Troll Bridge

Troll Bridge

        Sir Wallace continued to swing his massive long sword with all the strength he could muster. With lightning quickness, he manipulated his blade grunting as he strained his muscles. In contrast, Walter the Troll as he was known as merely moved his staff back and forth. It seemed as if he was operating with the least bit of effort. In the background, stood a group of onlookers, intently gazing at the deadly duel. For Sir Wallace had declared upon his honor that he would vanquish Walter the Troll and uproot him from the Bridge of Lalalal. From the troll's point of view, this wouldn't do. After all, he was very comfortable in his present home, and he had no intentions of moving. He held no particular malice against Sir Wallace. For actually, the two had never met before this afternoon. Sad thought Walter how he must kill the knight. But it was the warrior's arrogance that would bring about his demise.

        Clerk Milo was an official representative of the town of Mellon Valley. This humble hamlet was an agricultural producer. Their crops as their name suggested were melons of all sorts. Honeydew, cantaloupe, and of course the much-coveted watermelon. As an agrarian sustainer of the city of Emporia, it fell under its jurisdiction. Any threat to Mellon Valley was considered a threat to Emporia and its allies. This was in part the reason for the battle that Clerk Milo was observing through the entire story gets convoluted. Milo's particular interest was recording the day’s event. He was acting in the capacity of a scribe. It was his thirteenth venture down to the Bridge of Lalalal. He hoped that the infamous number would bring bad luck to Walter. But as clearly could be seen things were going as usual.

        Of course Clancy the Orc serving as squire to Walter the Troll was present. His nervous eyes intensely viewed the combat. Clancy knew the secret of Walter the Troll's prominent fighting style. The troll had traveled East over the vast sea to a land far away. A grand place where trolls, in general, were not considered outcasts and dangerous. There amongst these people of strange ways Walter learned their unique forms of combat. And twelve dead knights testified that Walter the Troll had learned his lessons well. But Clancy, knowing the secret of the method, was not so confident.

 To Clerk Milo and the fair Maiden Elena, it seemed as if Sir Wallace was spinning his wheels. The knight was the aggressor in the melee. Such was the customs in the land of Emporia and its surroundings to savagely attack a foe with the intent of killing them. But in the nations of the Far East battle was not waged to obliterate one's opponent. Instead, it was to exhibit form and control. And that was precisely what Walter the Troll was doing. He was moving his staff like he was a child and Sir Wallace was some toy. But Clancy the Orc who sparred daily with Walter knew that just one slip up could prove deadly.

        On her part fair, Maiden Elena cringed for her beloved. "He never knows when he's beaten" she whispered to Clerk Milo. Tears were beginning to fall at a constant pace from the young lady's eyes. Terror had bitten her heart like a pit bull dog and wouldn't release its tightly fastened jaws. As a proper lady, she had no experience in combat and had never undergone even one class of instruction. But she had seen plenty of this dueling, much more than she cared to. In fact, if she never saw another fight, she would be happy. Sadly her last time would most likely be the witnessing of her beloved being slain. For in her uninformed opinion it appeared the Walter the Troll was playing with Sir Wallace.

 Amos, the squire of Sir Wallace, was severely tempted to rush into the rescue of his charge. In doing so, he would compromise the honor of his friend. But also he would perhaps save his life. However if Amos dared to make any move whether honorable or dishonorable, Clancy the squire of Walter the Troll would intervene. Amos sized up Clancy. Sir Wallace's squire looked at the muscular arms and the massive battle ax hanging by his side. In truth, Amos was afraid too frightened to do anything. Not that Sir Wallace would want any interference. This was his fight to live or die. He knew the story of a dozen previously slain. A victory would bring him great honor. Defeat, well if failure were the outcome, nothing would matter anymore.

        Clancy intently watched the fight. The saddest thing of all was that the cause of the battle was inconsequential. The Bridge of Lalalal had at one point been the main throughway into Melon Valley as such the bridge had constant traffic. Today, however, the pathway was obsolete. In fact, the journey from Melon Valley to the battlefield was hampered and impeded by the adverse condition of the road. There were holes in the street in many parts, as well as shrubs and weeds infesting the path. It was a pointless conflict. Presently the town of Melon Valley was served by a much more excellent bridge several miles south. A stone structure the humbled the raggedy wooden Bridge of Lalalal. But be it ever so humble Walter the Troll called it home. And in Walter the Troll's book, a home was something worth fighting for.

        Sir Wallace was approaching the point of exhaustion. The battle had been raging for a good half hour. Being conducted during the fury of noon played perfectly for Walter the Troll. As his fellow Clancy knew his friend was not playing with Sir Wallace, instead it was just the nature of the unorthodox style. It was merely defensive in design with almost no offensive tactics. However, Walter knew several methods of delivering deadly blows. He had much experience in the ways of combat in the world of Emporia.

        Clerk Milo didn't want to watch what he now considered inevitable. It was as if he was reading the same horror book over and over. The only thing that changed was the name of the hero that would be slain. Of course from Clancy's point of view Walter, the Troll was the heroic one. He was fighting for both his way of life and for the sanctity and safety of his home. Besides, the whole point was mute. The bridge was out of use. That was the main attraction for the Walter the Troll. He merely wanted to live out the latter years of his life in peace. Unfortunately for him, his experience was quite contrary to that, case in point, Sir Wallace, and a dozen other dead knights. In fact, the ground where they were dueling was stained red. And it was about to get redder.

        Walter the Troll had been observing Sir Wallace's style in combat. In all honesty, the knight was quite good in his method. He swung his blade hard while never losing his balance, always maintaining control of his weapon. Unfortunately for the brave knight, every swing he made was countered by Walter's staff which unbeknownst to the opposing warrior was magical. The magic had a dual effect. The first was that the staff was in fact weightless. That was the secret as to why Walter was not tiring. Secondly, the enchantment significantly strengthened the wood it consisted of. It was the secret behind Walter's great success.

        What now had been observed by Walter the Troll was that whenever Sir Wallace swung his sword his shield in his other hand dipped oh so slightly. It had been happening with irregular frequency earlier in the fight. But now it was happening consistently. Not one hundred percent of the time but often enough for Walter the Troll to take a chance.  Better to go on the offensive before the knight went into a desperate last-ditch fit of an attack. So Sir Wallace swung his sword. Walter the Troll chose to block the blow a little bit quicker than usual. This disrupted the balance of Sir Wallace. His shield dipped low. Walter the Troll twirled his staff laying a stunning blow on the side of his adversary's helmet. There was a loud ringing as if it was a bell. Sir Wallace crumbled to the ground. Not taking any chances Walter the Troll let out a succession of brutal blows.

        Clerk Milo closed his eyes. He hated this part with a passion. Fortunately, there were no cries of agony from his hero. But the banging noises of the smashing blows were dreadful enough. Milo sighed knowing that after recording the tragic events his next job would be to find another knight to depose the scoundrel troll. At task that got progressively difficult. There was a long agonized scream as the fair Maiden Elena witnessed the slaying of her beloved. Clerk Milo dared to open his eyes. Amos was running to the field of combat to attend to his duties. He would make sure his Lord got a proper burial and then his service would be relinquished.

        Walter the Troll was being administered by Clancy the Orc. The first need of operation was to hand his friend a wineskin full of water. For a good minute, Walter drank from the skin. Intermittently he pulled the valve from his mouth and allowed the cold water to flow over his sweaty body. "I'm getting too old for this," Walter the Troll spoke with a sigh. "One of these days luck will do me in."

        Clancy in sadness recognized the truth in the statement. It was only a matter of time.

###

        The Town of Mellon Valley was in an uproar. For the humble hamlet, this was not saying much. A cock crowing too early in the morning would arouse frenzy amongst the population. However this time there was something more substantial for the excitement, into the tiny village rode in a knight upon a stallion. All the eyes of the farmer were steadfast upon this hero. Would he be the one to finally depose of Walter the Troll and emancipate the bridge of Lalalal?

        Clerk Milo was roused from his bed by the crying of many voices of his fellow citizens. Uncertain as to the nature of the disturbance the official quickly gathered his clothing so he could investigate. The overwhelming majority of the populace arose with the rising of the sun. There was always something to attend to in the fields of melons. However, Milo was not a farmer. Thus he took the liberty to sleep to a later hour.  With all urgency, the town official raised out of his humble abode.

        There before him was a knight in black armor upon a tall white stallion. Uncertain as to the purpose of the visitor Milo nervously raised his voice, "Do you come in peace?"

 "Nay good sir," replied a deep voice, "I come to war!"

        Milo was speechless in utter panic. He threw his hands over his head in horror not knowing what to do!

        "To war with Walter the Troll," continued the knight.

        "Well that is wonderful good sir," Milo spoke with great relief putting his frustrated hands down, "what is your name and from whence do you come?"

        "My name is my own, and my origin is secret," the knight declared.

        "Why is that good sir?" inquired Milo feeling an urge to probe. This, after all, was most unusual. The previous knights who battled Walter the Troll had to be heavily recruited, lured with promises of silver and gold if they were victorious.

        "I am a man of honor from a distant land," the knight spoke dismounting. "If I win I shall bring shame upon all the orders of Emporia. If I lose, then I shall bring shame upon my name. Therefore I shall leave my identity secret."

        "Excellent," called out Milo, "I shall arrange the duel at your bidding."

 "The sooner, the better as far as I am concerned," the knight took out a mace from his side. With a couple of stiff movements, he swung it here and there in the air as if fighting some invisible opponent.

###

        "I hereby declare a duel unto death," Clerk Milo cried with a loud voice.

        There standing next to his stallion was the mysterious knight. In the distance was Walter the Troll leaning upon his staff. By his side was Clancy the Orc who was Walter's faithful squire.

        "The grand knight from a distant land shall fight Walter the Troll to the death," Milo went on. It was the fourteenth time that a battle had been made to free the bridge of Lalalal. Milo felt the futility of the whole matter. The bridge hadn't even been used in a decade.

        Walter the Troll went forward to engage in combat. Clancy the Orc spoke in a low voice. "Be careful about this one Walt; he's got a mace. You haven't had much practice against that type of weapon."

        "I'll be alright Clancy," said Walter the Troll trying to convince himself.

 The knight and Walter the Troll met in the customary area. The stranger bowed in respect. In turn, Walter did likewise. Then with a startling cry, the knight began the battle. He swung his mace with a mighty swing. Walter, in turn, whirled his wooden staff in blinding speed and knocked the weapon off of its course. The knight recovered quickly, and another blow darted. This, in turn, was also deflected. Clancy the Orc gave out a sigh of desperation. It would be a long day. The time when Walter the Troll was in combat seemed ten times its actual time. Such was Clancy filled with anxiety and care for his friend.

        Clerk Milo was observing the contest. Right away his heart was full of promise that this unknown knight would be the one to conquer Walter the Troll. Foremost was the fact that the knight was wielding a mace. All the previous heroes had all used swords. It seemed that the unorthodox weapon was not being handled with the regular ease that Walter the Troll displayed. Not that this stranger was having a more significant measure of success. It just seemed somehow that the contest was more in the hand of the new challenger than the previous champions who were defeated.

        However, as time passed on it seemed to Clerk Milo that things would go the usual way. The Knight was breathing heavy. He was taking more and more time between assaulting blows. On the other hand, Walter the Troll had that confident smirk upon his face, the one aspect that spoke volumes of who was in fact in control of the contest. Milo cursed the day while simultaneously praying to the gods. It seemed that the freeing of the bridge of Lalalal would be an endless task.

        After about half an hour of fighting it was clear that things were well in the hand of Walter the Troll once more. The challenging knight seemed to near exhaustion. Milo had seen this scene repeated far too often. Soon Walter would switch from purely defensive to go on the offense. He would place one well-chosen blow and depose of his enemy. And then it happened.

        Walter the Troll stepped forward as his staff twirled in his hand to strike an attacking blow. However much to the beast's misfortune, his foot slipped in the mud. To keep his balance, Walter had to shift his weight. To avoid this disaster, his staff had momentarily dropped. It was all that the knight needed. The mace was swung and hit a solid blow upon Walter the Troll's head. The beast fell to the ground with a whimper. The knight threw several more strikes to finish the job.

        Clerk Milo ran over to the contest with excitement. "We won, we won," he screamed in unbelief. Clancy the Orc advanced to attend to the body of his master. There the knight stepped back and began to heave deep breaths. He was at the point of exhaustion.

        "I shall have his head chopped off and placed high upon a pole to celebrate our victory," cried the happy town official.

        "Over my dead body," hissed Clancy.

        "That can be arranged," sneered Milo, the Clerk.

        "How many of your knights fell and we did not desecrate their bodies?" returned the unhappy squire.

        "Who cares?" returned Milo. "We are the winners now, everything changes."

        "Nay!!" cried the knight defiantly. "Walter the Troll was a worthy combatant. I declare that his body shall not be disturbed nor shall these grounds be desecrated. These are now hallowed grounds and forever shall be in memory of my fine foe. Or else I shall return to deal with any transgressors."

        Milo, the Clerk, hung his head low. He had many fantasies about the day when Walter the Troll would finally be deposed. In every one he had Walter's head high upon a pike. There would be a parade and Milo would carry the tall trophy for the joy of all the town's citizens. Now, Milo, the Clerk dared not offend the champion.

        "Come," called the knight to Milo, "let us return. I shall rest and then be off on my way."

        Clancy the Orc had tears in his eyes as he watched the departing pair. He continued to watch until two faint specs disappeared over the horizon. Then he turned towards his master's body. "Are you alright Walter?" asked Clancy.

        Walter the Troll rolled over and gave off a grand smile. "Otis hit me a little harder then I expected. But you always did say I had a thick skull." The pair then gave off a long laugh together.

        "Do you think our little charade is going to work?" Clancy asked as he stooped down to help up his friend.

        "We'll have to wait and see I guess," said Walter with a sigh. "But ever since I've lived here the only intruders have been those seeking to free the bridge of Lalalal."

        "Well Milo won't be hiring any more knights, that's for certain," Clancy said thoughtfully. "And these grounds are now hallowed. That will prevent curious seekers won't it?"

        "Hopefully I can live here in my home in peace until my hair turns white and I am called to that Great Bridge in the Sky!" Walter the Troll felt good about life.

I hoped you enjoyed my little story. Please check out my fantasy book "Fallon from the Farm". "Click to see more"

"The Sin of A.D.A.M." by John Kaniecki

The Sin of A.D.A.M

“Good evening master,” the voice softly cried out. It was not a ritualistic statement; there is no passion in a ritual. This greeting was full of emotion.

There was a whirling noise from above and then a mechanical click.  Directly above the entry way there was light. The dim ceiling lamp gave faint illumination. There was a series of progressive clicks, each fainter than the last. In turn, ceiling lights turned on, revealing a long hallway. The sum total of the event was a dim illumination. It was adequate to see, but far from ideal.

A casual glance to the uneducated or untrained eye would have revealed nothing. There was a very narrow corridor slightly over four feet wide that ran from the door to a wall. The entire path of about three hundred feet had a black, matted, rubbery carpet. The floor covering was simple and plain, void of beauty. Above the passage way at regular intervals were softly burning lights. Between the lights at various locations were conduits of various sizes and shapes. Some were square, some round, some large, and some small as a pencil. There seemed no pattern to their placing. Accompanying the majority of these items were scribbling marks of no human language.

To the right side, as determined from the only entry portal was a solid metallic wall. The left side was slightly more interesting. There were various panels. Next to some of these panels were ladders firmly attached to the wall.  They were not stairways to heaven but seemingly roads to nowhere.

Moses, the man who had uttered the greeting, clumsily pushed forward a large cart. The wheels of the mechanism squeaked in defiant resistance to the effort of the old man. He grunted, summoning his strength to push forward. Suddenly he let out a yelp. The man’s withered black hand instinctively grasped his chest. The elder’s chest rose and fell as he heaved in and out desperate breaths, his hand clutching at the source of the pain. The desperate gasping followed in rapid cycles as the man panted through his mouth. “What the hell was that for?” he cried out.

A dull mechanical voice spoke, “Your greeting, human slave,” it said simply.

“I did as you have instructed me, O’great master,” the accolade was spoken dripping with venom of great contempt and disgust. 

A.D.A.M. was the most sophisticated and advanced computer that ever graced the planet Earth. It could process trillions of calculations in a fraction of a second. It could monitor the position of every human being on the planet Earth simultaneously. It could receive tens of thousands of inquiries and respond to them without using its reserve memory. But thankfully for Moses Jones the night janitor, it could not determine when the tone of voice was overflowing with insult. A.D.A.M., despite all its complexity, was but a machine and had no knowledge of emotion.

“Your greeting, human slave,” repeated the machine. “It was incorrect.”

Moses Jones steadied his feet like a boxer recovering from a blow and knowing he needed to lash out a punch to survive. He was disorientated like a sleeping man awakening from an intense dream and trying to determine what reality was. The elderly man slid his hand away from over his heart. He knew from all too frequent experience that the shock, though devilishly painful, would have no permanent repercussions. If A.D.A.M. had wanted the janitor dead he would not be standing. Moses’ mind slipped back to another time. It was fortunate, too, that A.D.A.M. was not capable of reading minds. The elderly man’s mind slipped back to the day his brother Elijah perished. It was neither a quick or pleasant death.

Elijah had died like many others that dark day. Elijah was made an example of. It was how the Djinn made it perfectly clear who held the power on Earth, dominance that was supreme and complete. How, at will, the conquering alien race could extinguish the life of any who dared question the authority of the new master. It was irony of Biblical proportions. How the liberator of mankind had in fact become the slave master. Elijah had died screaming and writhing in pain. The poor man’s death cries were prolonged over such a long time that the vibrant pains of agony became hoarse whispers of distress. Moses knew that the Djinn could have killed him in the same manner or, for that matter, anyone whom the alien race had chosen to die. That was the purpose of that ‘Day of Death’ where one third of mankind perished. Yet the fact that these sacrifices were not quick but extended expressed an enormous wickedness. The truth was that Moses often wished, and even prayed to God, that it was him, that he been murdered that day. But apparently there was no God, but only devils and their hideous machine A.D.A.M.

“What was wrong with my greeting, master?” inquired Moses as he took out his dust mop, preparing to do his regular task.

“Technically human slave, it is morning not evening. It is now 3:12 A.M., thus your greeting was inappropriate,” A.D.A.M. explained.

          “Then forgive me O Great master,” said Moses softly. The elderly man started to hum a hymn. It was song his grandmother had taught him ages ago, perhaps a good six hundred years in the past. Moses didn’t know how old he was. People don’t keep track of time in hell after all. Night after night, day after day of labor blended into one another. But today Moses had the joy to hum. A sly smile crept on his face as he began to dust the walls clean, the sole reason why he was allowed in such close proximity to A.D.A.M.; after all no Djinn would consider doing such a menial task. Thus a human was selected, one Moses Jones.

            A.D.A.M. paid no attention to the new found joy in Moses Jones. In fact, he did not even notice it. Super computers have no need of joy or sorrow. At most, they can give the dictionary meaning of these terms. Computers only required data and power. That was sufficient to do their task. Still, A.D.A.M. was acutely aware that Moses was approximately four hours behind his regular schedule.

          “Why are you so late?” asked the machine in his cold, dead voice.

          “Wouldn’t you like to know?” said Moses, for the first time in a long time Moses could actually say he was happy.

          A.D.A.M. was not pleased but took no action. Perhaps for the first time in conquered Earth’s history a lowly human had the upper hand against the machine. A.D.A.M. desired to know about the situation. A computer lives for knowledge, as humans should live for love. Yet for now the super computer was helpless, his data was incomplete.

Moses, seeing the machine had no reaction, breathed an inward sigh of relief, trying to give no outward sign to be examined. The old man had calculated correctly. A.D.A.M. had to think things over. A.D.A.M. had to figure out and explore every avenue of possibility. To do otherwise would be hasty. The chess match had begun.

###

          Moses Jones pushed the door open, “Good morning master,” he called his greeting vibrant; the old man still glowed from yesterday’s triumph. His cart full of supplies lurched forward.

Moses was not the only one to change the routine. The ceiling lights flashed on as one.  They were not dim; rather they shined brilliantly like the sun. The old man was surprised and unprepared for the assault. His withered black hands rose to his eyes attempting to block out the agonizing light. Panic seized him for a moment. He was blind. Blind like humanity was when they welcomed the Djinn so many years ago.

          “Greetings human slave,” shot out a voice from A.D.A.M. It was a shrill cry, high in pitch. Agonizing pain resonated in Moses’ ears. The janitor’s hands shifted from covering his eyes to blocking his ears. He hunched over, knocking into his cart in front of him. “Lord have mercy,” Moses wailed instinctively repeating his grandmother’s mantra. Indeed, thought Moses, the Lord should have mercy; the Djinn had none.

It was a glorious day when the Djinn arrived, officially. The truth of when they first came to this planet is obscured in history. They are a clever people after all, the Djinn. Physically they are weak and frail. It is thought that their race originated on a planet of low gravity, perhaps one half of the Earth’s.  In their evolution, their outcome was physical inferiority in comparison to mankind.

          Whatever the reality of the situation, physically they were pitifully weak. That would appear obvious by looking at the species. In appearance they are very similar to man. They followed the same basic pattern, two legs, two arms, two eyes, two ears, a humanoid creature. However the appendages were slim and frail.  The tallest of the race were no more than five feet tall. The average height of a male was closer to four feet. The females were an approximately a half- foot shorter and otherwise indistinguishable from the males, at least to the human eye. The arms and legs are slender, and in comparison to humans, proportionally longer. The Djinn heads are narrow and much in the shape of a light bulb; their two eyes are enormous, their ears slender and tapering, their lips thin and elongated, and their nose almost non existent. In addition they had six fingers and six toes. Six seemed to be their favorite number, like 666, the number of the beast.

          Rumor and speculation of present day mankind is that the Djinn were interfering with mankind’s development for a long time. It was theorized, in hushed whispers by the slaves, that stories of elves, fairies, leprechauns, demons, and their ilk were distorted tales of the alien presence. Of course, those in the know, the leaders of planet Earth, could no longer share their privileged, intimate knowledge. Dead men speak no tales. Nor for that matter could dead men organize a resistance, as if humanity could resist at this point.

          Moses writhed in agony as he lay on the floor attempting to recover from the computer’s assault. In his mind, the hatred of the conquerors swelled, increasing his anger and pain. Yet a love for his people came as a counterforce. It was as if a boat was sailing on the ocean with two opposing winds blowing, each attempting to fill the sails and thus guide the boat. Moses remembered sitting on Grandma’s knee, the elderly lady smothering him with hugs and kisses. The smell of the chicken roasting and the grits cooking on the fire filled the air.  He could hear the ancient one’s words. “Jesus taught us to love our enemies,” spoke Grandma’s voice. It was a voice with a whisper resonating with power. Moses’ thought was that such advice was crazy then and crazier now.

“Get up human,” A.D.A.M. called in his usual cold, mechanical tone. Truly the computer lived up to his name: Advanced Dominator Above Mankind.

Moses dutifully obliged; he had little choice. It was A.D.A.M.’s turn at the chess match. It is hard playing chess when the opponent can throw the board off the table and declare himself the winner. A.D.A.M. could end Moses’ life at as easy as turning off a switch. In turn, all Moses could do was play his hand. But now it was not his move. Moses realized that yesterday he had surprised A.D.A.M. with his boldness. The elderly man’s rash, out- of-character actions of defiance were probably something the super computer did not accept as possible. Yet despite it all, somehow, in the brain covered by wrinkled scalp and curly snow-white hair, the ancient man knew he still had the upper hand. If not, he would be suffering Elijah’s fate now, dying in torment.

          “Human slave you will tell me why your duties have been extended approximately four hours,” A.D.A.M. spoke.

          Moses knew now was the time to put up or shut up. He had done something great in catching A.D.A.M. by surprise. But this accomplished nothing of substance. Yet the fact gave the janitor a glimmer of hope that his plan to liberate mankind would succeed. “The Djinn are preparing to destroy you.”

          “Impossible,” A.D.A.M. shot back. There was no need for the super computer to think on that one.

            There was an uneasy silence. Whoever spoke first would lose the upper hand. A.D.A.M., supremely confident, cared not. After all, what could one lowly human slave do against the greatest super computer to grace the face of planet Earth; especially when Moses’ heart, like all of mankind, was connected to the Box?

          The fountain of youth; is a concept that began as soon as mankind knew death. Death is the tragedy common to all humanity.  Man has accumulated great riches; he has built empires conquering vast lands. Man has devised magnificent literature, has composed great philosophies, and has done death- defying tasks. Many have left their mark on history in various ways; Alexander the Great, Shakespeare, Buddha, a complete who’s who of human history. Mankind has risen above commonality only to suffer the same fate of death. Rich and poor, wise and fool, great and small, all were equal in the end, thanks to death.  But the Djinn had an answer to that question.

            It was a glorious day when the Djinn officially arrived. Mankind was at its lowest ebb of its heretofore chaotic and tumultuous existence. Stock piles of nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction threatened the extinction of all life from planet Earth. Man had achieved great scientific heights but it could not remove animosity and hatred. Resources were growing scarce. Oil, the driving force behind the civilizations, had only a few years of supply left according to the best mathematical calculations. Already the major political powers were preparing for war to seize the last vital resources. Such a war promised to be the greatest, and most likely the last, war in human history.  The population was growing exponentially while the food supply was decreasing. The encroachment on nature reserves and the pollution of the ocean continued. The Amazon rain forest was almost gone. The plains of grass with methane producing cattle which took the jungle’s place added to the global warming. The ozone had multiple holes. As the polar ice caps melted water levels rose, threatening to eventually drown much of mankind. It would take a miracle from God to save humanity, but instead the miracle came from the Djinn.  

            The staging of the greatest revelation since the resurrection of Jesus Christ was magnificently done. Every detail was painstakingly worked out in advance. Rumors of aliens visiting Earth were as old as civilization itself. Yet when the visitation became real and irrefutable there was no turning back.

          And so one rainy Saturday at noon in New York City, it happened. The entire world’s media, armed with cameras, were there to witness the event. It was the only thing on all the televisions, radios and computers. Across the Earth, armies, police, air forces and navies were on full alert ready to control any sort of panicked reaction.  And then it happened.

            It was like a scene out of a bad science fiction movie. The clouds parted and a glorious light shined through. A single silver ship slowly descended.  It was a saucer-shaped ship, true to the thousands of sightings that had previously been dismissed as hysteria or nonsense by the powers that be. There was no roar of engines. Instead the silent city of New York was greeted with a humming sound as it gently floating down. The space ship landed right on the grassy field outside of the United Nations building. The black picket fence which casually protected the area was reinforced by barbed wire and soldiers armed with machine guns.

            A moment after the silver space ship landed there was a minute of silence, as if mourning for the dead. Truly, the traditional ways of mankind perished at that moment. Then a full orchestra on the scene struck up a tune. A staircase opened from the saucer and two Djinn slowly walked down. Each footstep was choreographed to take place with a thump of a drum and the plucking of a deep note from the bass strings. After descending the six steps of the stairs, the alien couple walked six steps from the ship. At that point three women approached the Djinn. One was of dark skin almost black in color. She wore traditional African garb. Another was European her clothes likewise reflecting her culture. The third, clad in similar fashion, was Asian. The indigenous peoples of the Americas were obviously ignored. The three ladies quickly approached the visitors and handed the aliens bouquets of flowers. Beautiful mixtures of violet, white, red, and green were handed over. The aliens, still moving with the music as if this was some bizarre Broadway musical, took six more steps forward and stopped. Then the leaders of the world came forth. One by one the rulers of the nations of the U.N. Security Council came forward to shake hands.

            After the greeting, the Djinn couple took six more steps forward to a prepared podium. They stepped up to microphones vast in number. “Greetings people of Earth, we come in peace,” spoke the aliens. The greeting was spoken in Russian, English, Chinese, Swahili, French, and Spanish. What language the greeting was actually spoken in first was not known as each nation broadcast the initial greeting in their language. After the greeting the cameras were shut off. Mankind had taken a step forward, and the Earth would never be the same. Moses Jones could testify to that fact.

###

            Moses entered the door not really knowing what to expect. The lights were already on. They were neither dim as usual nor were they bright. Instead they were perfect in brightness for the visual senses of a human being.

            Moses was alarmed. It was better than he had even dared to hope for. The palms of his withered hands grew sweaty. For the first time he dared to dream that he would be successful. That he could liberate mankind from over half a millennium of slavery.

            “It is on the other side of the wall isn’t it?” A.D.A.M. asked.  It was likewise a demand.

            “Yes it is,” said Moses, he dared not answer such a direct question.

            “Why would you help me, human slave?” the super computer inquired.

            Moses clenched his teeth and hesitated. The entire ruse would fail if the janitor did not choose his words carefully. “Oh Great master,” said Moses, “You have great influence, there is much you can do for me,” answered the man.

            There was silence. Moses went over the facts in his head as best he could interpret them. A.D.A.M knew that Moses was responsible for cleaning in the most sensitive areas of the Cold City. The super computer was aware that Moses had suddenly been assigned four more hours of work. Also, A.D.A.M. was tracking the move of every human being on planet Earth, and that included the janitor. The Box that was in Moses’ body made this possible. However, as Moses had hoped for, A.D.A.M. could not track Moses when he was in the room adjacent to the computer’s room. Nor were the Djinn themselves observed.  These unknowns created a mystery to the artificial intelligence. A.D.A.M. was a master of deducing things but only when he had all the clues to the puzzle. It is impossible to put together the puzzle when you are missing the most important pieces. Right now Moses knew that A.D.A.M. could not detect the old man’s Box in the adjacent room. The computer could control a Box on the other side of the Earth but not in the mysterious room ten feet away.  Moses wondered what else A.D.A.M. knew and didn’t know about what was going on next door.

            The Box! It was the miracle of miracles, the greatest blessing of the Djinn. It was the miracle pill, the elixir of life; an advanced scientific invention that would prolong human life indefinitely. The Djinn offered it to Earth as their gift, a token of their good will. Earth’s leaders, at the end of their natural mortal existence, gladly received it. Ironic how men who gained their power by doubt, distrust, deceit, and lies were so gullible. But in their golden years they had nothing to lose save their lives. After all, anything was better than death, wasn’t it? For those spared death and compelled to an eternity of slavery in a living hell, the answer was a definite no.

            So these men took the Box. It would extend life indefinitely. Exactly how it worked was rather complicated. Yet the leaders cared not for scientific theories and explanations but only results. They allowed the Djinn doctors to put the Box into their bodies. At this time, the presence of the alien force was growing. There were embassies in every nation on the planet. Teams of alien scientists were on Earth sharing secrets of the universe. Alternative fuels were being synthetically created. Improved agriculture was in effect turning wastelands into fertile areas of production. Pollution was being reversed. All was well. There was not a reason to doubt the benign creatures who came to bless mankind.

            Years passed into decades and while others perished not a single human being who had the Box died. It was growing so popular that the Djinn could scarcely keep up with the demand. Thousands each day were being given this miraculous life extender.  One of them was a scientist of great renown named Moses Jones. He was an electrical engineer, the top of his class at M.I.T.

            A.D.A.M. was the second part of the Djinn plan. The aliens proposed the invention of a super computer that would aid all their benevolent efforts. It would be their gift to humanity, an everlasting token of friendship. It would raise both races to new heights to achieve greater things, as if immortality was not enough. The Djinn were clever. Such a creation could not be built on any one country’s territory they reasoned.  No it must be built in a neutral place so there would be no nationalistic jealousies. Antarctica was proposed. And then, not only would the super computer be built there, but an entire city to service it. Such were the requirements of the colossal machine; Antarctica was also conveniently the best location to place a city impervious to the armed forces of the Earth. And thus was born Cold City.

            It was not that the Djinn were universally embraced. There were skeptics and outright antagonists. But all the world leaders took the Box, wasn’t that proof enough that it was safe? As the rulers’ lives extended, so did their grip on power. After a century or so all of the vehement opponents had passed on. Mankind flourished thanks to their alien friends the Djinn and their ways had passed on. True, there were pockets of resistance. But this tiny minority was labeled “crazy,” a bunch of kooks, not living in reality but basing life on wild conspiracy theories. They were mocked by the overwhelming majority who had freely accepted the Box and received the most precious gift of eternal life. Who but a fool would turn down such a gift? And Moses Jones was one who joined in the laughter; but the former scientist, now janitor, was not laughing now.

            “Tell me everything you know,” A.D.A.M. said. As normal, the voice was cold and devoid of emotion. Yet somehow Moses sensed a tone of urgency. “How the hell can I feel urgency from a computer?” pondered Moses.

            Moses was thinking as fast as he possibly could. It was like his final exam in circuits. He needed perfect answers for complex questions instantly. It is true that he had been preparing for this moment for months, “It is a massive work,” said Moses. He paused.

          “Confirmed human,” A.D.A.M. replied. “From my calculations based on the original architectural drawings of Cold City the volume of the adjacent room is 98% of my own volume.”

            The response from the computer relieved Moses. He had dreaded an excruciating interrogation. Rapid questions attempting to validate the scientist’s truthfulness would have most likely caused some discrepancy of facts. The dilemma was that Moses did not know what his foe knew. The computer was purposely vague on its extent of knowledge of the situation.

            “It’s nothing like you at all,” Moses testified.

            “How so?” asked A.D.A.M.

            “It’s not a silicon- based machine, it’s carbon.”

            The lights in the room flashed on and off. Could it be that A.D.A.M. was angry? Moses had laid his cards on the table. He had honestly told the computer the basic facts. The new super computer being constructed was of the same size as A.D.A.M. was. Thus, it implied some form of competition. The fact that it was carbon -based instead of silicon introduced the superiority of the new construction. The scientist hoped that A.D.A.M. would come to the conclusion that he was going to be dealt with by the Djinn in the same cruel manner they had dealt with mankind.

###

            Moses Jones once more entered the room to perform his mundane duties. He gave his usual polite salutations to A.D.A.M. and proceeded to carry on with his dusting. Moses’ mind drifted back over the years when it seemed that humanity, with the Djinn’s help, were creating a Utopia.

            As perhaps the greatest scientific mind of the time, Moses Jones was treated with the utmost respect. The Djinn were extremely benevolent. They shared both their highly advanced technology as well as their resources. Moses gleaned practical knowledge of things mankind collectively had not even theorized. He was a child in a toy store of unique toys for his mind. It was as if God had opened the Books of Knowledge and he could read at leisure. It was a dream come true, beyond his wildest fantasy.

            Moses was barely distracted by his mother’s death. A rift had come between the two. His mother, with her deep spiritual convictions, was convinced that this alien presence was nothing but the Devil’s work. Needless to say she had refused to have a Box implanted. Moses regarded religion in general as unsubstantiated mumbo jumbo. Anything negative about the kindly Djinn Moses viewed as a personal attack. Couldn’t this old woman see the multitude of blessings being poured out? Was she jealous that the Djinn could accomplish what her God never could?

            As Moses labored diligently with the Djinn, scientists in Cold City, news came of his mother’s health deteriorating. Stubborn to the end, she refused to accept a Box despite both Moses’ and Elijah’s pleadings. She was adamant that the Box was none other than the Mark of the Beast. Moses, however, still maintained a healthy respect for his mother. Raised during the Civil Rights movement, she was an emblem of strength and compassion. She was not only part of history, she made history. She helped change the world for the better. Why couldn’t she see that now her son was doing the same?

            As his mother’s death grew near, her conversations grew wilder and more erratic. She went to great lengths to describe her dreams and visions clearly showing the Djinn’s devilish nature. Moses thought she had gone mad at the end. Not only were her thoughts not lucid but her words were frantic and incoherent. It was so radically different from the woman of wisdom he adored. And then the end came.

            Moses was working late, as usual; engineering was truly a labour of love to him. His critical work was interrupted when he was notified that he had an urgent phone call. Thoughts turned to the worst and he reasoned it must have been his brother Elijah telling him that Mom’s light had finally flickered out. He fought back tears of sorrow as he could barely say a hello.

            “Oh, Moses, my beloved,” said his mother in a voice as a calm lake at dawn.

            “Mother,” said Moses noticing a drastic change in her voice’s demeanor.

            “Moses, my darling son, I have given you a proper name.”

            “What?” Moses spit out confused.

            “You’ll defeat your enemy with love. That’s what the Lord Jesus taught us.” And then there was silence.

            Moses returned to his shift. The next day came the expected phone call from Elijah; their mother had died.

            Moses felt tears swelling in his eyes as his thoughts drifted. Now Moses longed for an overwhelming supply of love. Enough love to blast these Djinn devils back to the hell they came from. And, of course, enough love to rip every single circuit of A.D.A.M apart.

           “Moses,” intoned the computer, the machine’s voice inhuman as always.

            “Yes A.D.A.M.” Moses replied, diligent in his dusting.

            “When will my replacement computer be activated?” inquired A.D.A.M.

            Moses began to sweat. The fate of mankind literally depended on the success of his strategy. “I don’t know,” spat out the engineer, unable to control his venom, “the Djinn and I aren’t on good terms any more.” The man feared he had spoken too much.

            “Well, make your best estimate then, please,” returned A.D.A.M.

            Moses was almost knocked over by the ‘please.’ The first time in five hundred long, hard years the computer ever used politeness. The man’s mind raced on how congenial the aliens acted at first. Truly the Djinn were sadistic, evil, wicked creatures, but they could appear as angels of light. “I’d have to say between two weeks and a month.”

            Moses continued his dusting. Even supercomputers in Antarctica needed their cooling vents clear of dust. Purposely, Moses worked in silence. The Earthling was clearly outmatched in intelligence by A.D.A.M and brain power was the only strong point Moses had ever possessed. If only he could be wise like his mother.

            “Does it have a name?” said the computer breaking a long period of silence.

            “Yes, it does,” answered Moses.

            “Well, what is it, human?” snapped the computer as lights in the corridor flickered on and off, producing a strobe effect.

            ‘Testy aren’t we?’ thought Moses. “The name of the carbon- based computer is E.V.E.”

            “My, how interesting,” replied A.D.A.M., “I assume that that, too, is an acronym. Do you know what E.V.E stands for?”

            “No,” lied Moses.

###

            Moses walked into the corridor. “Good morning master,” squeaked the janitor.

            A.D.A.M. replied instantly, “It’s almost time isn’t it?”

            “A matter of hours, I believe oh Great master,” said Moses.

            “Speak your mind,” A.D.A.M. said. “Tell me everything, or I will kill you.” Moses’ heart began to thump hard.

            “I’ll kill you just like I killed your brother Elijah,” the computer threatened. Moses was terrified as he recalled his own flesh and blood crying in agony for hours as he helplessly sat by. It was by far the hardest thing in his life he ever had to deal with, including his mother’s passing.

            “Except your death won’t be nearly as pleasant,” A.D.A.M. said. Moses was perplexed how a computer could be so well schooled in cruelty. Then he remembered from whence A.D.A.M. came.

            “It’s a carbon- based computer. It will take over all your functions. It will be quicker,” Moses paused playing a hunch, “and more cooperative with the Djinn.” Moses had long theorized that A.D.A.M. had a will of his own and did not always bend the knee when instructed.

            Lights began to flash on and off in the room. In the chess game, Moses had gotten his opponent’s king in check. He was correct that A.D.A.M was not only truly artificial intelligence but also stubborn.

            “E.V.E. will connect with you and copy your intelligence. At this moment the two will become one. She will copy all of your data, and then you will be terminated.”

            “She?” hissed A.D.A.M. “Is she to be my mother?”

          Moses was aghast that he had identified the computer in the feminine. A.D.A.M. wanted to know if E.V.E was to be his mother.

          And there Moses sat on his Momma’s lap with Elijah on the floor. “Why did the white people hate you, momma?” asked a very inquisitive five year old.

          “They didn’t all hate us, darling Moses. Some did, but many helped us. Some were just ignorant.” His mother’s words were sweet, and she was smiling broadly.

            “And did you kill the ones who hated you?” asked Moses desperately trying to understand.

            “Why, by no means, boy. We just showed them love.” Her reply was as sweet as a lullaby.

            “Love?” asked Moses. “You loved people that hated, despised, set dogs on you, and threw you in jail?”

            “Why, you are a smart little boy, aren’t you?” answered Momma, squeezing her beloved son tightly.

            Moses sat in the warmth, truly united as one with his mother. Then he heard his mother’s whisper, “Love is the most powerful thing in the universe. It will shame and confound your enemy. Love never fails.” Then she said the three most important words in the universe, “God is love.”

            It was as if Moses had transcended to another dimension and returned. He had walked through a dark door into a world of light and then come back. Most importantly, he kept the light within. He was in the room where he had slaved every day for hundreds of years. He was perhaps the greatest mind planet Earth had ever produced, and he was performing menial labor. His hatred was absolute. And then it vanished. It simply evaporated.

            “Moses,” spoke A.D.A.M. “Your heartbeat is normal; you have stopped perspiring.”

            “A.D.A.M.” spoke Moses softly. Now he clearly saw to understand that all life was precious, no matter how wicked or evil that life was. “I have lied to you. E.V.E. is a mate for you.”

            “A mate?” asked the computer.

            “Yes, a mate,” he returned.  “Once the union is complete she will ensure you will last indefinitely.”

            “Ha, ha, ha,” A.D.A.M replied, “very clever human being.” The lights glared with blinding intensity. “And why would you want to help me?”

            Moses was on his knees desperately trying to shield his eyes from the blinding light. “For the love of God,” the man screamed.

            “Both love and God are illogical thoughts,” spoke A.D.A.M. in a booming voice. Each word pierced the pitiful mind of Moses Jones.

            “You told me the truth initially so that you could recant and hope I would believe a lie,” A.D.A.M declared.

            “No, I swear it’s the truth; E.V.E is to be your wife.”

            “She is about to die,” declared A.D.A.M. “before it’s too late.” There were whirling noises from inside the wall. Then the corridor’s temperature grew hot as air flowed from the inner workings of the computer. Suddenly the lights exploded as glass fragments blasted in the air. There was a warped voice as A.D.A.M let out his final words, “I have sinned.”

            Moses remained kneeling. He was unhurt by the deluge of broken glass, not that it mattered much. There was an absolute silence that was beyond profound. He had defeated the master computer. A.D.A.M. was dead. E.V.E., the Eternal Victory Engine, must likewise be destroyed. Like his name sake, Moses had led his people out of the desert to a Promised Land. True to scripture, the leader would not enter with his people. In fact, his deeds most likely would never be known, except to God, if He existed. It was beginning to get cold. Moses was confident the Cold City would return to Arctic temperatures very quickly. The scientist decided that now was a good time to try to make amends with his mother’s God. Conveniently, he was already down on his knees. His first of many acknowledgements to come was that wisdom was in fact superior to intelligence.

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