[thoughts of a burning woman]


He observed a great log carried down a hillside atop rolling stones and he built himself a wheel.  It eased much burden from his slaves and it carried the great guns of war to the crest of a hill overlooking his enemy’s positions. 
He won.

He built a flying machine heavier than air and he flew above the ground.  He built many more of them and found they were very useful, especially in fighting his endless wars. 
He won.

He built a rocket to carry bombs, then a bigger one to carry humans.  He flew into the deep black of space.  He put his footprints on the moon, then on Mars.  In weightlessness he built bigger, much more complex machines.  He learned to fold space; to fly down wormholes and he saw wonderful sights in his galaxy.  He moved to other worlds, peopled them and fought wars with ‘others’ whom he killed off or drove away. 
He won.

Many worlds he despoiled for resources; slagged in wars; destroyed for the pleasure of the hunt.  For no one would stop him and he reasoned himself master of space and time. 
He won.

He pushed himself beyond the galaxy, into ever more alien worlds.  He lived in his machines and they fought other machines until he won again.  More machine than human now, he drove himself to conquer every place his sensors touched. 
He won.

He did not feel the pain he caused to life for he had always ever yearned but to destroy and kill.  He rejoiced that he had become an object of terror unto all of creation. 
He won.

While on his way to yet another place to exploit or to crush he turned to look at where he’d been.  He saw the shattered worlds there; the broken arrays of systems now black and dead in the stillness of space.  He saw the smoky ruins emptying themselves in great vortices erupting from hells of his making. 
He won.

He felt elation.  He had become God.  He could unmake the made, and make from the unmade.  Every enemy had  been conquered.  Space, infinite space, was his to use at will.

He took a deep breath, the plex-mesh of his plasteel chest expanding with the effort.

“Daddy?”  A hand tugged at his mesh sleeve.  “Daddy?”

“Yes my son?”

“I had a dream last night daddy.”

“Tell me of your dream, my son.”

“I dreamt I had gone beyond this place.  That I had flown through the bars of a great prison and there was a real world out there that we know nothing about.  I dreamt that someday it will be possible for us to get out of here and live a normal life.”

The Father’s carapaced head turned and He looked down upon his Son with steely, many-faceted eyes.

He replied sagely,

“Beware such dreams my son.  They are given by the Liar.  I make the worlds now.  There is nothing beyond what I know; no worlds beyond those I own.  I am the beginning and the end.  The Alpha and the Omega.  Do not become like your mother who would not believe.  Believe or you too will die.  My love will not countenance belittling or doubt.”

Obediently the Son replied,

“Yes Daddy, I understand and so must I make all understand if they would live.”

With one of many gloved probes the Father patted his Son on the head and thought, ‘That’s my Son in whom I am well pleased.’