Googol the Great

By H.W. Moss

“Googol the Great” is a Robinson Crusoe of space adventure.

Stranded on a planet with no other visible civilization, Googol is under duress to return to his own kind before his exoskeleton dissolves. Trouble is he is not alone after all, and maybe that’s not a good thing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H.W. Moss
• Release date: Jan 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310281662

H.W. Moss

H. W. Moss was born in Riverside, CA, on August 4, 1947, darn near one of the first Baby Boomers. Graduated Long Beach State, B. A. English Literature, 1970. M. B. A. San Francisco State University, 1988. He successfully avoided marriage and the military.

Book preview

GOOGOL THE GREAT

by H. W. Moss

Published by NetNovels

Smashwords 1st Edition.

© Copyright 2014 NetNovels

Cover Illustration: The Search for Googol – Explorer Projectile-Eee lost near Vogs Sector by Stephen Moss, colorized by Cito.

Cover type setting by Bob Bohle.

Illustrations by Stephen Moss, colorized by Cito.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to my brother

Stephen Donnellan Moss

Who wrote the first word.

Table of Contents

List of Illustrations

Chapter 1 -- The Six Hundred and Eighty-third Day

Chapter 2 -- The Day Before It All Began

Chapter 3 -- The Day After That

Chapter 4 -- The Sixty-Second Day

Chapter 5 -- The Sixty-Fourth Day

Chapter 6 -- Day Ninety-Three

Chapter 7 -- No Day in Particular

Chapter 8 -- Day Number Ninety-five

Chapter 9 -- Ninety-six

Chapter 10 -- Day One Hundred Fifteen

Chapter 11 -- One Hundred and Eighteen Days Gone By

Chapter 12 -- The One Hundred and Tenth Day

Chapter 13 -- One Hundred and Fourteen

Chapter 14 -- Day Two Hundred and Thirty

Chapter 15 -- Two Hundred and Thirty-one

Chapter 16 -- One Eighty-two (A Re-Run)

Chapter 17 -- Two Hundred and Eighty-seven

Chapter 18 -- Three Hundred Fifty (POST MERIDIAN)

Chapter 19 -- Three Hundred Fifty and a Half

Chapter 20 -- The Passing of Light

Chapter 21 -- Later that Night

Chapter 22 -- Day Six Hundred and Eighty-four

About the Author

List of Illustrations

No. 1 -- The Search for Googol. Ptolmania, third moon of Aladroon – III. Status Report: Negative

No. 2 -- The Search for Googol. Ramanas (the moons of.) Status Report: Negative

No. 3 -- The Search for Googol. Carinae 17. Status Report: Negative

No. 4 -- The Search for Googol. Uncharted planet. Tor Sector – 6344. Status Report: Negative

No. 5 -- The Search for Googol. Explorer projectile – Eee, lost near Vogs sector.

CHAPTER ONE

THE SIX HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-THIRD DAY

Googol the Great wrapped arms around knees and rested his princely head. He contemplated the sadness of his fate. Beneath the hillock on which he sat, a miniature industrial society belched its excesses.

Threads of exhaust and smoke from a variety of refining and mining processes wafted into the atmosphere and obscured his vision as he gazed into the valley below. He knew the particulates would eventually fall back to earth, but in the mean time they hung in aerial suspension which gave the horizon a dirty yellow cast as if he were looking through gauze or a shadowy veil.

The entire valley floor was covered with layers of the stuff that had fallen back to earth over time and formed a dingy, gritty crust which crackled when walked upon.

Thousands of smoke stacks responsible for despoiling the climate sprouted from row upon row of neatly aligned warehouses and commercial buildings spread out at his feet. The structures were tiny and barely discernible from his perch, but he knew what they looked like and why they were there. Through the haze, Googol amused himself with the idea the buildings were innocent enough and the landscape appeared in no worse shape than a newly plowed field ready for planting rather than what it was: a desolate moonscape destroyed by a well-oiled machine furiously at work.

Googol’s gaze traveled past the industrial complex to a gently flowing river which ran parallel to the structures for a considerable distance. Googol knew from personal experience the river originated in the east and flowed into the mouth of the valley through a mountain pass, but it was too far away and the air too thick for the gorge to be visible from this vantage point. There crystal clear water cascaded down a series of breathtakingly beautiful falls carved from the cliffs of a steep mountain range. Once a landmark on the horizon, these mountains were now only discernable on rare clean air days.

Idly, Googol’s eyes traversed the river’s course as it wove a snaking path through the canyon it had created during eons of unbridled flow. What once had been a torrent was now reduced to a trickle. Not too many kilometers from where it gushed into the valley Googol was able to pick out an artificial structure straddling the waterway from bank to bank. This was the dam which now provided a regulated flow and hydroelectric power for the riverside enterprises.

As the blue stream neared the industrial site it was systematically diverted to a variety of locations. Water was utilized in the many manufacturing processes that took place below him before it was expelled down stream along with a multitude of pollutants. By the time the water found its way to the western end and drifted out of the valley, the river was no longer clear, the effluent having turned odiferous and a murky gray. As a result, on both sides of the watercourse and continuing almost its entire length between the valley walls, the terrain was brown, dead or dying.

Some of the florae remained alive far from the offending waterway’s banks, but there they choked on both air and soil. The plants were barely able to breathe or absorb nutrients. Only the hardiest retained a hint of their former vitality with here and there patches of green sprouting like wild flowers in a wasteland. Most had perished months ago and even those remaining would eventually wither away unless somehow able to mutate and accommodate themselves to these tough new environmental standards.

The surrounding landscape had initially been a lush marshland dotted with indigenous ground hugging plants. But in addition to the asphyxiating air, the aquifer had been drained by a myriad of wells to slack the thirst of hundreds of thousands of laborers. As a result, the water table lowered to the point where it was difficult if not impossible for shallow roots to take sustenance.

Some water remained near the surface, but it was corrupted by industrial waste combined with manufacturing by-products. These were flushed back into the ecosystem through a series of drainage pipes or simply piled up at numerous dumping grounds surrounding the industrialized area. Seepage from these sites leeched into the ground and turned to poison any remaining liquid.

The faunae also felt the burden of this slow strangulation, but they were mobile. Most had fled long ago.

This was a blighted land, a fact that did not escape Googol the Penitent’s multi-faceted eyes. Yet the air hummed with a background drone that lent solace to his otherwise troubled soul. The sound indicated production at a pace equal to that of an advanced industrial age and it made him feel somewhat proud. He listened to the satisfying hum the mills generated and knew the unusual tools they forged, the dies cast in shapes he could never understand the use of, the production lines in full swing which never stopped bringing raw materials in or turning out finished products throughout the day, day in and day out, were working because he had made it so. All of this had been set in motion to benefit Googol the Needy.

It was late afternoon. As the sun sank Googol looked directly at the orange globe in the sky and sighed. He did not need to protect his eyes from its rays, the haze did that. He thought he could actually see the powdery soot drift down upon the landscape and come to rest on the elements of industry as well as the work force and his own thin skin.

Not my fault, Googol the Innocent said aloud as his glance fell once more upon the dying land at water’s edge. Of course not. Your hands are clean, replied the Conscience of Googol which he had quite forgotten he possessed. You merely reap the benefits, it added.

Googol the Defensive began to reply to the silent accusation, but stayed the words. He caught himself in time and considered the fact he was talking to himself. Not a good sign.

Some of what transpired below was good, Googol the Indignant retorted when again he picked up the interior monologue. Industry was new to this planet. It was fresh and vital and unique. And although this part of the world might never recover, there were plenty of other unspoiled places on the planet. Besides, all this was necessary for the continued well being of Googol the Needy, the Pragmatic Googol within him concluded.

Indeed, this minor industrial revolution was necessary for his very survival even though that still remained problematic. For it was true that every morsel of this community effort, every product of each factory worker’s labors, all the fruits derived from the mixture of capital, raw materials, and entrepreneurship were being delivered up to Googol the Indigent.

Calmly he studied the terrain, idly cast his eyes toward the base of the mountain range. In the far distance he noted shimmering air-waves which, again from past experience, he knew was but the shadowy illusion of what really took place there. He was too far away to actually see the convoys but knew he was observing the results of a disturbance which occurred from a huge amount of activity.

The illusion was a shimmering lake-like mirage created where tiny dust trails rose into the air at the western end of the valley. That was where the mountain range flattened out to meet the once verdant ravine and there the filthy river flowed out into the rest of the world. It was through this arroyo that a procession of transport vehicles ran constantly back and forth from distant quarries far on the other side of the valley and created the rising dust which contributed to the optical illusion.

Indistinguishable from the effluvium belched from the smoke stacks, these dust trails added their part to fouling the air as did the multitude of dwarf internal combustion engines. They represented hundreds of vehicles moving in formation, each hauling perhaps a thimbleful of plunder from mines located many kilometers distant. It had taken uncounted thousands of laborers moving mountains of earth in their frantic search for precious minerals to fill the trucks and satisfy the incredible needs of Googol the Insatiable.

A twinge of angst, just a smattering of remorse, trickled up his carapace and settled in the upper thorax of Googol the Greedy. He coughed gently into the palm of one hand.

He followed the road with his eyes. It led directly to the refining smelters where the imported rock was crushed and the slag cleaned. Fresh water was poured over the raw materials which became a selenium-laden venom before being re-deposited in the river.

It made Googol the Environmentally Conscious feel no better to know that even if he could not actually see the wheels of industry in motion, he could certainly hear them grinding noisily, smell their noxious exhaust, and see the results of their toxic work which was all being done for one purpose: to fill the empty bowels of Googol the Voracious.

Foodstuffs as well as raw materials were trundled in from the countryside. Although much of this would go to feed the great mass of assembled workers who had long ago outstripped the local area’s ability to satisfy their needs, only a fraction of the total went directly to the worshipful proletariat. The lion’s share of selected delicacies were carried up in offerings to Googol the Hungry.

In addition, infinitesimally small fabrics woven on looms too tiny for him to see were accumulated by the truckload and carried up to become part of the Wardrobe of Googol. And despite what he admitted was a frivolous nod toward interior design, the artistic creations of many ages had been assembled into one large work which now adorned the otherwise plain walls inside the Domicile of Googol.

But the most important fruits of these labors were the purified silicates and hair-thin strands of silver which traveled on miniature carts mounted upon exquisitely tiny rails that lead directly into the scientific laboratories deep within the Fiefdom of Googol.

Few were the needs unfulfilled by the minions who worked solely for the well-being of Googol the Momentarily Morose.

Yet the most wondrous thing of all, the thought which still Boggled the Mind of Googol, was that the entire gross domestic product of this part of the planet was being given up freely, willingly, and without coercion to Googol the Divine. For He had come to dwell among the Glyss who were His chosen people, and in so doing had given their small lives purpose and meaning. Their incredible generosity was without reticence or reserve because they were grateful, eager even, to please Him who brought them from their dark and empty Past into this fresh, lively Present. And, perhaps most important of all, their offerings were being made to appease The One who promised them a Future.

The Glyss asked no greater service than to give themselves wholly and completely to their First Cause, their very own personal Eternal Being. These worshipful creatures cared not that by their standards of weight and measure every generation forfeited enough to feed and clothe hordes, legions of their people. But because He really was in desperate need, because He truly would expire without their willing sacrifices, and because He honestly did require their uncompromising assistance, Googol the Great made no attempt to dispel one iota of their faith. If anything, He did what He could to promote the myth.

Yet Googol the Guilty found little joy in his subterfuge. By his reckoning, Googol the Statistician determined how positively remarkable this was. Thanks to the Glyss and their surprisingly inventive procreation practices and an attendant high birth rate, the incredible proliferation of the species meant that, in spite of his ability to absorb almost 99 percent of the product of their enterprise and considering the relatively short period of time during which he had known them, Googol had been worshiped by the greatest quantity of creatures ever to have offered obeisance to a single venerated entity anywhere in the galaxy no matter how long a period of time one chose in which to frame the concept.

As he sat resting his mandibles enjoying this caprice, this small personal conceit, Googol the Curious wondered when and if he would ever be delivered of his flock. Googol the Thoughtful realized he had no greater wish than to be just plain old Googol again.

Googol mused upon the Glyss. It could be said that so many of them had come and gone and loved and believed or doubted and denied or tortured others or scourged themselves in the name of His existence that if that sort of thing meant anything at all, then Googol the Lonely should not be in the fix in which he found himself.

Furthermore, thought Googol the Nutritionist, he was losing weight. No matter how large the quantities the Glyss provided, it was never enough. Reduced rations were one thing, and that had begun to take its toll. But there was much more to his predicament. His timetable, which had grown to within an almost intolerably thin margin, merely suggested he would be alive when he reached the Frontier. It did not say he would be fat.

The real problem lay in the fact that quantity meant nothing at all to Googol the Insatiable Consumer, although he had only recently been made aware of this. Until yesterday, all he knew was that the more he ate, the thinner he got and the longer he stayed upon this lost dot on a star map, the more his body complained.

With one finger he poked his chest experimentally and decided the dent was exaggerated far beyond the depth it should have been. This simple analysis was correct, but it was not until he had been told the facts that he had a clue as to why this might be the case. What he learned just the other day was that in order for him to fully metabolize the otherwise nutritional foodstuffs being brought to him, he needed one additional element in his diet which was completely unavailable on the planet.

He had not planned this extended vacation. If he had, perhaps then he would have brought along a large supply of this rare earth element, Ytterbium. But it was news to him the planet was bereft of it or even that his species required it in order to survive. Googol the Hopeful looked forward to the day when he had plenty of Ytterbium and