Nameless

Nameless

If he had a name, he’d forgotten it on the long flight between the stars.

The flight was a journey of a lifetime, even for one of the Chosen Ones. A journey across space and time to fulfill a prophesy uttered years ago.

Call it a date with destiny.

Some races believed the Chosen Ones were Gods. Others believed that they lived with one foot in the past and the other in the future, able to see between worlds. The Chosen Ones confessed to neither. If hard pressed, they would reply that they were the nht-lla-oc , the grease that made the universe go round.

Nameless cared little for rhetoric. Words had no meaning unless backed by action. Action required no words. It spoke for itself. There was only the doing.

Part man, part machine, and perhaps part God, he guided the huge spaceship between the stars, headed towards a distant galaxy and an unknown solar system. A thousand, a million, a billion years, it made no difference. He neither slept nor ate nor concerned himself with the passage of time. He never had a random thought. His focus on mission was absolute. It was the sole reason for his existence. The sole reason for his being.

Out he flew, from the Hub of the Universe, at unimaginable speeds. Sent by “He Who Is Everything”. To deliver one of many possible futures to an insignificant world.

Behind him, in the bowels of the great ship, lay a single giant crate. This crate, wrapped inside a force field, contained one possible future, being sped to the scene, to become the future. Such was the way of things.

Mission’s end evoked no emotion inside him. There was only the doing.

Nameless studied the backwater little planet as he approached. So far from the Hub. So far from the Shining City and the Holy of Holies. It was a wonder that this little dirt-ball planet even existed at all. Yet even here, “He Who Is Everything” guided, shaped, and created.

He who was Nameless, the Chosen One who piloted the huge probability ship, having traveled across half an eon, arrived at his target precisely on time, to the hour, and the minute, and the second, to fulfill a prophesy and achieve his personal destiny.

At precisely the right moment he powered-down the Genesis drive, and dropped the shields, exposing the hull of the ship to the realities of space for the first time in its disposable existence, as well as releasing the crate from its invisible bonds of energy.

Free of the stasis field, the probability blossomed inside the cargo hold. Growing. Becoming the future. The future that had been foretold.

With the course locked in, and all systems shut down, it was the first time in his existence, since the moment of his creation, that he who had no name had nothing to do. The mission was over. It was only a matter of time before the great ship entered the planet’s atmosphere at a specific momentum and angle of trajectory designed to incinerate the ship.

Nameless, and undaunted, he stared his destiny in the face, unconcerned that the huge ship was burning up in the planet’s atmosphere. His mission was complete. The future had been made possible by his hand.

I am Nameless. I am of the Chosen Ones. I pilot the great starship of probability to generate the future. I am the grease that makes the universe go round. I am.

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On the surface of the planet below, three Wise Men cast their eyes Heavenward, and followed a flaming trail across the sky toward a city named Bethlehem.