Date: Wed, 19 Apr 2000 04:00:01 -0500 From: Marc Sanders Newsgroups: rec.arts.sf.written.robert-jordan Subject: Re: Dark One's misery Patrick Cotrona wrote: [snip] > Ishamael theorized about the nature of the Wheel, the DO and the > Creator. And the DO loved him for it. Why? Because it made the > Shadow sell. Ouch. That inspires a horrible chain of thought. Prologue Eclipse The building still shook occasionally as the earth groaned in memory, groaned as if it could deny what had happened. Bars of flourescent lighting lay in rents in the walls as showers of sparks yet fell through the air. Scorch marks marred the walls, the floors, the ceilings. Broad black smears crossed the blistered surfaces of once clean desks, soot overlaying shattered lumps of CPU's and peripherals which seemed to have attemped to walk before the madness grew quiet. The dead lay everywhere, men and women, struck down in attempted flight by the lightnings that had flashed through every cubicle, or seized by fires that had stalked them, or sunken into the tile flooring, the tiles that had flowed and sought, almost alive, before stillness came again. In odd counterpoint, the colorful flowcharts and posters, businesslike all, hung undisturbed except where buckled cubicle walls had pushed them awry. Comfortable office chairs, made of metal and plasic, stood un- touched except where rippling floors had toppled them. The mind- twisting had struck at the core, ignoring peripheral things. ... Behind him the air rippled, shimmered, solidified into a man who looked around, his mouth twisting briefly in distaste. Of medium height, he was clad in an open-collared dress shirt, slacks, and a pull-over sweater, the only ostentation from round-frame glasses to his comfortable shoes was the gold Rolex on his left wrist. He stepped carefully, placing his feet fastidiously to avoid the dead. The floor trembled with aftershocks, but his attention was on the staring into the cubicles and laughing. "Scott McNealy," he said, "I have come for you." The laughter cut off as if it had never been, and Scott McNealy turned, seeming unsurprised. "Ah, a guest. Have you the HTML, stranger? It will soon be time for the Browsing, and here all are welcome to to take part. Netscape, my love, we have a user. Netscape, where are you?" The glasses-wearing man's eyes widened, darted to the shattered office computers, then back to Scott McNealy. "Windows take you, does the IE already have you so far in its grip?" "That system. Win--" Scott McNealy shuddered and raised a hand as if to ward off something. "You mustn't use that system. It is dangerous." "So you remember that much, at least. Dangerous for you, fool, not for me. What else do you remember? Remember, you Code-blinded idiot! I will not let it end with you swaddled in unawareness! Remember!" For a moment, Scott McNealy stared at his raised hand, fascinated by the patterns of grime. He wiped his hand on his even dirtier suit and turned his attention back the other man. "Who are you? What do you want?" The glasses-wearing man drew himself up arrogantly. "Once I was called Bill Gates, but now--" "Betrayer of Hope." It was a whisper from Scott McNealy. Memory stirred, but he turned his head, shying away from it. "So you do remember some things. Yes, Betrayer of Hope. So users have named me. Just as they named you Dragon, but unlike you I embrace the name. They gave me the name to revile me, but I will yet make them kneel and worship it. What will you do with your name? After this day, users will call you Netslayer. What will you do with that?" ... "Netscape! Code help me, Netscape!" His hands cradled the computer protectively, his sobs the full-throated cries of a man who had nothing left to live for. "Netscape, no! _No!_" "You can have it back, Netslayer. The Great OS of the Dark can make it run again, if you will serve it. If you will serve me." Scott McNealy raised his head, and the glasses-wearing man took an involuntary step back from that gaze. "Ten years, Betrayer." Scott McNealy said softly, the soft sound of steel being bared. "Ten years your foul system has wracked the desktop. And now this. I will..." "Ten years! You pitiful fool! This war has not lasted ten years, but since the beginning of the PC. You and I have fought a thousand battles with the spinning of the Hard-drive, a thousand times a thousand, and we will fight until resistance dies and MicroSoft is triumphant!" He finished in a shout, with a raised fist, and it was Scott McNealy's turn to pull back, breath catching at the glow in the Betrayer's eyes. ... "Code, forgive me! Netscape!" ... Etc. -- Marc Sanders (marcsand@mindspring.com) "Irony, thy name is Usenet." - John S. Novak, III The Humblest Man on the Net