalments
all usual disclaimers apply
all non-EFC characters (c)2001 IAO
this instalment is non-rated
4
Now I'm going to tell you the reason why I like Zo'or so dearly...
I was watching a taped copy of the S1 episode named Float like a Butterfly, and it got me to think that Taelon society could be too tight and demanding as well as the Amish. I understand that, since I grew up among Christian Fundamentalists. There are reasons why people show to act under very restrictive regulations, there's a purpose behind it. I ignore why the Amish have chosen to keep living the way they do--I haven't been Amish--. I suspect the Taelons are forced to act the way they do in order to avoid extinction--the point that discipline is important in order to save life is valid. I was indoctrined to accept the way of life of a Fundamentalist because if not my soul was going to be burned or rot in hell... and my family used to loved me very much for allowing that to happen, so they forced their love into me: the weirdness of their beliefs turned to be a form of humiliation.
The reasons behind Zo'or's discomfort towards his parent are obscure to me; yet, I felt so glad Zo'or got to be the Leader of the Synod--as inmature and terrible as he might be--so he could keep his parent on line, slowly dispencing the well-deserved torture Da'an was entitled to have, making him purge his wrong-doings by intense and continous suffering. (When I was young somebody told me that to be ignorant of the law wasn't enough justification in order to be relieved the from infringement sanctions or punishments. If I was supossed to accept that as reasonable, then 'love' wasn't going to be an excuse for mind rape.) Bad parenting brings forth terrible offspring, and to watch handsome Zo'or whipping Da'an with his tongue and deeds was a high in itself for me... I found myself touching his image upon the tv set with my open palm as if willing to share my mind with the alien Companion.
...(alleluyah)...
Yet, the-one who decided to help the Companions wandering around in my brain comes from a perfect/imperfect background. This 'one' has perfect lineage, perfect blood, perfect ascencion, perfect execution, and perfect desire; but it has imperfect motivations, imperfect lifestyle, imperfect myth, and imperfect objectives, that is, by herm people's point of view. Yet et didn't care about their opinions, doing what et used to do--serving as a full time adversary--et has gathered a wide variety of tools. Those tools have served this 'one' well in herm many quests.
One of those tools happened to be a kind of jellyed plasma stuff et used to keep in thick and tightly closed meteorite-stone boxes 1 feet cubical. The main characteristics of that magma-like stuff are very versatile: it is a clean reliable energy source, that well contained could power up anything, even a dying sun. The only downfall with it was that it needed to be contained at all costs, since it was natural for it to grow by itself taking all space available--to have the worst accident with it could mean for the universe to be entirely flooded... until it burst away, since not even the-one knew if the fabric that held the universe together in place could hold it.
Guess where the-one got it?
Where else but in Hell?
*********
ENERGY SEARCH
**That's the Sun.** the languid solid body of Zo'or turned around 180° from the bath of light. His graceful hands taped in a relocation order for the Mothership--back over the Moon Base--; as he sighed he was grateful Da'an didn't tamper with the navigational systems.
And he returned to his usual stiff pose thinking lightly about the dream he just had... it was a dream after all: no time to lose getting paranoid over it; it must be considered, as that was the way of the Companions, not as a bad omen, but with pragmatism--the need individuals have to turn dreams into reality is, after all, the foundation of all technologies, and discipline is the basic tool in order to realize them. He thought about the sun, his head tilted in a da'anesque fashion as it was natural for him to resemble his parent, though he as lately tried to avoid to be much alike him... **The Sun produces energy...** It might not be suficient to power up everyone, and it could be incompatible, yet **I shall collect it.** It was not the answer to the core energy riddle, but it could be a substitute, **as my dream suggested.**
So he needed 'volunteers'.
Zo'or searched for a list of personnel currently in the Mothership... **Sha'bra.** ...there were no human scientists present on the ship--only one assistant--, and all Taelons were in Limbo; so he got to search personnel by their abilities looking for the most qualified. The list covered only three people, all of them P3 implants. ** It appears that to leave so little personnel on the ship... has become a mistake...** And even if he continued getting broadcasts and communications from Earth... **I won't open a channel to ask for help: I won't surrender myself to the inferior. Better to make them superior.** What was he thinking? It appeared like a sudden gust of conscideration for Humanity mixed with the early frenzy of a conceited youth left home-alone--the closest Zo'or could get to the idea of 'mercy' or 'compassion': **Let us find then someone to exalt.**
But then, all of a sudden, there had been a malfuntion in the internal comm systems: Zo'or summoned his chosen volunteers several times, yet nobody appeared before him. **Sha'bra** he though as he recalled his parent image. But since 'perfect' people always had a back-up plan, he ordered...
''Computer, open alternate backup optical. Autorization: Perfect'Eye Ohhh'Shihhhh'Wahrhrhh.''
At least his complex alternate web of organic optical points worked. He was overproud of it for he had been its creator, designer and perpetual keeper of its secrets. His 'Perfect'Eye' had won the seat for him! He had had eyes all around the ship at all times, so he could see the pulsing currents of energy of all Companions in perfect detail as they debated on psychic forums. His visage became a smug masque as he recalled the time he was appointed as Leader of the Synod--he already knew he was going to succeed, it was easy after having examined the energy pulses of every posible rival, so he knew how to desing his strategy. But now, there were no Companions to watch, only humans: waking lumps of decaying flesh with primitive brains. Some at least were easy to buy or manipulate, but that was what apparently made them predictable. Yet, others... were smart indeed... he blushed with shame at his early memories of deception during that short time he got to be the American Companion--he was so sure he was going to capture Jonathan Doors... **Most humans could show superficial qualities of inferiority in their daily proceedings, but when the need arrise they can execute a variety of tasks with remarcable levels of cleverness.** He knew his lesson. He came to be the highest ranking Taelon.
So he scanned for the people he was looking for... There he was: Ishikawa Hi holding his position in one of the laboratories as always, his face serene while occasionally pushing some keys on his front pad. Behind him some glass cages holding live insects, most of them praying mantites. Even though all projects involving Earth animals had been shut down or abandoned, this one was left intencionally alive, though the scientists responsible for its development where all gone. **This is strange. There must be a mistake. Praying mantites are not a priority... not for now...** As soon as Zo'or saw Ishikawa taking one jarred insect and putting it over a virtual analisis board, he waved over the datastrean to isolate his image in a corner and access another channel.
Then there was Kelvin Stone, he was in some dark Mothership corridor so small nobody could stand on foot there. Zo'or couldn't understand what was his purpose sitting there, so he payed attention to his actions. Stone dressed his combat uniform, his weapon irresponsibly lying on the floor. A humanoid shadow showed Zo'or that Stone wasn't alone, he laughed at a sudden cloud of smoke coming towards him, then a limb passed him a cigarrete. Zo'or tried to adjust the volume on his surveillance unit so he could listen to what Stone and the other volunteer were talking, but to no use: it seemed these systems were all tampered, needing an energy fix or were just decaying. Yet, he didn't have to guess what they were talking about once the other volunteer showed into focus--a handsome Black man the computer identified as Thomas Anderson, whose superior was in fact Stone-- making himself comfortable under his lover's arms. The Taelon stared as the couple engaged in its kissing ritual; **...humans and their... thing I cannot get to understand... yet...** he watched as Anderson caressed Stone's chest, the volunteer face held back, eyes closed and mouth letting escape smoke and brief laughings **...they know they cannot procreate... they know their acts to be fruitless, then why...** Zo'or waved over the datastream again and isolated both lovers in a cornered data window.
Zo'or train of thought was suddenly stopped as he almost jumped over his chair to the sound of high energy beats. His elegant fingers quickly lowering the volume on his spying devices as his eyes focussed to the image of Lola Martirio dressed on her sports gear dancing like crazy. Zo'or watched her movements as Lola moved her hips, the fatty flesh of her breasts trembling to the rhythm like chunks of Jell-O... her feet where actually following the fast rythym in a strange tap routine. Zo'or was amused, **nice mathematical improvisation;** but her mouth was singing out of synch over the verbal passages of the techno song, Zo'or noticed. ''Computer, isolate Dolores Martirio's voice patterns.'' Inmediatly, the computer muted every sound from the visual but Lola's voice.
''El Mandamás Extraterrestre
es un farifo bugarrón,
el más hermoso maricón de la galaxia;
le presta el culo con pasión
el Sandoval
que traga leche por jugar
y da las gracias.
Zo'or, Zo'or,
no se la escondas más,
quítate ya ese 'jompel',
dásela a Sandoval,
dásela a Sandoval...''
**...perhaps I could attain understanding of this fruitless acts under the grounds of what is... individuality?** Zo'or felt strange, individuality was being like trying to walk on empty space, no ground to step upon, no loving hand to guide him. The Commonality used to be his way from all time known, the guide who lift his spirit to the superior, or so he thought. How could he not know how to describe and judge over a situation if the Commonality was always there providing him with the knowledge he needed? But now there were no Companions to lean on psychically, no sharing of feelings, knowledge or encouragement. Time to be creative then, and to believe by faith; or time to experience in order to collect the facts which with to build the truth. Now was time to choose... **I believe those behaviors to be the side-effects of the condition known as individuality... my actual condition.
**...yet, I fail to understand volunteer Martirio's obsession in pairing me with Sandoval... She invents such idiotic nursery rhymes with the sole purpose of laughing herself alone to tears.... However, it seems her useless passion fills her with the energy she requires...** Like Ishikawa, who got excited over stick-like insects and praying mantites, and Stone who got it from Anderson's mouth over his manly hardness.
**Is it... fascinating?** and again Zo'or made his head tilt unconsciosly, this time like an attentive puppy; unconsciosly, he extended his palm up reaching to touch the falling energy from the datastream **I shall collect energy from them too.**
For the first time his usual smirk was actually a smile.
*********
Good? Bad? Fair?
Your opinions are always welcomed.
If I don't like them, well, I can always forward them to Hell.
Next: Some reasons why Martirio is aboard the Mothership.
a story on several instalments
all usual disclaimers apply
all non-EFC characters (c)2001 IAO
this instalment is non-rated
4
Now I'm going to tell you the reason why I like Zo'or so dearly...
I was watching a taped copy of the S1 episode named Float like a Butterfly, and it got me to think that Taelon society could be too tight and demanding as well as the Amish. I understand that, since I grew up among Christian Fundamentalists. There are reasons why people show to act under very restrictive regulations, there's a purpose behind it. I ignore why the Amish have chosen to keep living the way they do--I haven't been Amish--. I suspect the Taelons are forced to act the way they do in order to avoid extinction--the point that discipline is important in order to save life is valid. I was indoctrined to accept the way of life of a Fundamentalist because if not my soul was going to be burned or rot in hell... and my family used to loved me very much for allowing that to happen, so they forced their love into me: the weirdness of their beliefs turned to be a form of humiliation.
The reasons behind Zo'or's discomfort towards his parent are obscure to me; yet, I felt so glad Zo'or got to be the Leader of the Synod--as inmature and terrible as he might be--so he could keep his parent on line, slowly dispencing the well-deserved torture Da'an was entitled to have, making him purge his wrong-doings by intense and continous suffering. (When I was young somebody told me that to be ignorant of the law wasn't enough justification in order to be relieved the from infringement sanctions or punishments. If I was supossed to accept that as reasonable, then 'love' wasn't going to be an excuse for mind rape.) Bad parenting brings forth terrible offspring, and to watch handsome Zo'or whipping Da'an with his tongue and deeds was a high in itself for me... I found myself touching his image upon the tv set with my open palm as if willing to share my mind with the alien Companion.
...(alleluyah)...
Yet, the-one who decided to help the Companions wandering around in my brain comes from a perfect/imperfect background. This 'one' has perfect lineage, perfect blood, perfect ascencion, perfect execution, and perfect desire; but it has imperfect motivations, imperfect lifestyle, imperfect myth, and imperfect objectives, that is, by herm people's point of view. Yet et didn't care about their opinions, doing what et used to do--serving as a full time adversary--et has gathered a wide variety of tools. Those tools have served this 'one' well in herm many quests.
One of those tools happened to be a kind of jellyed plasma stuff et used to keep in thick and tightly closed meteorite-stone boxes 1 feet cubical. The main characteristics of that magma-like stuff are very versatile: it is a clean reliable energy source, that well contained could power up anything, even a dying sun. The only downfall with it was that it needed to be contained at all costs, since it was natural for it to grow by itself taking all space available--to have the worst accident with it could mean for the universe to be entirely flooded... until it burst away, since not even the-one knew if the fabric that held the universe together in place could hold it.
Guess where the-one got it?
Where else but in Hell?
*********
ENERGY SEARCH
**That's the Sun.** the languid solid body of Zo'or turned around 180° from the bath of light. His graceful hands taped in a relocation order for the Mothership--back over the Moon Base--; as he sighed he was grateful Da'an didn't tamper with the navigational systems.
And he returned to his usual stiff pose thinking lightly about the dream he just had... it was a dream after all: no time to lose getting paranoid over it; it must be considered, as that was the way of the Companions, not as a bad omen, but with pragmatism--the need individuals have to turn dreams into reality is, after all, the foundation of all technologies, and discipline is the basic tool in order to realize them. He thought about the sun, his head tilted in a da'anesque fashion as it was natural for him to resemble his parent, though he as lately tried to avoid to be much alike him... **The Sun produces energy...** It might not be suficient to power up everyone, and it could be incompatible, yet **I shall collect it.** It was not the answer to the core energy riddle, but it could be a substitute, **as my dream suggested.**
So he needed 'volunteers'.
Zo'or searched for a list of personnel currently in the Mothership... **Sha'bra.** ...there were no human scientists present on the ship--only one assistant--, and all Taelons were in Limbo; so he got to search personnel by their abilities looking for the most qualified. The list covered only three people, all of them P3 implants. ** It appears that to leave so little personnel on the ship... has become a mistake...** And even if he continued getting broadcasts and communications from Earth... **I won't open a channel to ask for help: I won't surrender myself to the inferior. Better to make them superior.** What was he thinking? It appeared like a sudden gust of conscideration for Humanity mixed with the early frenzy of a conceited youth left home-alone--the closest Zo'or could get to the idea of 'mercy' or 'compassion': **Let us find then someone to exalt.**
But then, all of a sudden, there had been a malfuntion in the internal comm systems: Zo'or summoned his chosen volunteers several times, yet nobody appeared before him. **Sha'bra** he though as he recalled his parent image. But since 'perfect' people always had a back-up plan, he ordered...
''Computer, open alternate backup optical. Autorization: Perfect'Eye Ohhh'Shihhhh'Wahrhrhh.''
At least his complex alternate web of organic optical points worked. He was overproud of it for he had been its creator, designer and perpetual keeper of its secrets. His 'Perfect'Eye' had won the seat for him! He had had eyes all around the ship at all times, so he could see the pulsing currents of energy of all Companions in perfect detail as they debated on psychic forums. His visage became a smug masque as he recalled the time he was appointed as Leader of the Synod--he already knew he was going to succeed, it was easy after having examined the energy pulses of every posible rival, so he knew how to desing his strategy. But now, there were no Companions to watch, only humans: waking lumps of decaying flesh with primitive brains. Some at least were easy to buy or manipulate, but that was what apparently made them predictable. Yet, others... were smart indeed... he blushed with shame at his early memories of deception during that short time he got to be the American Companion--he was so sure he was going to capture Jonathan Doors... **Most humans could show superficial qualities of inferiority in their daily proceedings, but when the need arrise they can execute a variety of tasks with remarcable levels of cleverness.** He knew his lesson. He came to be the highest ranking Taelon.
So he scanned for the people he was looking for... There he was: Ishikawa Hi holding his position in one of the laboratories as always, his face serene while occasionally pushing some keys on his front pad. Behind him some glass cages holding live insects, most of them praying mantites. Even though all projects involving Earth animals had been shut down or abandoned, this one was left intencionally alive, though the scientists responsible for its development where all gone. **This is strange. There must be a mistake. Praying mantites are not a priority... not for now...** As soon as Zo'or saw Ishikawa taking one jarred insect and putting it over a virtual analisis board, he waved over the datastrean to isolate his image in a corner and access another channel.
Then there was Kelvin Stone, he was in some dark Mothership corridor so small nobody could stand on foot there. Zo'or couldn't understand what was his purpose sitting there, so he payed attention to his actions. Stone dressed his combat uniform, his weapon irresponsibly lying on the floor. A humanoid shadow showed Zo'or that Stone wasn't alone, he laughed at a sudden cloud of smoke coming towards him, then a limb passed him a cigarrete. Zo'or tried to adjust the volume on his surveillance unit so he could listen to what Stone and the other volunteer were talking, but to no use: it seemed these systems were all tampered, needing an energy fix or were just decaying. Yet, he didn't have to guess what they were talking about once the other volunteer showed into focus--a handsome Black man the computer identified as Thomas Anderson, whose superior was in fact Stone-- making himself comfortable under his lover's arms. The Taelon stared as the couple engaged in its kissing ritual; **...humans and their... thing I cannot get to understand... yet...** he watched as Anderson caressed Stone's chest, the volunteer face held back, eyes closed and mouth letting escape smoke and brief laughings **...they know they cannot procreate... they know their acts to be fruitless, then why...** Zo'or waved over the datastream again and isolated both lovers in a cornered data window.
Zo'or train of thought was suddenly stopped as he almost jumped over his chair to the sound of high energy beats. His elegant fingers quickly lowering the volume on his spying devices as his eyes focussed to the image of Lola Martirio dressed on her sports gear dancing like crazy. Zo'or watched her movements as Lola moved her hips, the fatty flesh of her breasts trembling to the rhythm like chunks of Jell-O... her feet where actually following the fast rythym in a strange tap routine. Zo'or was amused, **nice mathematical improvisation;** but her mouth was singing out of synch over the verbal passages of the techno song, Zo'or noticed. ''Computer, isolate Dolores Martirio's voice patterns.'' Inmediatly, the computer muted every sound from the visual but Lola's voice.
''El Mandamás Extraterrestre
es un farifo bugarrón,
el más hermoso maricón de la galaxia;
le presta el culo con pasión
el Sandoval
que traga leche por jugar
y da las gracias.
Zo'or, Zo'or,
no se la escondas más,
quítate ya ese 'jompel',
dásela a Sandoval,
dásela a Sandoval...''
**...perhaps I could attain understanding of this fruitless acts under the grounds of what is... individuality?** Zo'or felt strange, individuality was being like trying to walk on empty space, no ground to step upon, no loving hand to guide him. The Commonality used to be his way from all time known, the guide who lift his spirit to the superior, or so he thought. How could he not know how to describe and judge over a situation if the Commonality was always there providing him with the knowledge he needed? But now there were no Companions to lean on psychically, no sharing of feelings, knowledge or encouragement. Time to be creative then, and to believe by faith; or time to experience in order to collect the facts which with to build the truth. Now was time to choose... **I believe those behaviors to be the side-effects of the condition known as individuality... my actual condition.
**...yet, I fail to understand volunteer Martirio's obsession in pairing me with Sandoval... She invents such idiotic nursery rhymes with the sole purpose of laughing herself alone to tears.... However, it seems her useless passion fills her with the energy she requires...** Like Ishikawa, who got excited over stick-like insects and praying mantites, and Stone who got it from Anderson's mouth over his manly hardness.
**Is it... fascinating?** and again Zo'or made his head tilt unconsciosly, this time like an attentive puppy; unconsciosly, he extended his palm up reaching to touch the falling energy from the datastream **I shall collect energy from them too.**
For the first time his usual smirk was actually a smile.
*********
Good? Bad? Fair?
Your opinions are always welcomed.
If I don't like them, well, I can always forward them to Hell.
Next: Some reasons why Martirio is aboard the Mothership.