posted on May, 22 2012 @ 12:54 AM
Sipping water, the old wrinkled lips of Mark Bentham, the fourth of the name, tremble a little. Not out of fear or expectation, but simply because of
Bentham's age; 145 years, with 123 of them as the most successful business man in the history of the world.
Of course, in his lifetime he initiated many successful projects, but his fortune had already been made by the 3 generations that preceded him, giving
him more than a solid foundation from which to work.
Known to the public of the Earth, and of the colonized moons of the solar system, as a generous man, having established 27 non-profit organizations to
help those less fortunate, he is known by the people working directly with him as the “Angry Whore”, though no one in their right mind would say
it out loud in Bentham's presence.
Knowing that fact pleased Bentham, seeing voluntary submission from those he “towered”, as he loved to think, and sometime say, as a sign of His
Cold, merciless and driven, nothing seems to resist Bentham's will.
An intercom announcement takes Bentham out of his reverie; the voice heard is that of the Captain of the star ship HPL-Rowlings, telling the 300 crew
members that the destination has been reached.
Assisted by a micro exo-skeleton, barely visible, Bentham the Fourth raises up, and make gestures in the air, as if trying to catch a fly. But instead
of a fly, two bulky artificial beings start to move in his direction, ready to protect him at all cost.
At the same moment, the door of Bentham's cabin opens; it is an elf like creature, conceived in Bentham's biological department, to perform work too
subtle for robots or computers to achieve, and beyond humans ability to perceive and act upon. The elf speaks.
-”Master Bentham, the Room is being prepared as we speak. But there was a problem...”. Waiting for a sign of anger from Bentham, that doesn't
come, the elf continues; -”More than 60 liters have been lost in transport.”
-”We can then be glad I brought that many crew members on this trip, no?”, said Bentham, not even glancing at the elf. -”Take the necessary
measures to have the quantity necessary replaced by 3 this afternoon, am I clear?”
Bowing in answer to his Master, the elf promptly leaves to have his deed performed.
A few moments later, Bentham leaves his cabin, followed by his two artificial bodyguards.
Captain Udina has just received a message from the elf Bhar, the boss' favorite “toy”. He orders his assistant to have 15 crew members to meet in
the Master's ring chamber, where they will be met by security forces.
Bentham, and his bodyguards arrive in a large room with walls as dark as space itself. But if someone was given the opportunity to examine them, tiny
sentences of a forgotten language, accompanied by symbols of many shapes would be found decorating them in every direction, even the ceiling, except
for the part where there is a large circular bay window.
For the moment, only Jupiter is visible through it, but Bentham ignores the planet and goes to see the three trolls working feverishly on the floor,
decorated with a pentagram made of a sentence written in uninterrupted cursive language, all the words joined by a line. Words of Blasphemy so intense
that no men has ever dared write them before Bentham the First.
Words only the most sadist of men would dare to use...
But the trolls were working on the last touch of wielding correctly some parts of the circuitry connecting with the pentagram; no mistake could be
tolerated on such an intricate design, covering the whole of the floor.
One of them, the oldest, leaves momentarily his work to meet with his Master, seemingly not impressed by who was facing him.
-”Meh!”, said the troll in a scrappy cavernous voice, “ We're almost done, bwah.” “Garh! Gah! If you survive this incantation on such a
arghh! scale, we will become legends across the dimensionssignhh!”
-”You know I care not about your pretensions, so spare me if you want to rejoice in your legendary babbling...”, said Bentham in a casual tone,
imprinted by an indomitable confidence in himself, despite his age.
The troll, suddenly standing straight before his Master brings his face closer to him and growls; -”Grrhh! The worlds will really know why we are
reputed to “sleep under the bridges”...” Turning to go back to work, the troll adds; -”Truly, Gnnekh!, we are Masters in crossing boundaries
unseen by others who are as blinds. Hahk!”
Mentally adjusting his artificial vision, Bentham looks more closely at the circuitry, thinking to himself; -”Yes, trolls ARE geniuses of their
craft. But I was the One to understand their true power, and how to force these mythological creatures to work for my own will.”
-”Stupid beasts is what they are, nonetheless.”, continues to think Bentham, amused that all that was needed for protection against the trolls was
such a simple one.
Sometimes, in the world of the Holy Technocraft, simple measures were the answer for the most complex of problems. Alas, it was not the case with the
Major Incantation Bentham was preparing. Nonetheless, it was going to see the light of day; -”...or rather the darkness of eternity.”, thought
Bentham, satisfied of the trolls wonderful work.
Despite being surrounded by 15 suspended bloodless corpses, the elf Bhar, as well as the room he was in, were as clean as a surgery block.
The job had been well done and Bhar was satisfied. He gave orders for the bodies to be prepared for the Masters enormous dogs that were contained in
the cargo bay of the ship.
Bodily fluids had been separated and sent to their appropriate place, in the finest of measurement; the formula needed to be very precise unless one
wanted to be part of a very powerful, and unforgiving process of destruction.