Chapter 31

Over the last half of August, 1995, I accomplished several things. First things first: the troublesome Saudi in Los Angeles who’d sent Abdullah to kill me, had to go. He suffered an aneurism, poor man. One of the arteries feeding his brain just went ‘pop’ as he deplaned in the LA airport.

For the Oil Minister, I had a more evil plan. Evil to him who does evil.

[Lexi, the phrase you’re looking for is Honi soit qui mal y pense. Literally, ‘Evil be to him who evil thinks.’ It’s the motto of the British Order of the Garter, and said to be the operating principle of Henry 8^th, who did a fair amount of evil things in his time.]

Yeah, Red. That.

One night, he had a stroke that left him without the use of his arms and legs. He could not speak. I read once that the Vikings cut off an enemy’s arms and legs, but left him alive. If I could do that I would. I hated the man.

[Lexi, there were plenty of stories, some verified, of ways of torture, carried out by various peoples. That particular one is mostly a legend.]

Maybe I can think of something else.

I planted a little thought in his mind: “I shouldn’t have paid to have people killed.” But I planted it in every memory cell that I could find. In the visions of his family members, in the thoughts that should have been pleasant, in the memories of times with his concubines, in the thoughts of all his money that he’d never enjoy. I terminated each repeat of the thought with the face of all the people he’d ordered to die – and there were LOTS of people – so he could bask in that shame.

It took me several hours to modify all those memories. Then I closed my book on him, never to open that chapter again. Eeesh! I needed to take a shower to get rid of those thoughts.

Now, second things second. OGPA – the Oil and Gas Producers Association. That particular bunch of mental misfits had to go. Killing people just because you didn’t like something that they invented was the worst. No, honi soit qui mal y pense, remember? Okay, killing people just because you didn’t like something that they invented was the second worst.

[You didn’t ‘invent’ anything. At most you and Chas ‘pre-discovered’ it. Just like the 1024 chip.]

Red, don’t get nit-picky with me. I’m on a killing spree to kill killers.

[You cannot kill all the people in the world who kill other people.]

I can’t, that’s true. But when I stumble across somebody who’s trying to kill ME...

[Lexi, you’re going to kill a lot of people.]

Yeah, I know. I know. And I don’t like it. But I’ll do it. It’s something that ... I feel I have to do.

I shut my mind to the vile and – face it – evil things I would do. It was to save humanity in 3500 CE. That goal was my primary focus. The end justifies the means. Hard to believe I was quoting that, but I was. It was the way every mass murderer and tyrant justified himself. The world will be better tomorrow if I do this evil thing today.

[Lexi, do you want to terminate this experiment?]

I thought of Jim, Alex, Rock, Bear, all the Shoshone and Navajo people I’d dealt with.

No, Red. I do not want to stop. Crap! This wasn’t even the same universe that I was born into. I’ll continue.

[I acknowledge that you’re doing – and will be doing – things that you do not like. At least you’ll know that... ]

Red. You’re an AE. Don’t take me down that path again. I don’t have a logical core at my core. I’m human. I can live with it. I know what I’m doing, at least. And I know what the eventual outcome will be.

[As you say.]

I’d snuff out the oil men. Over the next few weeks, one by one, they’d have strokes, or heart attacks or succumb to diseases they had acquired on their own, only more rapidly.

At least I’d have an AE on my side. And the Great Spirit, a NCE, as Red refers to him/her/it.

...

1995-1999

We retreated to Whirlwind Texas. I’d come back to the little ranch in Virginia from time to time as politics demanded it. And I’d go back to the Navajo or Shoshone reservations, but we were entering a new phase.

Time to defang my great nemesis. Hillary Clinton. Not such a great nemesis. I just snuffed out the synapses to the tiny part of her brain that would let her send thoughts to other people. So she wouldn’t be able to stroke the ... uhm ... the ego of her husband. It got enough stroking on its own, these days.

I connected to the FBI-IC – the Fibbie In-Charge – and rewired a few instructions in his brain. Why was he taking orders from the First Lady, anyhow? And his superior didn’t even know about it? That whole setup was wrong.

The whole ‘follow the Indian woman thing’ was quietly forgotten, the files misplaced, and the agents went back to their regular posts.

1996 was a presidential election year. It was time to focus on Colin Powell. I didn’t have to do much to counter the doubts that had been implanted in his mind. He knew that the country had to come out of the recession, and a second term for Clinton would be a disaster.

1996 was also the time to get the Clintons to visit Donald Trump. Then, when Donald would visit Moscow, I’d get to Vladimir Putin. WOW! Was that guy nuts. He wanted to re-create Peter the Great with himself as Tsar Peter. Let’s hear it for the early 1700s and the Russian Empire!