100.000 AC

A jet of hot steam hit straight in my face, making every single hair dance erratically. The machine had yelled out its last complain: a deafening roar that made the floor shake. But not even the ugliest thing could ever ruin our happiest odyssey. My hand victoriously withdrew a small white silk handkerchief (it would contrast against the black of our suits and the surrounding half-light) to take away the drops of burning water that remained over my glasses while coming down to my cheeks. Right after putting the piece of fabric back into my right pocket, I was to watch again in great joy.



The room was filled with men and women of honor, all standing next to the great machine. The most important scientists, artists and marketers of star dust. Yet, the most highly regarded individual amongst the fleet was me, a grade-six historian, one of a kind: it had been almost ten Earth years since I finished reading every single volume of Earth history, from the cavemen up to the World’s cataclysm and latter exodus towards the stars. No other person but me had the liberty of accessing the Main Data Storage Mother Computer (only a handful between the trillions of untouched human beings had the least of interest in such).



But, oh! Such history! Such legends! How can race so foul and prone to contemplate the worst array of choices have, in its own blood and books, a past filled with wisdom and peaks of philosophical knowledge? How can this be? Is the duality between good and evil, between the noble ideas and the darkest thoughts eternal? Is it possible to be in an era as rich as Ancient Greece without being in a constant war or under an iron fist? Are humans only able to think critically and create thoughtfully only when the surrounding situation is at its worst? Could life write as much poems as death, or does life need to have death to write a poem?



A giant steel door served as a great portal to the great machine. Lights started to flash out. First, there were violent and electrical rays of green. Then, the room was painted in red while from the interior of the capsule a yellow ball of energy started to be formed. Finally, the yellow became white and a clear bluish light blinded us, followed by a sound as powerful as a nearby thunder. When we looked again, the machine’s door was opened like a medieval bridge, serving as a path between its highest level and us. The figure of Him was seen as an enormous hollow shadow.



The scientific community became in awe, the artists began to photograph and record, and the marketers grouped together against the corner. I was the only one who stood still and smiled. I was the only one who received him with opened arms and knew what this was really all about.



He appeared passing through heavy clouds of recent steam. While others retreated a few steps back, I remained. The birth of our first real God had taken place. A monstrous muscular mixture of a man and the most powerful device science has ever conceived. The eight feet, red-eyed goliath stood in front of us with an expressionless, cold look. His arms were attached to steel companions, as meat, bone and metal were embedded on each other and appeared as a painful, uncomfortable and incorrect mixture of the organic and the artificial. The new superman, the only one of his race, was the former Emperor of the Galactic Corporations, now ceasing to be just a figure to become a God. He tightened his fists and screamed loudly. The voice of a superior being sang hoarsely through the air as he stared at us.



Now the answer was revealed to me clearly: the search for perfection that the Greeks embodied in their gods served as a vehicle to the highest top of the mountain of life, trying to be far from death, sickness and every evil from below. All poetry and science derived from the need to feel greater than the ugliest, most treacherous happenings. All myths constructed to teach hard-earned lessons to others, to pass on the acquired legacy in the quest for a better being and Earth.



Now the search, the painstaking, muddy walk towards the top of our hill is over. We’ve slipped a thousand times but now there can’t be other result than pure, effective success.



Outside, within the room’s panoramic view, spaceships of unbelievable sizes were battling against each other in an unstoppable frenzy. He directed himself towards the glass barrier, opened His arms and united both palms in an instant movement. All enemy vessels destroyed: a zero-gravity rain of metallic pieces took over the landscape, some even scratching our window.



No more imperfections. No more obstacles. Peace at last.