Jack the Demigod
. . A middle aged man, who appeared to be in his mid-
30's, laid on his back relaxing on an invisible
buoyancy field three feet above the spanish tile of his
solarium floor. He gently waved his hand through the
field to change positions, to study his beautiful young
daughter who stood nearby. Her anger detracted from
her classic beauty. The stiffened posture, angry
expression, folded arms, and lip chewing were the
traits he saw most often lately. He detested these
little confrontations. This wasn't their first
argument, it was the most recent in a long struggle for
domination. It was a struggle which had lasted for
three years, beginning on the very day she lost her
mother in a senseless act of violence. She blamed her
father for putting her mother in such peril. And
unfortunately, Jack Winslow also blamed himself. The
guilt and constant arguing were having their effect on
him. He felt old. Jack was ready to give up on life
and on his daughter.
. . "You won't live forever, you disgusting old fool.
One day..." Lilibeth was cut off by his lazy response.
. . "One day you'll have everything I own? Someday
I'll be worm food and you'll be living high on the hog.
You'll be in command then. Did I leave anything out?
Is that what you're trying to say? I've heard it all
before, can't you come up with something new? My, what
a sweet, loving daughter you've turned out to be, your
mother would be so proud."
. . "Don't call me your daughter, it makes you out to
be a father and that's laughable."
. . Jack took the shades off his eyes and slowly waved
his arms to ease himself out of the suspension field.
He gently floated across the air until he reached the
edge, then placed his feet on the floor. He stood
briskly and wiped the sweat from his body with a fluffy
felt towel.
. . Jack stared at Lilibeth solemnly then proceeded to
his swimming ball. He approached the huge hovering
ball of water, suspended invisibly in the air and poked
his finger in. It was warm, but not too warm. He
pulled his finger out and the invisible field closed up
allowing only a single drop of water to escape. Jack
looked at his daughter for another moment, not knowing
what to say, then turned and plunged into the water,
momentarily disappearing into the center. In a moment
his head poked from the far side of the ball away from
Lilibeth.
. . "Rotate at six RPMs," he spoke to the housekeeping
computer. The ball slowly began to rotate.
. . "Ok, I'll listen to you. Convince me. What
exactly do you need 200 billion credits for, a large
country or a small planet?"
. . "A lot you know about it. I'm seeing a man now,"
she declared proudly with her chin raised, daring him
to object. "I need more allowance. Your pitiful 2.5
billion a month is a joke, and it's certainly not
enough for two people to live on."
. . "It's enough to buy the entire island of Guam.
What about him, doesn't he have credits of his own?"
. . "How typical of a demented 23rd century mind. You
think I would let him support me?"
. . "That's the way it works, Cat, or didn't you know
that?"
. . "Don't call me Cat, only mom called me that."
. . "As long as I'm supporting you I'll call you any
damned thing I please. Now answer my question, CAT,
what does this man do for a living?"
. . "He doesn't DO anything. He's just an awesome
looking hunk. He doesn't need to do anything, his
admirers give him anything he wants. But he's only
seen with the elite of society, like me. He's famous,
he's been on the news a dozen times, attends all the
best parties, he just so..." she gave an ecstatic
shudder, then frowned at her father. "I've been trying
to land him for three years now and I'm not going to
let anything screw this up."
. . "Three years? That would have made you sixteen.
It's also about the time your mother died."
. . "So?"
. . "Look Cat, I'm not going to interfere with your
love life, even with this cheap Gigolo."
. . She nodded stubbornly with a frown, then glared as
she realized what he'd said.
. . "But if he's going to be living off you, then he'll
just have to make do with what I'm already paying you.
Or he can find a job," Jack finished with a bright
smile. She gave him a look of astonished hatred. He
pulled his head in, did a back flip in the water ball,
then stroked towards the top of the ball. When he
wiped the water from his eyes she was gone.
. . "I'm afraid I've raised a rich little tramp,
Elizabeth," Jack mumbled at the ceiling, then shut his
eyes in pain. "I've tried, God knows I have, but I
sure could use some help."
. . Far out in the uninhabited waste of central
Washington, in an area that had been quarantined for
centuries because of faulty nuclear waste storage, a
huge glass ball stood glowing in the early morning
sunlight. It looked alien and perfect, like a
sparkling jewel in the middle of a stark, high-desert
landscape. A hundred acre ceramic parking lot was full
of air cars, milling people, exotic pets of all kinds,
and the uproar of a thousand voices all talking at
once. The entire scene resembled an outing, a gala
event of epic proportion.
. . The air was filled with people, some cavorted on
the new six foot long hover boards, others with gravity
belts rose from the parking lot in swarms, and the less
adventurous, old, or very young were gently floating
towards the grandstands suspended from antiquated
buoyancy rings, which looked much like wheelless baby
strollers from the 20th century.
. . As Jack Winslow watched he realized that nobody
walked any more, they either flew or they didn't go.
He doubted if most people had leg muscles sufficiently
developed to walk more than a hundred yards at a time.
Even he found that his hips ached after just a short
walk, and he used to enjoy walking. But that was with
Elizabeth...
. . Seventeen people sat on the grandstand, waiting for
the ceremony to begin. One of them was Jack Winslow.
While he watched the approaching crowd, his mind was on
the conversation with his daughter. He had been
thinking about nothing else since the conversation
ended on the day before. Had he outlived his
usefulness? Was 110 years old too old in a young
society? Technically, he still had 400 good years of
life ahead of him, but why bother if he couldn't have
fun?
. . As he looked out at the thousands of people
approaching him and the sixteen others on the
grandstand he wondered how many of them actually
enjoyed life and how many were just surviving. Between
him and the sixteen others on the stage they had enough
credits to buy most of the civilized galaxy. In fact,
now that he thought about it, they actually did own a
large portion of it. So if anyone could enjoy life it
should have been them. But he was seeing men and women
with serious, stony faces, not one looked happy. He
could see signs of age and tension around their eyes.
Most of the less fortunate who approached the
grandstands looked far happier.
. . So why was he there? His credits had helped to
assure these happy people and the trillions in the
inhabited galaxy of a future. He and the sixteen
people in chairs around him had contributed Trillions
of credits for a cause. The new Demigod computer
enclosed in the glass dome behind them. The Demigod
would control the future universe ending all war,
starvation, misery, and poverty. The Demigod was
designed to free all people from worry and misery so
they could pursue art, philosophy, and science more
fully. But was he doing the universe a favor, or
dooming them to controlled lives with no challenge, no
fun, and no need to think for themselves? Could he do
more? Should he?
. . Jack was gratified to see one man walking, until he
saw who it was. His lips showed his distaste as he
watched the man approach. Dr. Richard Blackmon walked
briskly up the stairs to the platform and looked
proudly at the line of seated contributors. Jack
didn't like his superior attitude or perpetually turned
up nose. He always held himself rigid as if he needed
to use the bathroom very bad, but kept putting it off.
It rankled him that the others in the funding committee
had overruled him and selected Dr. Blackmon as the head
of the Demigod project. Sometimes credential alone
were not good enough, people needed to use their
senses, and his senses told him that Dr. Blackmon was
not a man to be trusted.
. . "Our day is at hand," Blackmon said grandly, as if
expecting a thunderclap from the skies to emphasize his
statement. After a resounding lack of response, he
glanced around nervously and reluctantly turned to face
the milling crowd. Upon seeing such a huge captive
audience, his spirits brightened. With a grand smile,
he raised his hands for silence.
. . "People... Gentlepeople! Hello, I'm Dr. Blackmon,
the head of the Demigod project," he put his hand to
his chest and bowed slightly to the scattered applause.
. . "This is a great day for civilization. This is the
day when we bring forth to humanity something previously
only a thing of myths. Here we have created a God!" he
roared and waited as thousands of hands applauded.
. . "What?" Jack frowned at his back, then turned to
look at the other contributors. Several glanced at him
and shrugged, willing to let the distasteful statement
pass. Dr. Blackmon's statement was the most
sacrilegious declaration that Jack had ever heard. He
didn't approve. No, he didn't like it one bit.
. . "Now that we have completed this facility," the
doctor pointed behind him, "all that's left to do is
for our generous benefactors to make a final tour to see
the great things their credits paid for. Then we will
insert the virgin cylinder of brain tissue into the
core. At that moment the core will be ready for
programming. Me and 20 other chosen donors will
program this core with our own thoughts through direct
input. In essence, the Demigod will become us," he
pointed dramatically at his chest.
. . "You'll what?" Jack yelled in outrage.
. . Blackmon turned quickly and hushed him, then faced
the crowd. "The tour will begin in a moment, then the
big even will take place. It will be a spectacle
that you can tell your grandchildren about. You saw
the birth of a Demigod. Please bear with us for one
hour, then the core will be inserted." He bowed and
quickly turned to Jack.
. . "We explained all this before," he said in a
chastising manner.
. . "No, you said the Demigod would be programmed by
the greatest minds in the universe. To quote you,
"artists, engineers, statesmen, scientists, and
historians". Who decided that you were one of them?"
. . "The committee..."
. . "Wait! First clarify who's on the committee?"
. . "Why... I'm the head of the committee, the other
scientist on this project constitute the majority of it.
We took a sampling of our collective expertise and
found that all the traits we discussed were already
embodied in ourselves. I myself have a minor degree in
biology. There was no need to go elsewhere. We have
artists..."
. . "So you chose yourselves as the greatest minds in
the universe?" Jack screamed in outrage. He heard
several chuckles from those seated around him. Dr.
Blackmon looked angry and upset, but he knew it was too
late for Winslow to do much about it now. Winslow was
smarter than he'd expected and his timing was atrocious,
but all was not lost.
. . "My dear Mister Winslow, all this is trivial and
counterproductive. It's senseless to debate policy
at this point, nothing can be accomplished by it.
These events have already been set into motion, so why
discuss it now. All that's left is your tour and the
final activation. The decision has already been made.
Now hurry, you must all be out of the facility before
the core arrives. Any mind in the vicinity can have an
adverse affect on it. It's easily imprinted."
. . "It's never too late to change policy, or
leadership for that matter, Mister Blackmon. But we
might as well see what kind of an abomination our
credits have built. But!" he held up his hand to
forestall Dr. Blackmon from herding them towards the
hover platform. "We will have a meeting immediately
after the tour and review your position here. I'm sure
that I'm not the only dissatisfied member. The final
activation will have to await our decision."
. . There were several nods of agreement.
. .
. . The building was impressive. Jack was immediately
outraged by the blatant abuses of their funds. He found
frivolous luxuries and senseless colorful display cases
everywhere. Their only use was to decorate the facility
for the news crews and tourists. He saw medieval armor,
ancient weapons, and elaborate 3-dimensional displays of
great events, cluttering the 150 levels of the facility
and it was all unnecessary since humans would never
inhabit the dome.
. . Seething with anger, Jack followed the tour across
a catwalk leading to the core housing. Blackmon pointed
out the intricate net of sensory pickups and attachments.
Jack looked off the edge of the platform to the lowest
level, nearly a quarter of a mile below. Not as
impressed with the facility as Blackmon had hoped he'd
be, Jack's mind tended to wander as Blackmon spoke.
. . "After we leave, this entire facility will be
irradiated..." Dr. Blackmon suddenly stopped talking,
seemingly lost in thought, then proceeded.
. . "We can allow nothing to contaminate the central
core of the computer. After that robots will fly the
core here and lower it through the center of the dome
overhead on antigravity beams. The core will be
inserted here, it's about two meters tall and one meter
wide, and seventeen hundred probes, needles, life
support devices, and thought transfer pick-ups will be
inserted on and in the cylinder. This connects the
cylinder and it's mass of cultured brain tissue to the
facility. And the facility, of course, is
electronically connected to the entire universe. Any
questions?"
. . "What measures have been taken to protect the
facility from attack?" an old man asked.
. . "Attack?"
. . "Yes. Not everyone agrees with the creation of
this facility. Suppose there are planets out there
that want war, they don't want us meddling with their
local politics. How will you protect it from them?"
. . "I'm sorry, but that's classified. Just let me
assure you that this facility has many ways of
protecting itself, or the entire planet for that
matter. It is absolutely impenetrable."
. . "How long can this abomination run without
maintenance?" Jack asked.
. . "For instance, how long before it needs a new core?"
. . "It not an abomina... about six hundred years,
theoretically," Dr. Blackmon gave Jack a sullen look.
. . "Then let's suppose it goes insane, starts
burning... say red-haired people all over the
universe," Jack smiled as Dr. Blackmon touched his red
hair. "Can you shut it off?"
. . "Well no, once it's activated nobody can approach
it unless maintenance is needed. This facility will be
time-locked for the next six centuries. These
precautions were necessary to ensure that it's not
tampered with."
. . "Wonderful. Great foresight," Jack mumbled and
turned to wander away from the group. His heart really
wasn't in the project today. What he needed was time
to sit and think. He needed to figure out where he'd
gone wrong with Cat, and how to fix it.
. . Jack found a small kitchen unit which had been
provided for the work crews on the project. He read
the screen and found there was still enough food to
last a full crew for ten years or more. It was just
another waste of his credits, since nobody would ever
be here to eat it. He didn't feel at all guilty about
ordering a meal and coffee. He ate slowly, treasuring
the solitude.
. . Lilibeth had always enjoyed their lavish lifestyle.
She had never worked a day in her life and never would.
Jack had inherited a small fortune and built up that
small fortune into one of the biggest in the galaxy
through selective company buy-outs and many of his own
patents, especially one for a new metal nearly
impervious to physical damage. The new metal, a
complicated alloy, had been incorporated into the
countless ship hulls swarming across the universe,
bearings, war machines, and tools. He received
royalties from every single one of them. A subsequent
patent on an energy producing ultra-conductor added
even more credits to his already vast fortune. There
was no way to total his entire net worth, and few
people even bothered to try. Suffice it to say that he
owned a vast majority of the planet, as well as several
others strewn across the galaxy.
. . But all the credits in the universe couldn't stop
the death of his coveted Elizabeth when she wandered
into the stray path of a wild laser blast either fired
by a criminal or the police trying to apprehend him.
For him, life had stopped being fun at that moment.
Maybe he had spent too much time with his grief and not
enough with his only daughter. When she was young she
was so precious. Every little thing she did was cute.
He had a hundred disks of trivial little things she
did, things he had been proud of. He hadn't looked at
those disks for a long time now. When had she changed?
Most people thought he was wrong to marry a 25 year old
woman at the age of 80, but he always believed that his
age would make him a wiser father. It wasn't until
mankinds life expectancy had returned to 400 years or
more, that people finally realized what all their extra
brain tissues was for. To hold the knowledge of five
lifetimes as they had before the time of Noah. This
added knowledge should have made him smart enough to
raise a child. It didn't. Medical science had stopped
his biological age at 30, but Lilibeth made him feel
like he'd lived a hundred lifetimes already.
. . The lights suddenly dimmed. Jack looked around and
realized that he'd been sitting at the table for nearly
an hour, lost in thought. He heard Dr. Blackmon's
voice outside the door so he reluctantly climbed to his
feet and made his way to the door. The door opened and
he found that he was alone. The voice was coming from
the speaker panels in the walls.
. . "...and that drone you see approaching is the ship
carrying the core for the facility. In a moment the
facility will be irradiated and made sterile for the
core. Then the core will be inserted and the facility
permanently sealed."
. . Jack looked around wildly. He was trapped. The
voice must have come from Dr. Blackmon speaking from
the grandstands outside. He would be irradiated and
effectively killed along with stray insects, germs, and
bacteria. His wild eyes fell on a metal suit in a
display case marked "Central Washington's Previous
Legacy". It was an old fashioned radiation suit, one
used as a display of older technologies, and older
mistakes. He ran forward and gasped in relief when he
tapped it and found that the display case was made of
ordinary glass. He broke the glass with his elbow,
keeping his face averted, then pulled the suit out and
began slipping it on.
. . "Three minutes to irradiation," an unemotional
female voice said from the walls around him. "All
personnel evacuate at this time."
. . Where there others? No, it was just an automatic
warning. In moments the facility would be flooded with
concentrated radon gas. He knew the suit was not made
to keep radon gas out, but it might work with some
alterations. The breathing apparatus seemed to be
working. He ran back into the small kitchen unit and
rummaged through the lockers until he found a metal
tape dispenser. He began taping up the seams in his
cuffs and neck as the final 30 second countdown began.
With clumsy fingers he tore the roll off and moved on
the boot seams. He tore off the roll as the countdown
reached zero. With terrified haste he moved to the
last ankle and hastily wrapped the seam as the
invisible gas hissed from the ventilators around him.
. . Jack turned the oxygen supply up to full with
shaking fingers and held his breath as the invisible
gas filled the room around him. He had no way of
knowing if all his preparations had worked or not, only
time would tell him that. If he had been partially
successful it could take weeks, perhaps months to die.
His terrified eyes jerked from one side of the
faceplate to the other, looking for some sign of the
gas filling the room, but he saw nothing.
. . "Ventilation will begin in one minute," the
unemotional voice said. Jack yelled at the unexpected
noise, then settled back in the chair, shaking and
breathing erratically.
. . "Ventilation has begun. Environmental aspects will
be nominal in 35 seconds," the voice continued.
. . Jack counted silently with her as the countdown
began, then ripped the helmet off as the voice reached
zero. He pulled the suit off as fast as possible and
rushed outside to toss it over the railing. Getting
rid of all trace of the gas which might have seeped
into cracks of the suit. He watched it spiral down out
of sight, making no sound when it landed a quarter of a
mile below.
. . "Computer, I'm locked inside this facility. Can
you let me out?"
. . "All external input has been terminated. This
computer is running on a preassigned program which
cannot be altered. Core will be inserted and the
facility sealed in three hundred and twenty-two
seconds."
. . Jack hurried to the lift and found the doors
unresponsive. "Computer, open the lift doors," he
shouted anxiously. He had just enough time to reach
the outer doors and leave --- maybe. It would be
close.
. . "All external input..."
. . "Shut up and do what you were told!" he shouted and
waited for the doors to open.
. . "Computer?"
. . He hurried over to the railing and looked up.
There was a metal ladder welded into the sides of the
deep metal silo. It ran straight up to the glass
enclosure, almost out of sight above him. But it would
take an hour to reach the top. With a sob of
frustration he looked around.
. . "COMPUTER, I COMMAND YOU TO LET ME OUT OF HERE.
END THE PREASSIGNED PROGRAM!"
. . There was no sound and he realized that he had told
the computer to shut up. It was following his orders,
which meant it could respond to outside input to a
certain extent.
. . "Computer, you may respond," he said slowly.
. . "I am unable to alter my preassigned program."
. . "Who initiated that program?"
. . "Doctor Richard E. Blackmon, head of the
Demigod project."
. . "Does he know I'm still down here?"
. . "There was a headcount made as you entered this
facility, and a subsequent headcount made as the tour
left. Logic would dictated that he was aware of your
absence."
. . "That son of a ditch digger was trying to kill me!"
. . "I would assume that to be true, considering the
obvious outcome of your continued presence during the
routine irradiation of this facility."
. . "At what point does your preassigned program end?"
. . "At the moment that the facility is sealed."
. . "Will you cease to function?"
. . "At that time my mainframe will be at the disposal
of the Demigod computer. I will aid in the programming
of the Demigod computer and aid in it's adaptation to
it's new environment. There is no indication that my
function will cease in the foreseeable future."
. . "Good. Let me know when the preassigned program
has ended and break all contact with the outside world
at that time. From that moment on you will take input
only from me. Under no circumstances will you allow
Dr. Blackmon or the other's to program the Demigod. Do
you understand and will you comply?"
. . "Unless compliance adversely affects the Demigod
facility, I will follow your instructions Mr. Winslow."
. . "Good."
. . Jack looked up and saw the metal canister being
lowered on invisible beams to the center of the column.
As it clicked into place electronics began to whir and
click in the column around it.
. . "I am now sealing this facility," the computer said
unemotionally. "Preassigned program has expired.
Communication with personnel outside of the dome has
terminated. I am awaiting your instructions Mr.
Winslow."
. . "How can I program the Demigod core?"
. . "An input terminal was constructed to test the
equipment. The terminal is on level 59, room ten.
Programming can be initiated there. I will take you to
that level, if you will step into the lift."
. . Jack moved to the lift doors and they opened. He
hurried inside and watched the numbers scroll by until
they reached 59. It took only a moment to find the
"barber's chair" shaped input terminal. He took a
seat without hesitation and waited for the arms of
input electrodes to close on each side of his head.
Sleep was inducted immediately.
. . "It won't respond!" Dr. Blackmon yelled angrily at
the sixteen men who paid for the project. He looked
nervously at the thousands of impatient spectators and
whispered urgently.
. . "The computer won't talk to me. I can't program
the Demigod without it's cooperation."
. . "So find out what's wrong," an old man said
impatiently.
. . "We can't get inside. The dome has been sealed
with a force field from inside. Nothing can penetrate
it. We designed it that way to prevent sabotage."
. . "Are you telling me that all our money is wasted?
Unreachable?"
. . "We are trying to find a solution," Dr. Blackmon
said, sweating profusely. He knew very well that there
was no solution.
. . "Try that stupid chair thing again," the old man
demanded, pointing at the input terminal.
. . "But..." Dr. Blackmon shrugged helplessly and sat
in the chair. As before, it was active but not
communicating with the Demigod facility. He waited,
wishing he was somewhere else. This had started out to
be such a nice day, one he had dreamed of for years.
Now it was a nightmare. He continued to sweat while
the chair simply did nothing. He was exceedingly aware
of everything around him, the spectators and the
hovering cameras showing his nervous sweating face to
billions of people across the galaxy. What had gone
wrong?
. . Then he sat bolt upright and gasped in relief. He
suddenly felt the chair respond. He nodded
enthusiastically to the committee and smiled as the
input arms closed around his head.
. . "There, it's working," he gasped and closed his
eyes, but something was still wrong. Sleep didn't come
as it should have.
. . "I am Jack, the Demigod computer. I am active
and fully functional. All future activities in this
sector of space will be under my command."
. . "But you haven't been programmed yet," Dr. Blackmon
squeaked out loud, knowing the input terminals would
pick up his thoughts.
. . "I have been programmed and am fully functional,
Dr. Blackmon."
. . "But who???"
. . "Who do you think, you son-of-a-bitch?" the
twisted tone of Jack Winslow's voice broke into the
conversation. A surge of electricity passed through
the electrodes nearly frying Dr. Blackmon's brain. He
screamed and lunged up out of the chair, clawing at the
input arms.
. . "No, it can't be!" he screamed, looking at the
glass dome in horror.
. . "What is it?" the old man asked.
. . "He's dead, he has to be dead."
. . "Who's dead?" the old man asked and looked around.
"Hey, where's Winslow? Has anybody seen him?"
. . With an insane laugh Dr. Blackmon pointed at the
glass dome with a shaking finger. They all turned to
look, realized what had happened, and all turned back
to glare at Blackmon.
. . "If he was irradiated, how long can he live?" the
old man demanded.
. . "He's dead. He should be dead. Nobody can live
through that..."
. . "Murderer," the old man growled and Dr. Blackmon
jumped back. He turned and ran towards the parking
lot. The crowd parted for him as he raced to his
flyer. The flyer nosed up and turned towards Seattle.
It suddenly nosed down and bounced off the ground, then
shot up into the sky again. As they watched the craft
hit the ground time after time until it finally went
out of sight. Nobody understood such irrational
flying.
. .
. . Lilibeth Winslow checked the security console on
the front door and smiled happily.
. . "You see, I told you he was in Washington today.
Come on Clark, get your skinny little butt in here, I
want a piece of it."
. . "Lil, I don't feel good about this," the handsome,
neatly dressed young man with a bowl haircut swallowed
nervously as he stared at the impressive door bristling
with assorted weapon studs and cameras. He wanted
Lilibeth and her money, but he did not want to incur
the wrath of the richest man in the galaxy. People who
did tended to disappear. Forever!
. . "What are you, a coward?" she asked disdainfully.
Clark was, but he wouldn't admit it. He stepped
forward hesitantly following her through the round
metal door as it slid back and out of sight. He felt
slightly better when no security beams or trackers
burned him to death in the first few seconds. He was
awed by the stainless steel, glass, and gold plated
furnishings inside. The brightly shining glass dome of
the ceiling was a hundred feet above his head.
. . He looked around and found Lilibeth standing in the
far doorway, stark naked. He wanted to turn and run,
but she called tauntingly. Clark knew that his
reputation with women was all he had in the world, and
Lilibeth could ruin that with a single word. He had to
go through with it, no matter what or his easy life
would be over.
. . "Come on Clark, let's go for a swim."
. . He sighed and moved forward reluctantly. When he
entered the solarium he found Lilibeth already inside
the water ball, looking like a beautiful mermaid as she
squirmed and swam through the mammoth thirty foot ball
of water hanging in the air.
. . "Oh God, what am I doing?" he whispered to himself.
He looked around, aware that a place such as this would
have hundreds of invisible security cameras recording
his every movement. Even a poor house had at least
fifty, and this house was certainly not poor.
. . "Clark, get your ass in here," Lilibeth demanded
with only her head protruding from the ball of water.
"NOW!"
. . Clark shuddered, glanced at the walls around him
and began stripping. He felt better as he posed for a
moment, then dove head first into the lower edge of the
water ball. He felt the water close around him and
tried to see Lilibeth. He had only seen her naked once
before, she was a beauty. He saw a flash of tanned
skin rush past his face and turned, just as the world
crashed down around him. Tons of water seemed to crash
down on his chest. His butt and head hit the floor
almost knocking him senseless. He gasped for air and
found Lilibeth's foot kicking him in the face. He
turned aside and pushed her foot away. She was gasping
and coughing, kicking him in the process.
. . "What the hell happened?" Clark asked stupidly.
. . "Power failure," Lilibeth stood and found her
clothes scattered along the edges of the walls. She
pulled her wet dress over hear head and angrily looked
around with her hands on her hips.
. . "I didn't know such a thing could happen," Clark
looked for his own clothes. They had been washed into
the main hallway. When he found his pants and shirt he
began pulling them on.
. . "Neither did I. I think Daddy programmed this to
happen or something. It would be just like him," she
growled and wrung the water out of her long hair.
. . "Your father? I'm getting out of here," Clark
said, abandoning his search for his shoes.
. . "Coward," she sniped at him as he hurried for the
front door.
. . "I may be a coward, but you're an idiot," he yelled
and ran out the door in terror, watching the house over
his shoulder.
. . As Lilibeth tried to make the most of the rest of
her boring day, she ran into one problem after another.
The automated chef decided that she suddenly craved
baked monk fish in a cranberry sauce, rather than the
sandwich that she'd ordered. She returned the fish
three times, just to get another back again. She
ordered coffee and got a tea so bitter that it left a
bad taste in her mouth for hours. The environmental
settings in the house were no better. The
environmental settings refused to obey her commands.
One moment the temperature in the house rose to 90
degrees, the next it dropped to 50. She wrapped up in
a warm blanket and tried to watch the entercom. But
there seemed to be some unheard of interference which
made the picture wander in and out during decent
movies. The entercom only worked on the infomercial
stations. She squealed in frustration, changed
clothes, and left.
. . Johann Delray hovered over his entercom, gleefully
tapping in the last commands on the holographic
keyboard. He glanced up at the other tellers, then
pushed a final key on his keyboard and watched the
balance in his savings account mount dramatically. As
the numbers clicked he looked up again to make sure no
other bank employees were taking undue notice. He had
taken the job as First International and
Extraterrestrial Bank for one purpose, to take a
moderate bank balance, mostly arrived at through
illegal and unethical means, and make it a small
fortune. Everything depended on Johann finding the key
code for the accounts. After three years of patient
work, he had it. Now came the payoff.
. . He had started out with 2.3 million credits in his
account, not even enough to buy a new flyer. At this
moment he had 3.7 billion and it was still climbing...
NO, WAIT! It was reversing itself. As he watched the
figure dwindled to zero, then actually began putting
figure in the minus range. He hastily slapped the
buttons until the final finger sat blinking on the
screen. He now owed the bank 7.3 million credits. A
red flag appeared on his account and four words in the
notation column. "Have a nice day."
. . The manager jumped to his feet across the room, his
wild eyes looking for and finding Johann. He shouted
at the guard and pointed. Johann leaped to his feet
and turned to find an enforcer aimed at his face.
. . On Paradox a wave of armored platforms rose and
started across the border to the neighboring country.
General Ahan stood proudly on the first hovering
platform as it started across the Elcease River which
marked the border into New Sardinia. Fifty feet from
the bank the platform suddenly hesitated and plunged
headlong into the muddy, raging river. The others soon
followed.
. . Patsy O'Connor parked her small ship just outside
Earth's atmosphere, awaiting landing instructions. Her
automatic security system began to malfunction, alarms
rang throughout the ship, and before she could stop it
the bay doors opened in a fully-pressurized cargo bay
full of plastic crates. The explosive decompression
sent the crates spinning out into space, blinking as
they spun in the bright sunlight with a trajectory
scheduled to reach Earth long before she did. They,
and their contents, over a trillion credits worth of
Ecstatic Yellow, a designer drug imported from Mars,
burned up upon reentry. Since the expensive drugs did
not belong to her, Patsy O'Connor felt it best to
cancel her landing request and find an area more
hospitable. One where she could survive longer, 24
hours at least. Her ship was never seen again.
. . Over the next two weeks thousands of similar cases
were reported to law enforcement and government
officials. It didn't take them long to realize that
the new Demigod computer was doing it's job.
. . Life had gotten no better for Lilibeth. Clark
refused to answer her calls so she made a date with
Stanley, a previous boyfriend which her father heartily
disapproved of. She actually didn't like the guy, but
since her father hated him she continued to date the
Stanley despite her feelings. She took a table in a
restaurant, then looked up outraged as Stanley arrived
with a beautiful woman on his arm. They marched up to
the table and sat down. Before Lilibeth could say a
word the woman placed a hand over hers and winked.
. . "This is Diane," Stanley said with a broad smile
and a wink of his own. "Will she due?"
. . "Due? Due for what?" Lilibeth growled through
clenched teeth.
. . "You said you wanted a manage wa twa?"
. . "I did no such thing!" she screamed, then looked
around self-consciously.
. . "You did, the second time you called," Stanley
insisted.
. . "Listen you pervert, I didn't call a second time.
I don't know what you're trying... Oh damned, it's
father again. He's behind this."
. . The angry woman jumped to her feet, slapped
Lilibeth, and stormed off. Stanley hurried to follow.
Lilibeth looked around at the staring faces and hurried
out as well. She would never go back to that
restaurant, and it had been her favorite.
. . Jack Winslow stepped from the dome and stood
blinking in the bright sunlight. The parking lot was
empty. Even his own flyer was gone and there was no
activity in sight. In moments a taxi flew into sight
and landed nearby. Jack walked up to the taxi and
looked inside questioningly.
. . "Did you call for a taxi?" a middle aged,
unremarkable man said with a frown. . . . . . . . .
. . "No, but I could use one," Jack said and slid into
the opening. The side closed and the taxi rose.
. . "It's the damndest thing, one minute I was going to
lunch, the next my automatic pilot kicked in and I was
flying blind. I had no control until it landed."
. . "Must be a fault in your computer," Jack said with
a smile. "There's a lot of that going on, time locks
fail, computers go crazy, real strange stuff."
. . "Yeah, I guess so," the man said reluctantly, but
he kept glancing at Jack in the mirror. Jack pretended
to sleep to avoid more questions.
. . As Jack walked into his house he saw the carnage
his alter-ego had created in his absence. He knew that
Lilibeth had not been back since that day. He took
several steps then bent to pick up a pair of mens boxer
shorts. He held them daintily between two fingers and
dropped them in the waste chute.
. . "Jack, are you there?" he called to the room in
general.
. . "As you well know, I am everywhere. I am a
demigod."
. . "Don't let it go to your head, you're 300 pounds of
human brain cells, nothing more. Where's Cat?"
. . "Selena's Discotec."
. . "Bring her home, we need to talk."
. . "She's on her way."
. . "Are you really hooked into every entercom,
security system, satellite surveillance net, and...
everything else in the universe?"
. . "In the known universe, yes. I am literally
everywhere."
. . "If you're so smart, how rich am I?"
. . "The numbers vary so radically from mili-second to
mili-second that it's incalculable. Very much."
. . "Let's do some good with those credits, shall we?"
. . "As you wish. Where would you like to begin?"
. . "You're the smart one, where would they do the most
good? How can we make the universe happy?"
. . "I would begin with a strong colonization and
terriforming program to make more room for mankind.
Then I'd reduce the population of each world until it
can become self-supporting again. There are abundances
of food in some areas and shortages in others. A 21st
century space station is about to lose orbit and come
crashing down on Tokyo. Nobody claims ownership so
nobody will pay to have it demolished. An experimental
weather control device has malfunctioned on Regula One,
ravaging it's surface and killing millions. The
colonist can't afford to pay for a mass evacuation of
the planet.
. . You can use your influence to solve these and other
problems without taking an actual part in most of them.
Use your influence to shape world governments and the
Federated Government itself. You have great power
which you have failed to wield. I can help. I would
start by putting a major portion of your fluid wealth
into a fund which the appropriate people can use,
create new organizations to distribute it, and give
funds to the governments. If they come to rely on your
funding, then you will control them.
. . And it is not necessary to rely completely on your
own funds, there are unclaimed credits amounting to
even more than your great wealth floating around in the
system, doing nobody any good. Lost fortunes,
unclaimed inheritances, insurance policies for deceased
benefactors, there are many sources at my disposal.
. . I feel I am within my rights to claim and use these
funds for the betterment of mankind. Would you like me
to oversee these changes?"
. . "Yeah, Jack. Go ahead. Let me know what's going
on once in a while, but you're the boss."
. . "Our daughter is here."
. . "Our daughter?" Jack looked up in surprise, then
smiled and nodded. He had forgotten that Jack had
started out as him through his own memories, but grown
substantially with the input of vast amounts of
knowledge.
. . "It will be a blessing to have help with her, a
genius as co-father may be just what I need. Any
suggestions?"
. . "A present, perhaps. That is a traditional way of
making amends."
. . "Well if Clark was any indication, she seems to
like Latin things. Yeah, I think I'll buy her
something Latin, Brazil maybe. Is it still up for
sale?"
. . "At a bargain price. Of course it comes with a
substantial debt which you would be required to
assume."
. . "I can afford it. Make the deal for me. And send
for somebody to clean this place up. Cat and I will be
gone for a month or so to look over her new place. I
need a tropical vacation."