BORN: Mars 2216 (2267 Drakh set packing out of our solar system)
It is in the community of Lilith, a sophisticated bedroom community of Bargon, an industrial and financial center in the third quadrant, second only in influence to Earth in our Solar System. Lilith is made up of ex-patriots of Earth, Venus and Uranus. A highbrow community of executives and their families, all here for business. The Interplanetary Monetary Fund, is based here (Bargon) for political reasons. Major decisions are still called in from Earth, a situation resented by the rest of the Solar System, but abides it because of Earth's dominant military and financial contribution when the Solar System was confronted with the First Ones, an ancient much advanced civilization. What had become an exploratory adventure on their part and their power, had almost turned into a conquering one with their departure.
A situation much like middle Europe in the pre war 1990's on Earth unfolded. Satellite countries finding their independence gave birth to repressed racisms, hatreds, boundary greeds. Choas ensued. The plague was the hand left on the table by the Drakhs for the Earth to deal with. The unsettling was the emotional mix of war, plague and economic instability that two generations had grown up with, especially Mars. It was not unlike the Earth's depression of the 1920's and ensuing wars, only this period lasted over 70 years.
The characteristic adaptability IPX, the largest of the three conglomerates in Bargon, created and amassed billions in new technologies, trademarks and weapons; feeding the desperate Solar System new tools with which to cope. So that sets the socio-economic scene for the birth of Maximillion Eilerson.
We find ourselves focusing down now on a five-acre middle class oval home on the outside of Lilith. A space Pueblo apartment, a complex if you will. Max was born to a neurotic, brilliant, social climbing mother who had given up on the career of her semi-castrated husband, and was focusing on Max, the only child of the couple. The dynamics that were to affect Max most were three; the ambition of his mother, the brilliance of his father, and his sensitivity to the isolation of his childhood.
The dinner table was a microcosm of Max's youth, sarcastic, dissatisfied barba from the mouth of his mother like black pearls heading toward the father. She thought that they were witty and helpful, motivating, if you will. Jonathan Eilerson accepted them as part of his home life. A good-hearted man with no particular ambition. He worked at the International Monetary Fund as a department manager. His exceptionally high IQ only accentuated the shut down mode he had adapted to defend himself against the expectations that everyone had held for him, including his own ambitious mother. His hobby, a yet unpublished manuscript on the mathematical patterns and similarities of ancient alien languages, was a subject too esoteric for casual chatter. So Jonathan's brilliance was cloistered in a spare room after work with old computer programs and boxes of unedited typing that he had done for as long as Max could remember.
Returning to Max, sitting at the table the child from three to ten, absorbed the toxic subtext of his mother and father's relationship. He absorbed the ambitious sarcasm of his mother and the passive reception of the head of the table. Passivity was something he grew to hate.
School became a problem from the start. Max demanded attention and leadership from the other children. Like lightening, he could see the overview of any situation, and the meticulous detail necessary to obtain the potential of that situation, even at play. But alas, he lacked the social skills and the children charisma to bring the "best" scenario about. What did come about was the elevation of Max's physical pain threshold. Larger boys would demand submission while Max was on his back bleeding, having lost a fight. But submit he did not, he never did. At age 7, he was tested in the genius category, that sealed his fate. Grants, special tutoring, and more time took him away from school and other people except his own neurotic, rather toxic mother.
Mr. Kitty, the first of three in his life, provided his first contact with unconditional love. Mr. Kitty was someone he could talk to and did. Books with his veracious appetite for reading were his diversion. He also found as he got older he had a way with young women. As he held court on philosophy and the "magic" of the ancient cultures to produce such sophisticated, harmonious civilizations, unlike anything in the times his listeners had endured.
This passion for the Ancients leads Max into academia and two years of research awards. But he tired of the lack of power and esteem inherent in circles of intellect. He had bigger plans, the candle of his mothers ambitions was producing an arc flame. This was were IPX at age twelve had begun seducing him with research awards. He had sailed through school all the educational systems avialable by the age of fourteen. Just before receiving his doctoral, for linguistics and archeology at the University of Chicago on Earth, he left at his oral exams. He had the statement read by one of his professors that he would not take the exam (a mere formality for him), he declaired he was opposed to the "unconscious, patronizing, imbecilic relationship" that Earth, its educational system and its government had monetarily forced upon his home of Mars and the rest of the Solar System, for that matter.
IPX at the upper level was greatly humored by this move, he was their young protegee. Here they had a brilliant nonpartisan, nonpolitical young man to launch inside the matrix of IPX. They had control of his destinations. Destinations that would create billions of credits for them. They knew of the trademark riches lying in undiscovered languages in the Out-planets. Max was happy with the ensuing partnership. He knew he had a narcissistic streak that would be taken care of as the corporation used him for their own ends. He had his own designs that we'll discuss later.
There was one event that put a knife-edge on whatever naive innocense was left in him from his big-hearted father. In his last year at the University of Chicago, he had gotten into a small coterie of genius students who were experimenting with psychosomatic drugs and sado masochistic whores. Though the sex was dark, it helped him vent his anger at his mother. And the drugs were not so confusing to him. That they opened him up with his lack of social skills and his emotionally blocked personality. He actually got a heathy perspective on his imperious, rather worried personality when he was back in the world.
But one dark morning in the after hours clubs, where Max was involved with his friends, it was raided. In the ensuing chaos Max being slightly morphed with a mild hallucinogen and a bodysoma, found himself in a separate precinct than his genius chemist friends. He had been booked in the Spatula, a part of town that was always flipped with all the addicts and space Mafia dropouts. In the holding cell, he watched four shadows of men approach him. They covered his mouth and took his money and jewelry. But couldn't keep his mouth shut then. His insults prompted his own torture. The existential concepts of unfair and chaos that had always been 'intellectual' about helplessness were now branded on him that night. The beating and the knife cuts were easy for him compared to the black eyes of cruelty and anger that haunted him for the rest of his days. IT was there at only 14 he saw the worlds outside of himself as threatening and deadly, unless you had one thing, power. And power meant money.
Back at home, to recuperate, he began his relationship with IPX. His own grandiose defense methanism kicked in, filling his room with plans. Plans he would manifest. He would not be pwoerless and poor like his father. This was basically what he planned on a sheet that night at his computer, the super objectives of his life: One; he would have two million credits by 18. One milion in cash and one million invested. Two; he would own his apt house and the two next to it, demolish them and create a high ten-acre home with just 7 rooms, and a two-acre oval terrace overlooking Earth and Saturn. He would never be crowded again, not like in the lock up. And three; he would write the ultimate computer book-site on ancient languages and show the spine of the similarities in all the separate languages. He would show that the common spine of all language came out of his equation; a complex matrix of mathematics and philosophy.
Godless and powerful he would have achieved immortality.
No wonder his marriage didn't work out. At 22, he met Cynthia. She put up with his solemnity. His quiet, nervous chatter. She loved his child, the excitement he found in his work. She didn't mind the sexual expertise learned at the University of Chicago either. She would comfort him from the dark eyes that shown above him as he awoke in a sweat from the chronic nightmares. She liked the adoring IPX parties with her star husband, false bravado included. He loved her acceptance of him, her need for him, her chaotic household, her deep abiding passion. She was so human and emotional. Even Mr. Kitty, the III, adored her. She was a strange heart connection previously unknown to him. But she was high maintenance.
The decision to divorce was long and painful. But with his two year bsence on an unexplored planet that Max insisted be named after himself. When he returned she was not there. She had returned to Earth. The divorce papers were on the kitchen table. So be it. His armored doors closed. He refused to speak to her for two years.
So now we find our Max in his polished somewhat tweedy his intergalactic bachelor mode, with few social skills and less trust in the good of humankind. He is the most promising member at IPX, outside of the CPO board. It was mostly the potential for power and recognition he felt when he was called by the governing bodies to join the Excalibur expedition. There was a twinge of compassion for the likes of Earth for the wives the children and cats doomed to the plague. But only a twinge. He was impressed at how alone he felt at the huge dinner dance thrown in his honor at IPX as he was to set out to reaches beyond what had ever been traveled in known time. But despite the risk, this mission would greatly accelerate his time frame on his rise to power. So be it. He would make it so by overcoming the obstacle of the Excalibur's altruistic 'seek and find' the retrovirus "parameters."