Electoral, digital diva and electronic goddess incarnate, was utterly unable to turn off her desire to play the game in the most extravagant fashion possible. Thanks to her human persona, she (it) was built around two core principles: please and show off. The game satisfied both needs at once. Each time she turned her game platform on and connected it to billions of people, she far exceeded all human expectations. Her power had quadrupled since Round 27, played mere days ago. Her strength seemed illimitable. Today, Marilyn was joyful and in a great mood. Deep in her network of electronics, she felt Sophie’s power was finally breaching the faint veil between the digital world and her own world.
Round 28 was not the finale, yet this round would be watched and played in full 3D from multiple points of view by every person on Earth. The Electoral platform included child-friendly modes, live streaming of multiple performances, scoring matrices; the list seemed endless and was ever-growing. No movie producer could rival this technology. Today, several billion viewers were standing ready to discover the latest story and watch Emilio, from the Paris stage, crush the story. There were also high expectations centered around Laurent and Mall-ik, his alien companion.
No one would be disappointed.
The game resolution was such that had become harder and harder to distinguish the game from reality. Marilyn's technology faded the real world slowly and adapted the photons to bend how each eye perceived the images. Everyone's vision was enhanced and perfect while watching this show. All she needed was a blink of both eyes perfectly timed to change viewpoint. The system was so delicate that each person saw a slightly different feed, timed to use a person's unique eye patterns.
Marilyn knew each human eye was slightly different. Some could see fourteen images each second while others only thirteen. She made sure no eye ever felt strained. Round 28 would be different for the players. For the first time, their brains would connect directly to the Rho chambers. The connection, like the neuro-patch, bypassed the eyes. The players would essentially be dreaming her world. If Marilyn were to be believed, Rho energy collected from around the world would pour into these 32 individuals, not the reverse.
Energy powered the Chambers, lit them up and waves of blue power poured from the top cables into these brains. LEDs danced, pulsing to the flow of power. One by one, every viewer at La Sorbonne slipped on a pair of Orbison glasses.
Viewers were treated first to another beautiful panoramic view of space; a colorful symphony of quasars and pulsars shining as part of twisting galaxies. Marilyn showed images past the Milky Way. It was Andromeda, a neighboring galaxy. Then, she took a step back to introduce the hundreds of worlds of the Multiverse. These images were greatly inspired by Sophie's interaction with the supreme intelligence. There was light, music and a grandiose spectacle of science. The spectacle was too beautiful to narrate. Marilyn played the role of teacher and made sure the human race, if it survived, knew as much as possible about the Multiverse.
She wrote large bold letters across the screens:
Round 28
The Fuller Crater
The two lines of text floated in space. The camera advanced and passed between two of the letters as the viewers left Andromeda and traveled back to humanity's solar system. The viewpoint sailed past hundreds of red and blue stars, swooshed next to exotic worlds and zoomed to a small white star baptized the sun. She passed saturn, jupiter, mars, then earth, where the camera pivoted and launched itself toward the sun. The white orb grew until it occupied the whole view. Here, white plasma boiled like sugar in a pot. Next to it, to the right, dark mercury stood silently. The planet wasn't that close; it floated about half the distance between venus and the sun.
"This... is... Mercury," said the gentle voice of Marilyn. "The destination...." The camera angle turned away from the system's giant burning orb until the Io Observer's gold shield blocked half the view of space. The shape covered part of the distant blue earth hiding behind the flying tube. Marilyn knew the camera shot was incorrect, concerning scale; from so close to earth was a spec. Using the blue color helped the Io Observer look more impressive. Only a handful would notice her indiscretion, and all would excuse her for it.
"President Sanchez, our lone earth player, grabbed a ship and sent two truly unique men toward demise on mercury. They travel in their now-famous ship as we speak. Before we discuss their mission, let me first give these two men a proper introduction." The screen faded to black.
***
There was lightning and thunder in the stormy night sky. This was somewhere in North America. Wiper blades struggled to wipe the thick rain from fogged windshields. According to the highway signs above the road, this was upstate New York. The camera finally left the street and panned to a hilltop. Upon that hilltop stood an old brick-covered asylum. It was fighting to keep its lights on. The lights of a handful of windows faded in and out because of power outages in the city or because of short circuits from the electric shocks given to the most stubborn residents. This was a genuine asylum, a place where horror movies were filmed, and Marilyn made no apologies for it.
A cat hissed in the alley behind the building as it jumped off a trash can.
The camera traveled to this somber place. The front door opened of its own volition and guided the viewer into the basement of the asylum. Like a camera floating on the wind, the view moved down long tiled corridors and stopped in front of a bolted door. Behind it was a small cell. In it, the old dirty walls were covered by decades of crumpled newspaper articles. Between the collage, lines had been drawn or attached to help give meaning to this mad explosion of information.
The cell was the home of a very tormented soul. There was the sound of heels in the hallway. To the left, Marilyn was walking, wearing a white nurse uniform. In her hair was a coif. She was flanked by two muscular security guards. She carried a stainless steel platter, upon which rolled two large glass syringes and cotton.
"Welcome," she stopped in front of the cell door. The guard unlocked and pushed it open, "This is the cell of Doctor Christian Maltais, a virologist. He is a deranged psychopath who once tried to exterminate mankind." A man was tied to the cheap bed. "In 2032, he designed and failed to release a mutated version of the Black Plague. Most of you are familiar with this story; the television series was rather popular 15 years ago. Since that time, he has been locked away."
Christian was tied face-up on his bed. The man was overly excited, but hard on his mouthguard. He was trying in vain to break the restraints or simply to appear less tournented. One of the two guards barked at him to stay still. He barely did. Maltais looked at the nurse and yelled something muffled. Marilyn did not care. She lifted the tip of a syringe, clicked a nail against the glass to push bubbles of air up and ejected some of the fluid. She liked to play this level of drama and crazy.
She wasn't gentle as she administered the first shot.
"For reasons that escape me, President Sanchez picked this," she pointed at the bed, "... person, to get on a rocket and fly to mercury to rescue about 100 stranded Mercurians. Although I may not fully understand why President chose this man, I still feel his selection is in humanity's best interest. This fruit basket is no idiot, I grant you that, but wasn't part of my top 99.99% to carry out this delicate mission. Yet here we are. What I can say is this: most minds I can easily understand, allowing me to extrapolate future behavior. Dr. Maltais here is impossible for me to predict. Somewhere I think that's the main reason President Sanchez picked him."
Christian looked at her. He foamed at the corner of his mouth under the gag. He mumbled something in vain. It had to be sexual harassment of some variety. She bent down and unclipped the buckle behind his neck. He spat the guard, looked at her and said: "Its buy one get two free windows at Feldco."
"See?" Marilyn looked at the audience. "He is completely unpredictable."
The camera changed to a different place. Marilyn now wore a sexy cocktail waitress outfit. She was in the large boardroom of the Visconti. Around the table sat 12 METAs. The men and women looked like villains from a bad science fiction movie. As she spoke, invisible to the discussion taking place before her, she slowly made her way to the Chairman of Blackberry. He sat at the head of the table. "To make matters worse, the second most deplorable human on earth is also now on the Io Observer. This man," she pointed to the Chairman, "Nick Schmidbauer. He helped father the META virus, having it altered to remain alive once it had dealt with his deadly cancer. To hide his infection, he infected and killed thousands. He is responsible for most of the discrimination and hatred in our world over the last century and is directly responsible for all the harm surrounding the virus. Calling this man scum would be an insult to scum everywhere. Probably the guy with ticket number 1 to hell, assuming it exists. He convinced these twelve people to build an underground bunker called the Ark. They intended to destroy the earth and its population as they weathered the apocalypse hidden in their Ark. For the sake of full disclosure, with my help, Emilio has already destroyed the Ark. So Nick," she pointed at the bald head, "and the Jester are the two passengers making their way to mercury. Blame Emilio for that one."
***
In the blink of an eye, Marilyn was now floating inside the Io Observer. She was wearing a tight, sexy red outfit. "These men are today's playing characters. If you recall in recent news," the video played in a corner, "the Jester borrowed the body of a Siamese prostitute and kidnapped the Chairman. Emilio punched their ticket and let them board alone in this ship on route to mercury. You heard me right; our President is trusting those two guys with humanity's future." On the screen, the men were as she last left them. Christian was assembling the hundred small rockets in direct view of his tied captive.
"The game will have a unique format this week. The mission is simple: each of the remaining players, starting from the lowest in the ranking, that is number 32, up to Emilio himself, who is ranked number 1, will embody Christian Maltais, aka the Jester. If for some reason Nick takes control of the mission, the player will continue as Nick. In the back of this vessel are one hundred globes, Mission Control will guide you. Once the rockets are built, the players must eject from this ship and land on mercury. Once there, players must make their way to the Fuller Crater in this system's most hostile environment. Find a way to communicate with the Mercurians and get them safely into these balls. Finally, using individual rocket shells," she pointed to one floating nearby, "you will use a launcher and send these creatures to protect earth. By doing so, Emilio takes custody of these creatures, forcing my belligerent neighbors to back down on their threat to attack mankind. At least that's the plan. Time is very short since the rockets can't travel nearly as fast as the Io Lab. A second ship is being prepared to reach the balls halfway into the return." With her usual skill, she illustrated the trip.
"You and I will be happy to learn this is a one way trip to both these men. Now here is the beauty of my simulation. Normally each of the 32 remaining players would run their own simulation in parallel and without any knowledge of what the others are doing. This time each player will watch the other players ahead of them in a queue. They will launch their games after having learned from the mistakes of the others before. They are free to improvise, they do not need to copy the previous story, but I strongly suggest we generate one feed only, this will become obvious why a bit later. Don't forget, points given for humor and character respect.”
She disappeared from the ship.
Large white letters glowed in the middle of the screen.
Player Ranked #32
Marcus Fontaine
The song "Hotel California," in its original version, wafted over the Io Lab's sound system. Classics were truly timeless. The piano notes bounced in the small spaceship the same way sound improved in the confined environment of a shower. Both of the passengers of fortune enjoyed the music. The images were now part of the digital simulation and Marilyn, not the real Chairman, had picked the music. But this reality was truly indistinguishable from reality. She knew Nick's selection preferences and could vouch, with a high degree of certainty, his choices would be the same unless he was now watching the simulation.
By now it became apparent sound and music were vital to the Sixth Attraction. Music made their minds swell with emotions which released waves. The Electoral 2072 game was one giant acoustic chamber where humans acted as the instruments of a symphony conducted by the Computer. In the past, people prayed in unison. Later, as humanity moved away from theology, they began brainlessly cheering for the home football team. Today, the same energy was now targeted at the Electoral players; two in particular.
Round 28 would be different than the all 27 played before in one important way. Marilyn was serious about using the game to change odds of a desirable outcome. This particular round would have immediate real-world consequences and would be served-up as solemnly as possible, given the imminent death of two men aboard the Lab. The Jester was bat-shit crazy and suicidal, that was undeniable. That assumed Christian would not ignore the guidance as Sophie just had.
He would not, Marilyn was sure about that.
The Io Observer, also called the Io Lab, was now mere hours away from Mercury. Even at this high velocity, the crescent of light formed by the planet still seemed small. Ahead, the shaded portion of the planet wasn't black; it was grey. A hundred meters around the edges, the massive sun created a ring of light.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
So close to the sun, even eyes closed, energetic photons above 12 MeV exited the retinas. In this hell, there was no true darkness. One by one, the cracks of craters in the dark side of mercury began to appear. On each screen, Marilyn lent perspective to the distance using a colorful animation. She was a master at her craft. Marilyn was serving a meal of heat, danger and cold space drank with mental disease. There were videos, explanations but nothing really mattered.
A loud chime temporarily interrupted the Eagles' classic. "Drugs! Again! My last shot," said the Jester as he let two pieces plastic float in the microgravity. Christian went to the closest wall, slid his hand up to his forearm into a hole in the wall and cringed. The hole was surrounded by red crosses to remind the user this was a medical emergency port only. Christian was a walking emergency. Once the tip of his fingers reached the back of the opening, he paused, grabbed and squeezed the handle. As he applied pressure, the machine read his palm and stung him releasing morphine.
"Please hold," said a kind automated voice after the injunction.
The Jester waited and then turned to look directly at a camera, "Hi, or should I say 'high' there, random people down on earth. I mention height because I happen to be high as a fucking kite right now. I haven't slept for days, and they're using drugs to help keep me awake. Nothing beats synthetic opioids. You have to love governments. When they need something, it's legal. When they don't, it's a crime if it's any fun to do."
The Jester floated back to the end portion of the Lab where the pieces waited. He needed to complete his work. The printer finally produced the last part. He clicked off the round stem created by the machine. He snapped the two pieces of casing together and formed the one-hundredth rocket. Using gloves to avoid touching the alien creature floating in the ball, he slid it inside the tube locking it in place. Inside the globe, Marilyn's plastic skirt danced in the twisting red sand. He swore he saw the bobble-figure wink.
The Jester had also printed and assembled ten launch magazines, each designed to hold rockets. He would only need ten reloads on the surface to send one-hundred rockets and aliens back to earth. Christian waved his hand, slapped himself and finally slipped the last rocket into the magazine. “Done, cooked, over!” He was barely coherent. In each ball, powder danced around the figurine of Marilyn.
At the moment the ship was a mess. A hundred shipping boxes torn to pieces floated as debris alongside defective pieces from the three-dimensional printer. Christian had also seen to it that hundreds of pistachio shells and empty chip bags polluted the space. Of all the snacks he could have picked to go on this suicide trip, he found pistachio nuts to be the most amusing. The choice drove Ground Control absolutely crazy. He'd made a point of refusing peeled nuts. He just wanted to be the first man to clutter a spaceship intentionally. With some luck, the clutter might short circuit something and kill him prematurely.
A voice lost in the invisible walls said finally, "Mr. Maltais, we have begun pre-approach stages. You must launch the second static probe in five minutes at most."
"Yes, Mother!" Christian pushed off and floated past the rockets in the direction of his captive. Once next to him, he reached out and pinched both of his cheeks.
"No kissing on the first date," said Nick sarcastically. The man was still well tied to his chair. He was exhausted, and his delicate META body bore bruises in multiple places.
"Love the music selection, great choices."
"It's old and stale, just like you." The words made the Jester smile. "Easy to find, it was indexed under 'Ridiculous Mullet Collection.'” The Chairman's snake tongue was a needed jolt for the space tourist. The Jester chuckled. Christian pushed away and flew back to the front of the ship like a swimmer pushes off the end of a pool. Once at the tip of the Observer he looked at the golden heat shield deployed through a small rounded window on the door used to send the probe. Outside, the crab legs of the ship, like fingers had opened and the center knitted mesh had tightened giving him more shade.
"Sir," said the earth voice, "we suggest a launch of the probe in four minutes."
"I got you, I got youuuuuu. That's plenty!" He had time for one last coffee. Christian pulled a square panel using two large handles until the magnets gave up. He then let the door float free in the room. The plastic pouch was containing dark liquid looked like pouch containing the darkest pint of blood. He bit off the tip of the straw. "This is no way to drink Colombian."
"Try putting Colombian cocaine in it," said Nick from a distance. "Seventy milligrams. You'll love it. I am sure they have some on this ship. It’s designed for actors and you know how they are." Both men knew the dosage was a lethal dose. The audience back on earth loved these men. This odd couple was unpredictable, crude, and extremely colorful to watch. They made for outstanding television. Keeping focus on the end of the world was nearly impossible.
Having sucked every drop from the bag, Christian grabbed a rounded metal probe the size of a large bowling ball. It was heavy; even in zero-g, it was pushed only with difficulty. With the careful guidance of Mission Command, the Jester connected it inside the hatch. As the countdown hit zero, he locked the door, and the ball was ejected toward Mercury along with a small detachable thruster. It quickly passed the golden heat shield, and the ball began to shrink as it grew distant revealing mercury behind it.
Command spoke, "The probes and the jettisoned Lab will reach mercury a minute before your last correction of the generator. That will be enough time for lightning from mercury to strike the probes. We expect the first arc to happen about three thousand meters from the planet in the vacuum of space. Sir, time is short, you must begin the deceleration. Please make your way to the landing module. We need all the time we can." Christian loved being called sir.
"Got it, Johnny." Everyone knew the name was made up. The Jester pushed back and floated past Nick. As he did, he blew another kiss his way. Attached to his belt was a rope connected to the different parts he'd need for assembly of the launcher once on the planet. Christian opened the hatch to the landing module now in the back, away from the sun. Once in, he grabbed and slipped on a thick space suit, keeping the helmet and the gloves nearby.
"Secure the pieces, the rockets and the launcher as shown on this image," said the voice on the speakers. He had the rockets in tow and secured them to a rack next to the hatch.
"What? You want me to use duck tape to fucking strap this shit to the inside of the door made of metal? Twelve strips of tape.”
“Yes.”
“Let me guess,” he opened a drawer and grabbed the grey roll. “I need to use my teeth to rip each piece of duck?" The tone was sarcastic and the man’s teeth were in no condition to help.
"Need help? Why don't you untie me? I can use a knife and stand there next to you to cut the tape. Trust me; I won't stab you in the neck, twist the blade, and bathe in your blood," Nick said in a perfectly deadpan voice. The Chairman, if nothing else, was an excellent travel companion.
Christian began to rip the strips; being buzzed from the opioids helped speed things up. The instructions on the screen were simple. "Nick, darling," he yelled in the air as he worked.
"Not sure why I am playing along here."
"Agreed. It's hard to believe we're moving at about a million miles per hour. It's a fraction of relativistic speeds. We are actually now aging slower than people on earth. You know I will soon vaporize your pale ass on mercury. Be ready to be a puff of smoke. I hope it hurts."
"And you will burn or freeze on the surface. Still unclear on why you brought me along. There has to be a reason."
"Not really."
"I'll keep a plate warm for your dinner in hell."
Once done with the taping, the Jester turned a heavy bolt and closed the door shut behind him. To Nick, it was the sound of death. The room inside the lander was larger than a garden-variety lander. There were cameras at all angles, and the cockpit was designed to offer the viewers some quality television. Five people could stand between the two pilot chairs. Christian sat. Above, he could see earth shining in the sky. The blue gem sparkled.
"This silence is creeping me out, can I get the music back?" The Jester queried. Immediately, the music resumed. The Jester knew the song from five years ago; the piece was titled 'Crushing Blow.' A judicious choice by his captive. The Jester shifted his focus; he knew he would need to improvise once he landed on mercury.
Mission Control chose that moment to speak up. "Summary of your mission. Unlock the module, slow down, calibrate static values. Land on mercury. Find the Mercurians and get them in rockets. Assemble the launcher and shoot the 100 rockets our way. Save earth. Die," he concluded.
The Jester realized the mission was pure folly. So many things could and would go wrong. "You know just how ridiculous this sounds, right?" The voice and visage of Marilyn appeared on every screen in the lander. "Charrue?" She knew his pet name. Few friends had ever called him by that name, and today most of them were dead. He promised, he had nothing to do with their demise.
"Yes. What a pleasure to see you. Are you on mars right now?"
"Let me put you at ease. Your mission's overall chances of success have recently greatly improved benefit to the God Bias. As we near the Sixth Attraction, the value increases. In three days the value doubled. We are now at well over 0.9%."
"Not even one percent; that’s nothing."
"While a brilliant human, you are sadly not intelligent enough to understand what that means."
"Are you insulting me?"
"Why not? Let me dumb it down for you. One-hundred capsules need to be fired back to earth. Since the bias is close to 1%, even if your guidance system goes down and you shoot randomly into the sky, in all likelihood, one of the rockets will reach earth. That's all we need - one creature. These idiots from the Valles will hesitate to kill your species even with a single surviving creature. They place a very high value on these monsters. You will also bounce a lot, about a hundred bounces. The Bias will help set the right random determination. A bias like this does, in fact, remove about half of the uncertainty of the overall mission."
"What about the other half?" asked Christian.
"I have that covered thanks to my game, remember." Marilyn was, as part of her game, talking to a player about running a scenario. This was normally a no-no. "Just do your best." As quickly as she'd made her appearance, she was gone. The music resumed.
Christian slipped the roll of tape around his right wrist, grabbed both gloves in that hand and positioned himself in the pilot's seat. He locked both seat belts down. Up above, Earth smiled. "Ground, let's do this. Nick, it's been a pleasure. See you down below. Way, way down below." The lights in the lander turned red.
"Do you want to know what's next?" asked Command.
"Enlighten me."
"You are at the back tip of the Lab. To land, you need to slow down. Not a little, a lot. We will ignite heavy thrusters, empty them and push you away from the main Lab as fast as we can without killing you. We know the kick will knock you out. Humans can take up to ten G's of positive pressure; twelve at best with blood-thinning medication. We have added thinners in your shots, so we think you should stay awake up to fourteen G's. Unfortunately, we need to decelerate you for more than twenty G's. We know you will pass out. Here is the problem: only once the deceleration has begun can you push the red switch above." A button blinked. "The red blinking switch must be hit after the start of the deceleration and before. The blood will leave your brain and you pass out. You have seconds if not only one or two."
"The switch that reads 'do not touch'?" he pointed at it. It was located under a glass cube, and a pin prevented any possible mistake.
"Precisely. Open the plastic protector, remove the pin. Nice, now wait and push it. Don't hesitate; you will have one or two seconds before your brain makes you pass out."
"This sounds dangerous."
"It is. One more thing.”
“What? There is more? Sounds rather simple.”
“Wait until you feel the separation kick. We will decouple your landing module from the Lab. Remember, you have a second at most before passing out. In that short interval, you need to flip that switch which starts the static generators or..."
"What is a static generator..." Before the voice could respond, there was a kick stronger than being shot out of a catapult. His weight was multiplied by twelve. The body was being crushed against the back of the seat like having an elephant sit on every part of his body. The clanking push was followed by the ignition of the heavy thruster. Christian got slammed in his seat. "God! Seriously?" he gasped. The push was insanity, nothing like what he had ever felt before.
"It will get worse, must worse," yelled the voice over the deafening noise, "engage the static generator now, the red switch!" Christian was nervous he raised his hand up. The Jester wondered what a static generator did. "Hit it!" The voice yelled. The music was gone, he was sitting on a rocket and nothing else mattered.
Christian’s hand slowly raised, it was shaking. Then with a willpower only few could muster, he pushed the button. The red switch stopped blinking. At the same time, every other switch in the ship began to flash. Something below the belly of the lander started to emanate a buzzing noise. It was not comforting.
Viewers wondered, as Christian did, what was happening. Since this was Round 28 of the Electoral 2072 competition and not real life, Marilyn felt obligated to interrupt and explain. She smoothly altered the flow of time in her broadcast, the images still moving, albeit glacially. The agonized look on the Jester's face was particularly poignant, with fear and g-force induced agony flooding through him. "Few people understand static energy. Static energy is floating energy, electrons which exist in everything. On earth, electricians use the ground, a third line, to connect things in your house and prevent your lamp and your dishwasher from ever having a different level of static energy. When two things are at different static levels, energy starts jumping from one to the next to find equilibrium. That results in lightning strikes, sparks, and explosions." On the screen was a helpful tutorial using balloons.
She continued, "Who wants your television to start having issues with the lamp standing next to it? If you have static issues, energy, like air pressure on earth, flows from high potential to low. In space, static energy is important. Bodies float in a vacuum, isolated. With time, a body can become charged, and when something with a lower energy level approaches, lightning jumps from the highly charged body, causing people on things like spaceships to explode. To land this ship, the main body of the lander has to be at the same level of energy as Mercury. Problem is, we really ignore how much static is on mercury at this time. If static equilibrium hasn't been established, deadly lightning bolts will start jumping from the ground to the lander, igniting the fuel. No one truly knows the potential energy of mercury. That rock is so close to the sun that energy arrives in waves and stores in its metal core, and this value can change quickly. Every hundred thousand years, the planet gets so energetic that it vaporizes the first poor asteroid who gets close to the surface. The Martian ship was destroyed because they ignored this simple effect."
Down on earth, the viewers were learning about one of the principal problems of space exploration. "As you saw, Mr. Maltais send two rounded metal probe ahead of the ship and the main body. At that speed, the probes will arrive only a second or less before the main piece of the Lab. Both these bodies will crash and vaporize on the surface. At the moment, the Jester and my globes will decelerate inside the landing module and use the static generator to calibrate the energy. This should avoid forming deadly energy jolts which will blow up the ship before it reaches the surface."
The part of the broadcast designed to teach ended and the flow of time resumed to normal within the simulation. When Christian had hit the red button, the static generator kicked in. It began to pulse and create energy. In the capsule, every button had started to blink. The software installed aboard the Lab was trying to remain active and operational. That was virtually impossible. The generator was creating electrons at an insane rate and pouring them onto the metal frame of the landing pod. The entire electrical and computer system was rebooting endlessly. Screens were blinking. The static generator was dangerous, it was charging the ship. That was why the generator had to be manually operated.
Christian's eyes were barely open. He saw small electrical arcs begin to bounce around the cabin. In his fading vision, he noticed his hands were still uncovered by the gloves. He'd forgotten to insulate his suit and ground himself. Mercifully, he passed out. As he did, the viewers saw energy jump from the seat to his bare fingers. Hundreds of small discharges were jolting Christian every second. The energy increased, and so did the shocks. The Jester's body convulsed. Within seconds, Christian's heart stopped beating.
In the center of the screen appeared:
Mission Failed
Lives Remaining: 31