ODIN'S WAR

Reimagining the World Order

“Now,” said a tall dark man with a long black coat, “I think we have them fooled about the Planet and its heating. They will not suspect that we have been behind the Science all the time, and when the Armegedon comes, they will think they did it to themselves.”

The man sat back in a big black leather wingback chair, put his finger tips together and smiled. "The fools will die in their own ignorance and naivete after they have handed me all their wealth and power." As he settled into his chair, he all but disappeared into the black and black combination that seemed to illuminate his ghostly white and narrow face.

The words came from none other than Spurion, the owner and developer of Spurion Industries, a secret conglomerate that owned nearly all of the Green energy companies in the World.

Standing in front of Spurion was his chief scientist, Marcus.

Marcus was a small, gnomish man, with deep dark eyes peering out from under bushy and heavy grey eyebrows. He clenched his jaw and pursed his lips in deep concentration that brought a fire to his small eyes.

"Yes, Spurion," said Marcus, "Little did they realize that all their efforts were futile for the Planet, and instead, they have handed all the power of the Earth to you without really changing the atmosphere."

Spurion laughed. "Yes, yes, we know this Marcus. Our Order of New Progress is nearly at hand. Now, how does your plan to erase the dissenters from the globe work?"

“It is amazingly simple, Spurion,” said Marcus, explaining the details of his plot to his superior, “The chemical is both temperature and environment specific. It is hostile to any carbon-based, organic material, which as you know, includes every from of life, plant or animal, on the earth.” He paused to take a sip from his glass of cognac, which had been placed at his side for his pleasure. Spurion normally forbid anyone to partake of alcohol in his presence, especially if they were in his employ, but what Marcus had to offer was far more important than even Spurion’s moral dictums. Others had been flogged for far less than a dram of cognac in a Joey glass.

“In addition,” continued Marcus, “the chemical not only brings a poisonous mist that travels freely in the atmosphere, but it also reacts violently with carbon gasses, such as carbon monoxide, and to a lesser extent, carbon dioxide.”

Spurion lifted his eyebrows, leaned back in his chair, and touched his fingertips together.

“What reaction does it produce?” he remarked casually. Marcus grinned, but slightly.

“It causes the atmosphere to burst into flame, if the carbon gasses are present in sufficient density. Most of the major industrialized cities have approximately the required mixture now.”

“Excellent,” said Spurion, leaning forward this time. By contrast, he was a tall, angular man with a dark black mustache, deftly trimmed, and large, dark, threatening eyes set into his refined features. “How soon can our technicians manufacture a quantity sufficient to launch an infection that would reach the major cities in the East and the West?”

“It will take some time,” said Marcus, “But we will be assisted by the current pollution index in the larger cities of the Third World, which is growing at an enormous rate.”

“Yes,” said Spurion, “and now that most of them have the atom bomb, it is almost certain that old hates would flame again in the face of such a widespread chemical attack, and a chain reaction of nuclear blasts could well put an end to our atmosphere, and our populations, as we know them now.”

“Absolutely,” said Marcus, “effectively destroying civilization for all those except for a certain number,” he paused to grin, “of those who are prepared well in advance.”

“Yes,” said Spurion, “We must go visit our chief engineer and see how the plan is progressing.” The two stood up and exited to a narrow corridor. At the end of the corridor, they were met by a small silver car and a driver.

“Ahh!” exclaimed Spurion with delight, “an operational sonic car! This is a pleasant surprise. “Yes,” said Marcus, “We thought you would be pleased. It is the answer to the energy and pollution problems of the world.” The little scientist walked around the small, bullet shaped vehicle. “It is a pity that the world won’t get to see JJ’s invention. It could certainly solve pollution problems in a lot of places around the globe.”

“Yes,” said Spurion, as the driver opened the back door and beckoned him to step in, “Only those places will soon be enveloped in a permanent, poisonous cloud. How does it work again?”

“Electrical impulses are produced by channeling sound waves through a special microchip developed by JJ. The car can gather power from any sounds within its antennas range. Singing birds can give it power. It also has a capacity to store power in a battery pack. It is essentially a sound activated/amplified electric car (SAEC).” Marcus motioned to Spurion to put on a headset, attached to the seat in front of him. The Carmina Burana by Karl Orf was playing in apocalyptic tones, as the car surged with a soft, vibrating power. Oddly, the music and the car seemed to have a kind of rhythm, as rather pleasant vibrations were felt while they whizzed along the road. Spurion felt exhilarated by the experience, and a rush of adrenalin made his face tingle.

Presently they slowed and came to a large steel building, somewhat like a hanger at an airport, where they stopped, and Spurion and Marcus ambled in. They walked about the huge structure, which was filled with a number of large engines of an unknown function, and numerous technicians walking about in long white coats. JJ was at the back, scrutinizing the gauges on one of the machines.

“JJ” Spurion called, “How are you, my genius friend.” JJ, whose real name was James L. Jensen, turned to look at Marcus and Spurion. Immensely wealthy, Spurion paid well, and it didn’t do to displease this power mad individual, as JJ had discovered. “I am fine, thank you,” he responded as he wiped his sweating brow.

“And how are the APMs coming along?” asked Spurion. Air Purification Machines were designed by JJ to eliminate both radiation and chemicals from a controlled environment and replace it with a non-contaminated atmosphere. “Well,” sighed JJ,” I’m afraid I’m a bit behind. The sonic car took a bit more work than I had anticipated, and we have experienced some unexpected delays. Spurion scowled for an instant, but brightened up. “The SAECs are a resounding success,” he said. “Let’s hope the APMs work as well.”

“They will,” said JJ, “But I don’t know why you had me build them here in Argentina, if we are going to move them to the Middle East. They are heavy, and shipping can damage the electronics.”

“Do not worry,” said Spurion with a smile, “I will be able to arrange it when the time comes.” His face then hardened, and his eyes looked motionlessly and hard at JJ. “How far are you behind?”

“Well,” sighed JJ, “We were almost caught up, but the circuit panel that we had trucked from Buenos Aires was somehow damaged enroute. It could be repaired, maybe, but I think we will have to have another one shipped. It could take six months to have another one built.” Spurion’s jaw tightened. “Where is the man who drove the truck?” he asked coldly. “He’s sleeping in one of the Quonset huts,” said JJ. “It was a long drive.”

“Let’s go, Marcus,” said Spurion, turning toward the Quonset huts. His long strides swiftly carried his angular frame through the complex, as Marcus, short with spindly legs, trotted along behind in a comical little jaunt, keeping up with great difficulty. The huts were adjacent to the hangar, lying in a row. Spurion and Marcus went from one to the other, until they found the one the driver was in. Spurion opened the door quietly, and slipped in. The driver was sound asleep. Spurion grabbed the man by the throat with his powerful long fingered hands, and dragged him out of the bed, as Marcus watched. Surprised, the man began to struggle, but Spurion had the upper hand, and pulling him to the floor, forced his face onto a metal heating pipe that ran along the base boards.

“Marcus,” said Spurion through gritted teeth. “This man has cost us six months. Come here and see that he learns not to do it again.” The man tried to yell, but as his mouth opened, Marcus kicked the back of his head. Teeth mixed with blood spilled out onto the floor, as the man let out a blunted cry of agony. Spurion let him go, and he rolled over, covering his face.

“I don’t know how it happened,” said Spurion, as he kicked the man in the groin with his pointed boot, “But it won’t happen again.” Marcus smiled as Spurion delivered a final kick, and the two left to return to the complex, and business.

And there was, indeed, a lot of business to be done. Bloggers to be bought, propaganda to be spread, and governments to bribe. Spurion had carefully constructed his ideology to play the hearts and the softer minds of men, and through deception, they would sound the tune of their destruction.