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This message Premiere Special Edition: Technopolis versus the Order of Order was posted by A special edition brought to you byCrazySugarfreakBoy! and edited by the Hooded Hood on Friday, September 20, 2002 at 05:22.
Premiere Special Edition: Technopolis versus the Order of Order
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"Your isolation from this situation disqualifies you from diagnosing the truth of it with any measure of authority," Fredersen countered, as his brain screamed at him to devise a solution, and he began to suspect that Book's prognosis might not be entirely inaccurate.
"Perhaps," Book acceded neutrally, coughing once or twice to clear out the blood and phlegm that had collected in the back of his throat, before continuing on. "In any event, while we wait for ... whatever it is, that's about to happen here, perhaps you could do me the courtesy of answering a simple question?"
"Go on," Fredersen allowed, apprehensively.
Book inhaled sharply. "Well, what I'm really rather curious to know is ... how does it feel, to have pissed away a perfect paradise?"
Fredersen gaped incredulously. "What ... ?"
Book's mask of feigned indifference dropped in an instant, as a scowl of stern disapproval crept over his sharp-edged features. "You people had it all - the best of all possible worlds - and you threw it all away. You lived in a plane of reality of that was ruled entirely by the forces of Order, and you allowed the agents of Chaos - and not even the agents of the Chaos of Creation, but instead, the agents of the Chaos of Destruction – you allowed them to take it all away from you. I have dedicated the whole of my life to the cause of transforming this world into a reflection of the bright and shining utopia that your own world once was ... and yet, you people, who were born into this ideal state of being, surrendered it up without a struggle, or even a second thought."
"You know not of what you speak," Fredersen stammered out in retort.
"I know enough," Book shot back, both his voice and gaze as steady as ever, even as the light and sweat and blood continued to sting his color-sensitive eyes. "And you know enough to know that, don't you? Even if you choose not to admit it, to me or to yourself, you're just smart enough to figure out that I'm right, aren't I? But at the same time, you're still not smart enough to figure out a way out of this, are you?"
"Quiet!" Fredersen barked, gripping the nearest console until his knuckles turned white.
"I've had the inside line on you people since you first set foot in this reality," Book spat at his captor. "One of your own people has been feeding me all of the latest data on the continually developing status quo of your world, along with all sorts of useful bits of information about how you Technopolitans operate. For instance, I have been told that the device to which I am currently confined just so happens to be run by a virtually self-aware artificial intelligence program, so as to facilitate its interaction with the human minds that it is tasked with analyzing. Of course, as a consequence of this, all that I have to do is say the words
RELEASE ME NOW
and it will," Book shrugged, as the unit's clamps around his wrists, ankles, waist, and neck all sprung open.
Fredersen could do naught but stare silently, in stunned disbelief.
"The Voice of Reason," Book explained, easing himself out of the machine, and rubbing his tender wrists in an effort to get the blood circulation flowing to those areas again. "One of Order's preferred tools of persuasion. The more intelligent and logical and reasonable and ... well, orderly the consciousness is, that hears the Voice of Reason, the more effective it is in its persuasions. And since the cognitive processes of the artificial intelligence were as logical and reasonable as almost any self-aware being could possibly seek to achieve, the outcome of this contest was never in doubt."
"Who are you?" Fredersen demanded. "What are you? You're not a man. You're not human. You can't be."
"Good questions," Book nodded, as he strode towards the cowering Science Councillor. "Do you honestly want to learn the answers, though? Are you fully prepared to be told who and what I am?"
Book's arm shot out towards Fredersen, his hand grabbing the Science Councillor by the jaw, and with a single fluid, forceful movement, he had lifted the Technopolitan off of his feet, as he intoned
I AM THE WORD OF ORDER
MINE IS THE VOICE OF REASON
AND IT IS MY WILL THAT YOU PEOPLE NEVER TRESPASS HERE AGAIN
"And as Gods, our will shall be done," echoed an eerily artificial female voice from the other end of the room, whose outline glinted with a metallic sheen in the shadows.
"Ah, yes," Book nodded to the obscured form in the corner, as he released his powerful hold on the Science Councillor, and allowed him to fall roughly to the floor. "Joh Fredersen, I believe that you already know Hel Rotwang ... if not personally, then certainly by way of her reputation, which I've been informed precedes her in Technopolis. She was once a member of the Science Council too, wasn't she?"
Fredersen's eyes grew wide, as the silvery, streamlined figure stepped into full view. "No!" he shouted in protest. "You're not real! You're a legend, a myth! You're a fiction, a figment of make-believe, made up by Science Historians with overactive imaginations! You don't exist, and you never did!"
She silenced his escalating shrieks with a simple squeeze of his windpipe, crushing it in the process. "I am Deus ex Machina. I am God from the machinery. And I do indeed exist. But the same can no longer be said for you."
"You were able to download the access codes for the interdimensional communication channels?" Book checked, as he cleaned the sweat and blood from his face, and slid the protective chromo-filter lenses of his Shades of Gray back over his color-sensitive eyes.
Her art deco facial features remained expressionless as she offered her reply. "Including the passwords and backdoors to Malevi's most private and secure priority frequencies."
Book smoothed down his receding, close-cropped hair, until it lay flat against his head. "Well, then, there's no time like the present, to reach out and touch someone, is there?"
__________
Assek Malevi, the Red Watchman of Technopolis, blinked in surprise as soon as he observed the flashing light on his audio-visual signal link to the occupation forces he had dispatched to enforce his will in Seattle, Washington, because he realized this meant that one of his own underlings had somehow mustered enough independent will to hail him, rather than waiting to receive a hailing summons from him.
Malevi punched the button to open his end of the connection, as he made a mental note to execute immediately whomever he saw the image of on his screen, and blinked in surprise a second time when the pixilated visage of Gideon Book appeared before him, buttoning up his white shirt, and brushing down his black suit.
"What is the meaning of this!?" Malevi bellowed, outraged at the unpardonable hubris of this unbidden intrusion. "On whose authority have you been freed from the mental probe!? We have other kinds of probes as well, you know! Where is Fredersen!?"
"Please do be quiet," Book sighed with an affected air of wearied patience, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture of feigned exasperation. "And to answer your questions, albeit in the reverse of the order in which they were asked, Fredersen is dead, I have been freed from the mental probe on my own authority, and the meaning of this is to inform you that the Order of Order has officially declared war on you, Assek Malevi, the Red Watchman, and all of Technopolis."
"You ... DARE!!!" Malevi roared, rushing forward to shout into the face of the entirely ordinary and altogether nondescript little man who presumed to be his own equal, and perhaps even believed himself to be the Red Watchman's better. "You primitive, backwoods-dwelling, chromosome-deficient, knuckle-dragging troglodyte ... you DARE to issue such demeaning commands to me, one who is clearly your superior, by every conceivable means of measurement -"
Book rolled his eyes in condescending disdain, behind his Shades of Gray, at Malevi's extended string of semi-inventive invective, before he finally felt the need to interject a rebuttal to the Red Watchman's tirades once again. "And apparently your highly evolved intellect is too sophisticated to understand that, when I request that you remain quiet, what I'm actually
trying to tell you is
LISTEN AND DO NOT SPEAK
Malevi gaped, and clutched at his own throat, as he discovered that he had suddenly become unable to utter so much as a single sound, as Book removed his Shades of Gray, polished their protective chromo-filter lenses on the immaculate fabric of his shirtsleeve for a few seconds, and then replaced them over his color-sensitive eyes.
"If the forces of Order were still in charge of Technopolis, I would have been content to sit back, and allow them to challenge our native agents of Chaos, that currently serve as the custodians of this realm, for the right to reshape this reality," Book elaborated, idly inspecting the dirt that had accumulated underneath his fingernails, during his brief term of imprisonment, as he spoke. "But you and your fellow agents of Chaos are just as unfit to decide the destiny of this dimensional plane as are the misguided simpletons who tend to the tasks of its defense and protection now - even less, considering that you are agents of the Chaos of Destruction, while the majority of them are agents of the Chaos of Creation, at least. I daresay I'd sooner elevate the likes of even Dreamcatcher Foxglove to the highest status of Godhood, rather than allow you the opportunity to rule over so much as a single shantytown of inbred mongoloids on this world."
"Nnnh ... nuh ... not your choice," Malevi choked out, fighting against the domination of the Voice of Reason through the sheer force of his white-hot hatred alone. "Mine. My choice. My world, now. My prize, to play with. My toy, to break."
If the Red Watchman had believed that this demonstration of his superhuman willpower was guaranteed to inspire a reflexive reaction of immediate submission from his deceptively drably clad opponent, he would have been seriously mistaken. "You managed to resist the Voice of Reason's directives so soon? Hnh.”
“Oh sure,” twitched the Watchman, rubbing his throat. “Voice of Reason, eh? I’ve just gotta get me one of those.”
“You must be even more psychotically insane than I had already suspected, in which case, no constructive purpose can be achieved by continuing this conversation any longer," Book concluded.
"No, wait!" Malevi urged, swallowing back his own considerable pride in order to force forth the conciliatory words that followed. "I kind of like you, in a want to piss down your throat way. You have class. Style. I keep telling my boys that’s what they need, but all those crazy kids seem to want to do is rape and murder. Perhaps ... we can come to an agreement, possibly even ... arrange an alliance. Tell me ... what is it, that you want?"
"What I want, more than anything else ... is for you, and for everyone else who is even remotely like you, to be erased, retroactively, from every last one of the infinite levels of existence, for all of eternity. End transmission," Book directed Deus ex Machina, cutting Malevi off before he could even open his mouth, to voice his next protest.
"You enjoyed that," the former Science Councillor once known as Hel Rotwang opined.
"You're good and goddamned right I did," Book muttered venomously under his breath, before inhaling sharply, and cracking his knuckles one by one as he continued on talking. "Anyhow, with that minor bit of business attended to, we might as well make contact with Mr. Foxglove, whom I believe is still gallivanting about with his Lair Legion associates somewhere roughly within the vicinity of Parodiopolis, to bring him up to speed on our progress in liberating his home town. The more sentimental specimens of so-called 'heroes', such as him, draw much of their strength from their homes."
"So I've noticed," Deus ex Machina remarked with a controlled tone of neutrality, even as her sardonic smirk gave away her assessment of Book's own sentimentality.
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