A Machine Called Earth

The Control Room was a place of absolute marvel. It was so incredibly otherworldly yet, it was at the core of all life and origin in the world. Its awe-inspiring physique and incomprehensibly limitless power, was more alluring than any pile of gold and riches that one could ever imagine. This place in its golden halls and rows of machines, and radiating light and pure energy, this place was the greatest of places man could ever tread. This was a place however, that no man was to ever set foot, this was a place reserved for only the, in a lack of a better word, qualified. And the only one who was ever to dwell in this place was The Keeper. The Keeper could be described as a god, or even perhaps, the God. Though the term God has always describe the author of life, creator of the world, who in every description of god, is not in the world. He is one outside of the world.

Though the Keeper is very much in the world, in fact he has dwelt within the earth since before any account was ever written. He is as though God come down from a greater glory to be keeper of the world, watching, helping, sustaining, and creating all life. This was his purpose, this was his role.

Though Ten years ago, the unqualified discovered the Control Room, and they did not become watchers over, nor sustainers, nor carers of the world as the Keeper was, they became deluded, and the foolish plan of being kings, gods, consumed them to the point of insanity. Soon they drifted from humanity, and became more than mere men. Though they did not become gods. What they did become, were devils.

Ichabod sat on a throne of his own design. Looking over a large room. This room was elliptical in shape, lined with various machines, all with the task of viewing the world. Their role, to observe the changes made from within the room. To an outsider, thats all it was, a man, sitting in a chair, in a room. Was this what all the destruction and death was for? To sit in this chair? Well no. In Ichabod’s eyes, he quite literally had the world in the palm of his hand. All things beckoned to his will. Well almost all things. One of which that refused to bow down to Ichabod, was Hector.

Moab flung his metal foot into the back of Hector’s knee, bringing him to the hard marble ground as though kneeling toward Ichabod. “Here you go, just as you asked.” Moab said as he took a bow. Though Ichabod made no response, for his body, Malachi’s body, was unable to move in the slightest nor make a sound.

In an effort to break the silence, or perhaps reiterating a question Ichabod asked that Hector did not hear, Moab said, “What can we thank for your return? We have never had a return visitor before.”

Hector knew very well why he had returned. To stop them. But before Hector could give an answer, a confusion set in. His mind, his thoughts, began to scatter, and he could not come up with an answer. This uncertainty began when entering this particular room, when coming in the presence of Ichabod once again. It was as though the tainted thoughts of a cursed mind were waging war against his own thoughts. Thoughts that said, ‘Am I really here to stop Ichabod? Perhaps it is beneficial to accept Ichabod’s offer to become one in body and mind. A world under

Ichabod’s control, where there are no morals, no right or wrong, perhaps that is a better way to live.’ As this conflict set forth in Hector’s mind, it became all that he could hear. The hum of the room, the clanging of machinery, words being spoken by Moab, all this became silent. Hector looked up toward Ichabod, where he saw his pale, glazed-over eyes staring lustfully at him. Hector then became heavy headed, and collapsed. The last thing he heard as his mind grew silent, was Moab’s mocking laughter.

~~~

“Why do you try so hard to spite what I have worked so hard for?” Ichabod said in an innocent tone. Hector stood, but knew that he was dreaming again. For although the room was no different, apart from a small circular glass table sitting in the center of the room, Ichabod was not his immobile corpse-like self, he was the same as he was in Hector’s previous dream where he spoke with Ichabod by a fireplace.

Walking to the table, Ichabod picked up a kettle that was gently steaming. “Tea or coffee?” He smiled.

Hector was taken-aback at Ichabod’s gentle nature. “Umm, coffee?” Hector stammered, growing increasingly confused.

“Excellent, I myself am drawn to the alluring frenzy of the bean. We have much in common.”

Ichabod wore an emerald plaid vest over a lemon shirt, buttoned to the collar, despite being without a tie. His hair was slicked back, towards the side, and a greatly warming smile adorned his gentle face.

“So Hector, my boy. What is your plan? You’ve come this far, you must be here for a reason.”

“I’ve come to stop you. To reverse the curse.” Hector replied.

“Ah, I see.” Ichabod nodded. “Come, may I show you something?”

Ichabod then led Hector to one of the screens at the side of the room. “Please. Take a look. What do you see?”

Hector looked at the screen. It showed scenes from within Violet Town. Hector saw streets, and buildings full of the cursed ones. They we’re going about their business, doing whatever their hearts desired.

“What is the problem?” Ichabod asked. “Do any of these look unhappy? Do they look uneasy, desperate for change?”

“No, I guess not.” Hector replied. For all the people that he saw within Violet Town, were doing what they wished. “It is not their state of mind, or contentment, that I am here. Though I believe their thoughts are not entirely their own, but it is the acts in which they are engaging. All these things, would be regarded as crime in Tammerville.”

For as he watched the screen, the streets had become a place sprinkled in blood, murder and rape. “Do you not see this?” Hector shouted.

“If you wish, I will show you Tammerville. I assure you it will be no different.” Ichabod said, placing his hand on a knob on the side of the screen, changing the screen to view Tammerville. It was as he said, the streets of Tammerville were no different to that of Violet Town.

“It is no different, because you have corrupted their minds!” Hector shouted.

“I have learnt much of your curse. It takes what little evil is in one’s mind, and makes it glow. Soon it begins to snowball until they can do nothing but evil. And when that happens, it is safe to say, their minds, and their bodies are no longer human.”

Ichabod smiled. “That’s quite the observation. But nature is as nature is. All I see is a town following in what is natural to them. If humans are as you have suspected, innately evil, then are they not now more human than before? After all they can only be human. And evil, well that is a trademark solely reserved for mankind. Is it not? All I am doing, is letting humanity flourish. As I see fit of course.”

“You speak as though you are God.”

“Am I not? Do I not have nature, creation, and all that is in this world in my hands? Is this control room not the engine of all existence, and is not the one who wields this power, who sits in this throne, the designer, creator, controller, God of this world?” Ichabod wiped back some loose strands of hair as he took a deep breath. He was becoming agitated.

“What you say is true.” Hector said after a short moment of silence. “But you are missing one thing from your list. The one who is in control of this place, is also the Keeper.” Hector paused for a moment. As though remembering an old lesson, or tale. “Say you have a brother, and I ask you, ‘Where is your brother?’ And you respond, ‘I do not know, am I my brother’s keeper?’ You are suggesting it is not your duty to watch over your brother, taking note of his comings and goings. The watching over, an expression of looking after, safeguarding, this with the outcome of acting accordingly in a protective manner.”

Hector could not believe the words that were coming from his mouth. Such wisdom and clarity he had not heard from his own lips before. But he continued.

“The one who is in control of this place, is to be keeper of the entire world. Watching, and protecting. And when needed, acting for the good of its preservation. Though the keeper does not make himself known, lest the one whom he observes will ever watch his back, knowing he is indeed being monitored.”

“The Keeper?” Ichabod laughed. “Fairy tales are but fairy tales.” He scoffed.

Hector was thrown off by this remark. In previous encounters with Ichabod, it was clear that he knew The Keeper quite well. They were in fact in the presence of each other for who knows how long. This remark, suggesting that the existence of The Keeper was as fantastical and imaginative as a child’s bedtime story, it just didn’t seem to be from Ichabod. Was Ichabod now becoming tainted by the mind of Malachi? Was he not in as much control as he thought he was? Perhaps this was why Ichabod wanted to replace Malachi with Hector as host. Perhaps in Malachi’s weakness, Ichabod too grew weak, to the point that now, Ichabod’s mind is becoming tainted by Malachi’s and vise-versa.

“I did not come all this way chasing fairy tales.” Hector said. “I have come to rid the world of your burden.”

Ichabod smiled, trying to keep in his frustration. “Hector, this conversation is becoming quite vexing. But I shall give you one final proposition. Allow me to unite with you, where you will be exalted to god, and all that you desire will be yours. Or, if you refuse, you can die. Along with your friends and your hometown.”

It seemed the ruthless Ichabod had emerged once again. All the gentleness, the smiles, they were all lies. In fact every conversation he had with Hector, they were riddled with lies. Ichabod was the ultimate deceiver. Hector knew this now. He was no longer confused or fearful of Ichabod, and although Hector didn’t know much about the Keeper, he knew that He’s words were reliable. And this filled Hector with courage.

Though Ichabod was unaware of what Hector was thinking. And so asked, “Well, what do you desire? Wealth? Power? Or perhaps you desire something else, someone else.” Ichabod grew another smile, though this one out of arrogance.

“Do you desire, Hope? If you unite with me, I can make her your bride. If not, she will forever be just out of your grasp. What say you?”

This stumped Hector, for yes he did desire to be with Hope. He loved her. And for a moment, he witnessed in his mind, a future that he desired so. One of tranquility and peace. One where he sat on the veranda of his woodland cottage, breathing in the spring air, listening to the morning birds chirp away, welcoming the new day. Being greeted by his young daughter, asking him to dance with her in the glade with the butterflies, and watching his wife, Hope smile at him with nothing but wholehearted affection for him in her eyes.

And for that moment, Hector wanted nothing more, than for that future to be his. So with great trepidation that such a life would never be his, he swallowed the lump in his throat, accepted that he may ever be alone, and said, “No, I desire none of what you offer.” And at that, Hector began to cry.