The Message (The Time Bomb)

The Message
(Formerly known as: Time Bomb)
(J. Jay Ross)1982

Prologue:
         No one, at first, knew where the message came from. No one knew whether it was from space aliens or it if even came from a person at all. It just arrived. On everyone’s message boards, TTY’s, inboxes across the world “The Message” as it was to be known worldwide, just appeared. On TV news and radio “The Message’ was replayed, reread actually, as video copy by television was difficult to see over the air, so TV and radio news anchors just read it. For the few weeks it had existed, and the few weeks remaining for the populace of the planet, just about every man woman and child knew the words by heart.
         Of course speculation meant nothing in the final weeks, ‘The Message’ was predominately clear: “SAVE YOURSELF! STOP NOW, BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE! STOP…”

POWER PLAY

         Through the night he awoke several times. Rolling over on to one shoulder he looked at the alarm clock, again.
         “Damn!” Mara said as he felt for the light switch on the table. “Six hours sleep each night for my health? My ass.”
         Mara Tonolta was looking so pale and sick in the mirror when he glanced at himself; he tossed a towel over the top and stumbled out of the restroom. He wondered what it would be like when he was elected leader of the free half of the world. No fireworks going off in his head, no new sense of power like his superheroes he watched as a kid. Now he was the leader of the pack, no more following the leader. He was the one.
         “I am the leader,” he reassured himself to the refrigerator. “I’m the man.”
         He paused for a moment as he recalled just speaking out loud to the appliance in the center of the kitchen, looked back at it and smiled.
         Just seventy hours ago he had been a nobody, really, a person of little interest but to those of power who needed a front man. A scapegoat even, if necessary, to calm the masses and be the one who falls if things go terribly wrong, and did they go wrong. A half of a world still united under the hope of continued wealth and freedoms. While the other half prided itself on its commune-like atmosphere. People worked hard, gave the ruling parties its cut, and they were allowed freedoms. Certain freedoms. Homes, cars, a watercraft, even a few luxuries like a large screen monitor for news events and sporting matches. No dramas though, no acting of any kind at all (except on the news, and occasionally the sports events themselves) nothing to tip the hand of the other half of the world. Nothing to make the populace want, what the governing body didn’t feel they should provide. The things they are treated to themselves, for unwavering service and uninquisitive ‘look the other way’ at times attitude. That was the rewards of good service to the ‘One’. The ‘Central Body’.

         Eighteen thousand miles away on the other side of the world it was different. People worked hard for a living, but the harder they worked the greater the rewards they could reap. A free society with little involvement from the government, other than to provide security and relief from outside burdens. So it was to be, but inside the ruling party, gears were turning to slow and reverse the machine that was loved by so many here. You see, no land is perfect, no society ‘Eden’ like, because of the universal problem around the globe, greed. Perfect solidarity is no more real than the apparitions in the ‘ghost movies’ shown at the cinema.
         Even though both sides of the world co-exist without harm to the other, travel is encouraged and offered (for some who swear an oath of silence as to their prosperity) for educational purposes.
         As mentioned, there is a growing revolution on the Fairside, the freedom loving side of the world. A coup of sorts being brought on by insiders who knew the ins and outs of the political process. As an old saying goes, “It only takes a few bad apples…” and a few was all it was. One of these was not the new electorate Mara Tonolta, but his minions, Mara was the marionette, being prepared for the curtain call. Until “The Message” arrived just seventy two hours after he was in office.


VOYERS

         The space station was making its east- west pass over the largest continents, after nearly twelve thousand revolutions around the planet. Three souls on board were watching out the small glass windows almost every time the station passed over this part of the world. On the eleventh thousand- nine hundred and eightieth pass, the onlookers bore witness to the end of the world as they knew it. First it was the start of a little light show over here, and several responsive flashes over there, and soon it looked like a sparkling Christmas tree on every shore. For hours upon hours, pass upon pass, the space station “PrimeVerse” and her occupants were on the front row of the most spectacular display of Hydro-Therma-Nuclear dissolution.
         The names of those on board became lost, as with all that time erodes. The circuitry inboard was of newer design and constantly needed repair. Replacement parts from below, now a smoldering, cloud covered mass of burning organics, were needed. But no supply ships were sent anymore, there was no one to send them. Communications had ended the day the fireworks on the surface started, albeit most of the world had forgotten they were up there anyway, on the six month mission. Soon other components of the listing satellite began to fail. Life support was always the last, maybe for some cruel reason, lighting was the first. “Better to see the end of the world” one crewmember commented. Next was food stasis and voiding facilities. Heat and air-conditioning were after that as the station passed the star; the temperature went from a cool 450 degrees below zero outside to a scalding plus 210 on the sun facing revolution. Cabin temperatures ranged from about thirty below and 115 above. Enviro- suits helped for a while, but eventually their power was exhausted. Finally the atmosphere went sour. Carbon built up and air ran out. The travelers watched as each other died.
         But it wasn’t the parade of anger and hate below they watched that made their place in time. It was what the computer on board, before its microcircuits failed, had recorded. It was “the Message”, but more importantly, where “The Message” came from.
         Possibly to this day as the station, whose power failure had caused the station keeping retro rockets from firing, had begun to drift away into deep space, still had the information on board that could have saved part of the world. If it had been read in time, of course.

         
INTERPRETATION

         Mara Tonolta had a briefing and meal with his governing board this morning as the news broke; it seems calls have been coming in from all around the country and around certain parts of the world. People were concerned in general that a simple “glitch” or event could echo around, so rapidly, through the computers and TTS. Storage units in universities and smaller learning centers became filled to maximum capacity with The Message repeating over and over, till the chips were over burdened.
         Seven hundred miles away in a small berg, the first one to receive a glimpse of The Message was Thoma Morow, sitting at his residence simply typing away on his new ‘broadcasting board’ computer. This made communication easier in a time when the world was finding new ways to chat. The Message appeared on his screen.
         “SAVE          YOURSELF! STOP                    NOW,          BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE              !”
         Thoma glanced around the room as if he thought someone was watching him. Maybe playing a little joke and was sitting in a closet or close by watching his reaction. No one. He then looked at the back of his processor unit to see if someone had placed a recorder media or other device to send him this message. ‘Broadcaster Boards’ were the latest in computer technology, the sender would type in his message and the hit send. The computer would then convert this message to a machine language and then send it out in a radio wave like burst to a satellite and then to the preaddressed person to receive it. Of course in some areas of the country it was read by a magistrate first, before being sent along, just in case the message was a little anti-authority or just plain anarchist. This was the latest, highest speed available for sending messages, while not instantaneous, it was still faster than a two way telephonic message system which was still monitored, but to a less degree now a days.
         Such was Thoma’s dismay, he was still typing when he received The Message. You cannot transmit and receive at the same time. His machine was working fine as far as he knew, he just purchased it and had it certified by the board before using it. Unless this was some hidden message from the government in the chips, or an old message on a drive that wasn’t cleaned properly when refurbished, needless to say, this was unusual.
         So, like any other concerned citizen of the world he tele-d the controlling board and asked if this was a problem. But soon the tele-s would be buzzing off the hook, a few dozen, and then a hundred, then thousands called to report the problem. The same problem. And as you might guess this caused a great concern when The Message was read to them, the same message, they grew more concerned and decided to give the governing board a call.
         “Before it is too late, huh?” Greer Ranta was speaking into the mouthpiece. “How often are you receiving these calls?” He shook his head and hung up, paused for a moment staring at the transceiver as if it was going to melt into the desk.
         “Problem?” the voice came from the corner chair in the office.
         “Controlling board just called, seems thousands of folks using broadcasting band computers have received a message, kinda frightening one too.” Ranta was still glaring at the tele.
         “What kind of message? Did we send one? I wasn’t aware we were sending information this time of the week.” Rapid fire questions, leveled at the room, which was occupied by several.
         Glances shot around the room, like bullets bouncing off a metal encased capsule. Finally most of the eyes focused on the back of Greer’s head, who was still staring at the tele.
         “No,” he replied, brushing down the hairs that had risen on the back of his neck, “no messages sent this week. But, according to Transmit, no messages have cycled through the satellites.” He turned to view the room’s occupants, “No messages, not even the one everyone is reporting.”
         “What do you mean; so many people cannot receive a message of this distribution without a satellite transmission.” A voice behind a large wooden desk spoke, “and Transmit has not gotten this message?”
         “Oh, they got The Message, but they insist it was a several joint relay, possibly from a few people at the same time typing the same thing.” Greer calculated the possibility of this happening in his head and found the results, well, impossible.
         The voice in the corner chair responded, “How many so far?”
         “Sixty thousand.”
         “Sixty thousand reports in the last three hours?!” the voice stood up. “That is not possible, we do not have the switching capacity to receive so many calls at once!” the voice was a bit panicked.
         “Sixty thousand reports of the same message in the hour,” Greer replied matter of factly, “from around the globe.”
         Five minutes of silence fell on the room. Some of the figures paced a bit, chins in hand; others stared out the window towards the lake in the background.
         Mara rose from behind the desk and started around the room towards the tele. Picking up the transceiver he called for his science team. He spun on his heels and faced the crowd. “Can this be a threat from the East?” he paused, “or a warning?”
         As the science team entered the small office, the voice from the chair, Braun Childser, began heading out the door.
         “I have to call the ministry of defense and see if any actions have been taken lately in the neutral line area.” Pointing an accusatory finger at the sci-team he finished, “highly classified.” He gave a nod around the room; a look of warning to his friend Greer and off he went.

         Six hours later, Greer and Childser were sitting in Greer’s office. Both were red-faced and obviously angry.
         “Don’t feed me that line; you set this up too early!” Braun was animated and shaking his hands about.
         “I told you, this is not part of the plan, not our plan,” Ranta was in the need to choke someone. “We did not set this in motion. You are the ones who are to start the coup.”
         “Is someone setting us up?” anger turned to fear. “Does someone else know of our plans and is setting all of us up for destruction?”
         “I doubt it; this seems to be a very bad coincidence. A very badly timed coincidence.”
         “Awe, damn it, we are in deep here” Braun reached for his private tele, “give me ministry of defense…” he looked up at Greer, but spoke to the other side of the transceiver, “you saw it too? Not yours eh? Any movements, actions, an illegal crossing? Nothing. Great. Ok, no, don’t raise any alarms yet, we’ll call you. Bye.”
         “Deep isn’t far enough, I think….” Greer glanced over Braun’s shoulder towards the window, “you are not deep enough until you stop digging….”


COUP

         Greer Ranta, Braun Childser, and a third, Dario Tolst, sat around the small table speaking in whispers. A waiter had just delivered drinks and was trotting down the aisle when Dario spoke.
         “I saw The Message too, just before the Board had it removed.”
         “Yeah, and three hours later it re-appeared” Greer responded.
         “Dario, does anyone on your side have the ability to control our satellites or Transmit’s?” his eyes narrowed at his friend, “are you setting us up?”
         “No way, to both, Braun. We don’t have that kind of power. If we did do you think we would be working with you to centralize the control of this place?” Tolst sipped his drink, “we need each other. A set up on either side would ruin what we want.”
         “Ok, but I think we should move up the schedule, in light of recent events” Childser released his death look on Dario.
         “No way,” Greer broke in, “we cannot go ahead until next month. If we start this thing in motion now it will seem too soon for the new leader, and we need time to break him down publicly a bit.” Pausing he smiled, “we can use this against him.” He let go a huge smile.
         “Can we get Transmit to move up its timetable and send a message of our own?”
         “No, they are not part of this, yet, and the fewer loose ends the better.”
         Dario slid back in his chair, “Friends, we have a bigger problem yet to solve. Who sent The Message? Who and why. If we can’t figure this one out before we start the wheels of progress, we could be caught up in death storm of a million years!”
         Greer rolled his eyes, ‘Drama King’ he thought to himself. “He’s right you know this Message could destroy our alliance and our chances of success.”
         A fourth joined them at the table. “Hello, friends.”
         Dearborne Willit, a local business keeper sat down. “Nice day for a coup? Don’t ya’ think?”
         “Shut up stupid, haven’t you heard?” Dario’s throat filled with bile. “Didn’t you see The Message?”
         “Oh sure, I thought it was yours.” Willit lowered his head and his voice, “I thought it was starting.” He glanced around the table, meeting Greer, Dario, and Braun with a look of superiority, “I hoped, you started it now. Like I had pointed out earlier this week, now is better, as soon as we had the man in office.” He sat up straight. “Did you not get the point of our last conversation? I’m ready to go now, and so are my friends across the line. We go now and win. We wait and fail. You choose. You wait any longer and we bail, simple as that. Use this “Message” crapola to bolster the coup. Use it against Mara, say he went power mad, has Thermoes pointing at the East and is warning them to join us or he’ll fire ‘em.”
         “You are gone in that head! Aren’t you?” Braun paused. “Wait, that’s it.” Another dramatic pause for effect, “Dario, you tell your friends across the lines to issue a message of their own, say uh, say ‘We decline’ and send it out by the regular channels. It will get to the people eventually. Rumors fly like birds. In a couple of days the East is in panic! Sci-team is so busy with Mara right now we can get our own message out by way of rumor.”
         “You’re all crazy, in the head!” Greer started.
         Dearborne raised a hand, “Go on…”
         Braun continued, “In less than fifty hours we can have control of the central governments of both sides. We then strike. Enforcement teams will be sent out to control any uprisings, our enforcement teams. We stage riots by pushing the people to force. If you push hard enough, they’ll push back. Then the enforce-teams can use violence.”
         “If I wasn’t afraid you all would place a dagger in my back as I left this table, I would walk away.” Greer Ranta began, “But, since we are in this deep, this early, we could start now. Either way the odds have changed, and not in our favor. Who the Hell sent that Message?”
         
         Two days later, the world had seen The Message, and the faked responses. Two days later the coup was in motion. Two days later, the end was beginning, and nine billion lives were going to be lost.


DOOMSDAY

         It was a simple plan. It was a simple overthrow. Six hours into a week after The Message was sent, troops filled the streets of both East and the Western parts of the world. People were in a panic over The Message, the responses and the new presence of government troops “keeping” the peace.
         Any resistance was met with injury or death as the enforcement teams responded out of fear, just as the populace had responded to them. Fear drove the momentum towards destruction. A peoples fear, a governments fear of freedoms, an ideal on both sides that would never meet in the middle.
         Extreme hopes on both ends of the political spectrum that devoured each other. Peace meets protection.

         No one knew or even will know how the Hydro-Therma-Nuclear missiles were launched. Who pulled the trigger of annihilation, set the end of days in motion for the populace? It didn’t matter.
         Millions of square miles were instantly vaporized into glass and ash. Plumes of dust and radiation shot straight into the atmosphere causing the weather patterns to change. Rain of gamma and alpha radiation fell from the sky. Gamma causing damage as it can reach farther, alpha causing the most intense but closer damage. People that were not immediately vaporized or burned by the residual fires and secondary fires died within hours of exposure. They were the lucky ones. Others suffered for weeks and even one month, till the dying were dead and the survivors, numbered in the hundreds only, were so scattered around the globe that primitive life had started once again. After tens of thousands of years of evolution, life and technology, was reversed in moments.

         All of our main players were killed, never realizing their dream of uniting the planet in one system of beliefs, one body of existence; they died as many others, instantly.
         Once again, greed is the most powerful, the eventual winner in every game.


Epilogue:

         The space station “Prime Verse” drifted for thousands of years without a purpose, just a silent sentinel using what little luck it had in avoiding destruction by impact or burn up, slipping in and out of spirals and bars, until one day it came into close proximity of a large gas giant. Slinging the capsule towards a lifeless moon, the solar panels began to charge from the light as it passed the sun. Just enough.
         A few weeks later it drew too close to the moon, and was thrown into its gravitational pull. The capsule itself was made of the highest density material, dense enough to withstand the burn up unlike the outer panels, outboard fuel, and life support pods. The metal tube was cast into the ice caps of the northern most pole of the moon, where it would sit for thousands of years more. Eventually the cycle of planetary life began, the capsule rusted open, spilling the contents of its passengers onto the newly forming oceans. Viable DNA matter from frozen solid voyagers, frozen from the day the life support systems failed millions of miles away, from a planet rendered lifeless by its infection. It’s virus, people. But not man. Not in the sense of mankind, anyways.

         You see, man is the derivative of the word human, a word created for the inhabited Sol system, seven hundred and fifty million light years away from where our story took place originally. A planet called Earth by its inhabitants. A planet where a radio station engineer was typing an ad for an upcoming vehicle inventory sale.

         “STOP PAYING FOR A JUNK CAR NOW! SAVE TONS OF CASH YOURSELF! BEFORE IT IS OVER AND TOO LATE! STOP BY TODAY AND SAVE YOURSELF!”

         An ad sent via radio wave which takes thousands of years to travel the galaxies, solar systems, and planets. All the way being hit by magnetic radiation, solar winds and electrical distortions; distortions that caused the message to fracture. And a fractured message was received by a distant world, on the brink of war. The original sender and his fellow Earthlings long dead of their own hands tens of thousands of years before The Message was read somewhere else.

         But that isn’t the end of the story, as life begins out of death, a dying world is sending its envoys in one form or another out there…