ODIN'S WAR

THE MINISTER GUY HOLLOW

The sky was iridescent blue and orange over the transparent Dome that covered the survival community nearly a decade after the world had gone into a complete destruction, as had been anticipated by many in the Human Race for centuries. The Village of New Tolerance, also known as VNT, had as predicted, survived in its dome, immune to the gasses launched by Spurion’s minions and surrounded by a barren landscape of red and grey, a curious mix of radiation and residue of poisonous gasses. The few thousand that had survived, however had not been handpicked, but were selected by occupation and by Education. The less educated were by far the most numerous, and they were being transformed into the Educated, or the Taught, men, women and children of the New Society being constructed by Spurion and his Archangels of Knowledge.

Under the dome, and inside the modern spherical building, The Education Theater was full of properly uniformed members of the survival community. It had all the atmosphere of Harvard, and all the visual and sound effects that a modern techie genie would have loved.

“And so, my dear gentlemen, it seems that we have come to understand the consequences of unbridled passions, and the aggressive instincts of the Untaught Man or as we all now know them, the Umms. At the least, I hope now that a little compassion may shine through a previously impermeable shield of dark hate, which has so thoroughly dominated our past and clouded our future. The whole Village of New Tolerance must unite into the correct frame of mind to keep each other in blessed harmony of the heavenly. Think Forward, not Behind. Amen.”

A roar of applause went up in the crowded theatre, showing immense approval for the ideas just expressed by the slightly built man in his early thirties. He bowed his neatly kept, handsome head gracefully, smiling broadly to the audience. Mr. Hollow, generally referred to as “The minister” was preaching a philosophy of life that had the implication of a Doctrine. The term “minister” was easily used to imply that Mr. Hollow was in fact a “Reverend” and his proclamations were the Gospel.

The old “religions” were blamed wholesale for the “Day of Death” that destroyed the majority of the world. But in a sleight of hand noticed my many of the inhabitants, but not all, Minister Hollow became the substitute for the faiths that had been before. It was all in the grand design of Spurion and the “Archangels” as they called themselves.

Minister Hollow then strode confidently off the stage, pleased with the acclamation he had just received. He entered a corridor, quickly passed through it and entered a door to his left.

“Congratulations, Mr. Hollow. You were received well enough to bring support for all our plans for the Village of New Tolerance. The VNT will be a perfect reconstruction of the earth and the inhabitants that remain from the Blast.” The voice came from a tall, grey haired man in an executive style business suit. He stood at his desk directly across the room.

“Yes”, said another councilman in the semi-circle. “These people shall never forget the Day of Destruction. There are no longer theories and lingering memories for them. Their aggressive instincts will soon be eliminated, and our greater purpose will be implemented. You have been most persuasive.” “What is it now that I should do?′ asked the Reverend Guy Hollow. He was a tall, impressive figure as he stood before the council. Nothing ever seemed to shake his confident air. They could even be sentencing him to death, it would seem, and it would not have caused a break in his seemingly perfect self-control.

“We,” began the first councilman, “The International Committee of Communal Efforts, have just decided to proceed with the final stages of the Weapons Elimination and Education Program. W.E.E.P. will solidify our position for generations. You are to denounce anyone who yet keeps a gun, or other dangerous weapon in their home, as an UMM and worthy of punishment. We have reason to believe that many of the older generation cling to these weapons out of the respect for the old days. This cannot, must not, be allowed. It must be demonstrated to them that weapons are evil, and everyone who has one is also evil. It is disgusting that they not only cling to weapons, they seem to thrive on musical rhymes, poems, idiotic praying and such things. We just have digested it to “Music”. That’s something we do not need in our enlightened world.

“Yes,” interjected a third member of the council, “You may mention that our technology of survival has developed so much after the war, and that the unreliable members of the community have nearly been eliminated, so that it is completely unnecessary to harbor such evil things and thoughts.” Hollow looked directly at the last councilman to speak, and thought of the order that had been brought to their community after the Blast. “Weapons were needed then,” he mused. “It shall be done,” said Hollow, simply. “I have already written Lectures for that very topic.”

“Good,” came the Chief Councilman’s reply. “You may go. We have nothing more to say.” Hollow turned about face and left the room and its extremely tense and difficult atmosphere. “What inhuman wretches they are!” Hollow said to himself under his breath. “Still, they are necessary instruments to the building our new society. They have the power, the money, to make use of my beliefs. I only hope we can survive their rigid minds and hardened hearts.”

He walked out into the open air. The Argentinean sun shone brilliantly about the street, reflecting happily off the sonic cars as they buzzed about. He thought of the past few hours, of how the crowd of thousands had been transfixed by his charismatic presence.

“Hello,” An attractive, slim woman of about thirty walked beside him. Her hair gleamed a soft brown in the sunshine. She took his arm. “You shouldn’t look so lost,” she said gently, “Or the sheep won’t trust their shepherd.”

“Oh, Marie!” he said, his spirits lifting a bit. He kissed her forehead gently. He thought to himself, that her smile was unusually pleasant today. Maybe he didn’t always notice how attractive she really was.

“I can’t wait to get home, Guy. I’ve missed you the last two days.” “Yes, well,” came the tired response, “Spurion is very demanding, especially before the Lectures. He’s afraid I might not give the right message.” They climbed into their sonic car, and were soon whizzing along the ground. In a matter of minutes they were out of the city and headed for their modern plastic villa in the outland. The countryside was a mass of twisted, greenish-grey lumps of material which looked a bit like a coral reef and barnacles. “It’s a shame the destruction came this far south,” Hollow mused quietly in a preoccupied manner. They traveled about 100 kilometers out until they came to a level area with artificial blue grass, where their home had been built by I.C.C.E. They pulled into their short driveway.

“You were wonderful, dear,” said Marie, getting out of the car.

“At least for most of them, I was,” Hollow sighed. He wished to himself that his wife could know what was really behind his ″religion’, at least in the eyes of Spurion and the rest of the committee. Sensing that her husband was out of sorts, Marie tried to console him. “You’ve been working too hard, dear. God will forgive you if you take a few evenings off.”

“I hope He will forgive, me, Marie. I hope He will forgive me.” They walked together through their garden, which was now in full bloom. Yellow and orange flowers had appeared, cropping up in the middle of a bed of white petals. While the place was not so attractive, really, situated out in the ugly grey nukescape, it was nonetheless very peaceful, as it was far away from the survival complex, where everyone’s life was much more regulated by I.C.C.E.

“We should ask for a plot of artificial grass,” said Hollow. “These flowers are kind of incongruous to the Nukescape. It’s really ugly.”

.To date, the Village of New Tolerance had not been completely successful in establishing perfect harmony. “You are supposed to be thinking of the pleasant things we have,” said Marie. “The nukescape is ours now. The old ways are gone.”

“Yes,” sighed her husband, “You are right. But still, it is hard for me to see happiness in an ugly land. There needs to be beauty for my heart to awaken.” He looked at her and smiled, thinking of the happiness her beauty, kindness, and understanding had brought him. She smiled in return, knowing his thoughts intuitively, and took him by the arm as they walked into their living quarters, where a thick, luxurious carpet covered the floor, an artificial fire log glowed in the handsome fireplace, and graceful, curved chairs and a settee were set about tastefully.

“Guy, would you like a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please, our strongest Red. Bring two bottles”. Marie took out two very small bottles of old French wine salvaged from Marseilles shortly before the War. They represented the remnants of the world’s great wine cellars, and they were never more to be replaced, as the whole of the inhabitable world had been poisoned by the War precipitated by ICCE. The Village of New Tolerance, or the VNT, was constructed by those same with a progressive view that were never able to overcome what they had called “untaught” citizens. The answer simply had been to eliminate those that disagreed and refused to be taught.

Marie and Hollow had a special place in the survival community, and therefore were entitled to a few special privileges. Spurion himself had been very wealthy before the War, and had developed an extremely fine collection of wines and other such things as were valued by the rich and powerful. The couple sipped the wine and kissed, and held each other in a deep and long embrace.

The next day, Hollow went to a nearby village, where he met children in the center square, near a simulated fountain. Water was precious and especially dear in locations more than a half mile from the main survival complex. They loved to see him, and they danced about, pulling his beard, laughing, and throwing themselves into his lap. The parents, mostly the women, watched from a short distance, smiles showing their approval and pleasure in their children’s play. Their faces reminded Hollow of peasants he had seen in his collection of manuscripts from the medieval era. They all seemed to have tired faces, deeply furrowed, but yet their smiles flourished in a hardened countenance, roughened by the necessities of survival in a barren world. Later that day, Mr. and Mrs. Hollow drove their special frequency sonic car to a nearby friend’s house. Nearly all sonic cars were on the same wave length, which was monitored by a computer with terminals in the boardrooms of each of the great surviving communities.

No one, however, could know the position of the Hollow’s car, as it was on a special frequency, as were each of the councilman’s cars.

They parked their car and went to see Fromo, the wizened old man who had survived the War, but with a respiratory ailment, so that he coughed and wheezed when he spoke. He had small blue eyes, a large and downward bent nose, and sat in his living room slightly hunched. He looked very old, with a balding head, though in reality he was barely fifty.

“Welcome, my friends!” Fromo was ecstatic. “Please be seated. We haven’t had such an honor in a long time. Please, have a drink.” Fromo’s strong homemade brew was infamous. Hollow hesitated, but only for a moment, before he nodded a yes and smiled. Fromo limped over and poured three healthy glasses of a white liquid.

“This is really good! Aha! Ahoo! You will really know Fromo as your friend after this!” Hollow smiled broadly. “I hope so. Your concoctions have been known to induce a mild kind of lunacy. “Yes, Yes! I suppose you’re right.” said Fromo, who sat back down, and took a deep draught of the white, almost milky substance, as steam curled up around his bushy white moustache. Marie’s eyes grew big as she watched him. She didn’t dare take a sip herself. Hollow was game, though, and took a healthy mouthful. His nose wrinkled up and his eyes began to water, while he just restrained a cough.

“It’s good, From,” he managed to sputter.

“Ha! I thought so too. I only wish they had drunk more of this stuff. Maybe they would have killed everyone! We wouldn’t have to suffer.” He hacked and coughed.

“We don’t need to suffer so much, Fromo,” said Hollow, sensing an outburst that Fromo had become famous for, “We just need a little faith.”

“Ho! Ho-Ho! Faith! Yes, I have faith. Faith in nothing.”

“Then you don’t find any truth in my Lectures?” asked Hollow, nervously.

“You are wrong there, Guy old boy. I believe in what you say, because there is no hope left anyway. Not even with you. You just make them dream for a little while longer.” He took another draught from his glass.

“That is all I want them to do for now. To dream, and to hope for the future. They need to forget what they have lost. Maybe then we can build something good.”

“Are you mad? Mad! You are! Hollow, of course you can make them dream, but forget, never! Impossible!” Fromo hacked a couple of times. We remember well. We’ll never forget the horrendous blast which made a nuclear desert of this world. We can’t forget the devils that destroyed their own world which was Hell. Umms living in layers of darkness, of horrendous, nerve destroying music, arrogance, ignorance, and viciousness. Devils!

They all were. They all are. They took great delight in destroying themselves, now there are others who claim to put us to rest with hope and faith. Too bad the Umms were inefficient. We should all be dead, not smoldering in withering flesh and barren, broken hearts.”

The merlinesque old man took another draught from his glass.

“Yes,” said Hollow, “They were real devils. Now we should be grateful that the light has shone through.” “You think you are the light?” asked Fromo, pointedly.

“No, No! I am merely a preacher. You should listen more carefully, From.”

“I do. Everyone says you are really the light of this world which is taking us from our misery and you probably believe it yourself.”

“No, no, no. I am just helping them forget and to have hope.

“Of course. Settle down, dear.” Marie put her arms around her husband. Fromo, however, was persistent.

“Damned the religion before! Damned all the bloody devils who murdered their own children and even now are murdering us from their graves!” He hacked and wheezed.

“We shouldn’t stay long, From,” said Marie. “We need to spend time with each other. Holl has worked too hard.” This infuriated Fromo even more. He stood up and muttered, hacking and wheezing, and suddenly gave his chair a vicious kick, sending it crashing across the room.

“Those devils! he shouted, “Those devils!” Hollow and Marie quietly slipped out the door. When Fromo was in this mood, nothing else could be done.

“He couldn’t bear losing his family,” said Marie. “They suffered for so long.”

“Yes,” said Hollow. “It’s true. He’s in a lot of pain as well.”

“He shouldn’t drink so much of that awful stuff though,” said Marie.

“You are probably right,” Hollow shrugged his shoulders. “But he might be even worse off otherwise.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Marie, climbing into the car. ”He couldn’t be worse.” They backed out of the driveway and drove away.