Macbeth Act V... yes it's the end. I'm done.

V.

“I've been watching with you for two nights,” the doctor complained, “and have yet to see what you report. When did she last walk?”

Lady Macbeth's concerned aide explained, again, to the doctor that the Lady had several times in the past weeks risen from her bed, typed a letter, saved it, encrypted it, and then returned to bed. All while still asleep. She also re-explained to the doctor that the Lady occasionally would walk through the corridors of the uppermost ring of Olympus holding an ignited flashlight. Somewhat humorously, she frequently held the light backwards, shining the light on her stomach.

The Lady walked past the two whispering nightwatchers. Immediately, they stopped their chattering. Juliee Macbeth walked awkwardly through the corridor in her nightgown carrying the obligatory flashlight backwards. Her eyes were open, but apparently not processing any stimuli. The doctor and aide watched her as she dropped the flashlight in order to relentlessly rubbed her hands, as though to wash them of some indissoluble substance. According to the aide, this was a common practice, both while awake and asleep.

The doctor recorded as Lady Macbeth ranted, all the while washing her hands of nothing, with nothing.

“Out cursed spot! Out, I say! One: two: why, then it is time to do it. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afraid? What need we fear who knows it, when none can produce evidence. Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?”

“Do you hear that?” The doctor asked, adrenaline starting to take its course.

She did. The lady continued:

Mr. Macduff had a wife. Where is she now, I wonder? What? will these hands never be clean? No more of that, my lord, no more of that! You mar all with this starting.”

The Lady continued incoherently murmuring, whilst rubbing her hands more and more vigorously. She admitted to having had a part in the murder of president Duncan, and expressed her self-consuming grief and guilt. The doctor knew not how to help her obviously disturbed woman, as psychology was out of his area of expertise. Fortunately—well, perhaps “unfortunately” would be more appropriate, then again, perhaps not—her case mattered not for long. That same night, she, instead of returning to her bed as she had always done, brought herself to the closest garbage station, and disposed of herself.

Macduff and and Malcolm prepared an army of lower-ring, poverty-stricken warriors, armed with antique swords and axes. Not one had modern weapon: the president had confiscated them all, and launched them into the abyss of space, in an attempt to prevent an uprising such as this.

Macbeth quickly received news of the impending attack, but had no fear. He continuously repeated the prophecies concerning his safety, to himself. “None of woman born shall harm Macbeth. Not until the moons bleed!”

A distressed aide came to the fearless Macbeth, standing in the third ring, with his army prepared with the confiscated modern weapons he had supposedly tossed into space.

“There are ten thousand rebels, sir!” cried the fearful servant.

“Get the hence! Coward, flee!” the president retorted, unwaveringly confident-looking. None of woman born shall harm Macbeth. Not until the moons bleed!

Macbeth organized his defenses, blocking all the corridors connected to the elevator shafts, so as to have a force prepared for the attackers as they arrived, and to prevent a mass from congregating—only so many soldiers could ascend the elevator at a time. Macbeth set himself in the large third-ring commons area, where Banquo and his son would sit and watch the stars and the double moons orbiting the nearby planet.

The attack began. More reports about the goings on of the battle flowed from various messengers to the ever more-insane president. Shortly came the notice that his men were intentionally missing shots, and relinquishing their weapons. Some sectors' platoons refused to fight: they simply waited for the enemies, and pointed the armies toward Macbeth's lair.

In the midst of the battle came the report of Lady Macbeth's suicide. People had searched for her, but then thought to scrounge through the recent security videos and discovered the recording of her, in her sleep, placing her self in a large garbage chamber, smiling, and hitting the button labeled “open” on the wall. The doors opened and the vacuum of space promptly claimed her life.

Macbeth was unaffected. He had been so hardened by his cold-hearted murders and iron-fisted rule that nothing, not even the death of his wife, phased him.

Macbeth's other rings were easily taken. But, despite Macduff's army's increasing numbers and their knowledge of Macbeth's location, only one man entered the commons on the third ring: Jamien Macduff. Macbeth's soldiers sat, on their benches and allowed Macduff to pass. Macbeth, confident as ever, knew he could not die.

Macduff walked slowly toward the tyrant, holding his still-unbloodied sword at an angle to his side. “I have no words: My voice is in my sword, thou bloody villain.”

He charged.

Macbeth, realizing it would be dishonorable to simply blast the foe, unsheathed his sword and deflected the wild swing, with his own. Their blades clashed and Macbeth's army became quiet as they watched, hoping for Macduff's victory.

“None of woman born shall harm Macbeth. Not until the moons bleed!” Macbeth repeated, trying to bring himself strength in his time of need. He paused, and glanced outside the gargantuan window at the two moons surrounding the nearby planet. The closest star, planet, and moons were aligned such that an eclipse began. The refraction of the light curving through the planet's atmosphere created a red border around the planet's shadow on the moons behind it. The red shadows struck fear into the marrow of his bone. The moons bled. While Macbeth stared at the moons' pores pouring blood, Macduff whispered into his enemy's ear, “I was torn from my mother's womb and she died while giving birth. I was never truly born.”

A single slash decapitated the tyrant.

Macbeth Act IV

IV.

Macbeth sought the three Velda who had predicted his victories so long before. The search was long, but he finally was led to a fourth-ring alley, where he met the creatures again. As he approached the alley, brilliant lights of various colors flashed and chanting in strange tongues emanated from between the buildings. The voices hushed as he neared and the flashes ceased. Macbeth thought he heard, “Something wicked this way comes,” but knew that only he approached.

He walked into the alley behind them and they all turned. He demanded, “Answer all I ask!” He need not ask anything, they said; they knew what he wished to know.

The first, and closest of the three Velda, tossed some strange powder into the small fire before them, and he transformed into a man. Why was the face of that man familiar? It struck him. Macduff!—clad in vintage European armor, and armed with his trusty antique sword. The false Macduff announced, “Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff!” and the form quickly shrank back to the the odd Veldan form.

The second Velda, too, needed no query from the master. It tossed the same powder into the growing fire. It mutated into a bloody, new-born child with a still-attached and crimson umbilical cord. Having no voice, the Velda-infant sent the thoughts to Macbeth's mind, “Be bloody, bold and resolute! Laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.” This prophecy contradicted the first. Why should Macbeth fear the previous king's servant Macduff if he has to fear no man born of a woman?

The final Velda, unsurprisingly, soon threw his own powder to the crackling flame. It changed from the bizarre Veldan shape to a young man, holding a bleeding moon. “Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquished be until the dual moons bleed.”

All three prophecies answered questions for which Macbeth sought answers: and they all came with pleasing answers. He knew now to protect himself from Macduff, even though he was invincible to all but those not born by a mother. He also knew that the moons would never bleed, and therefore had nothing to fear, ever. However, being paranoid as he was, he was compelled to ensure his own safety.

In his small home built near the government's minor office in the bottom ring of Olympus, Jamien Macduff wept. Minutes before, a messenger had come bearing terrible news: his wife and son had been murdered in the top ring.

After calming himself and regaining his composure, Macduff met with his close friend and assistant Malcolm and discussed the tragedy and possible repercussions. Malcolm consoled his friend, and offered help. Suddenly, Macduff proposed an attack on upper rings of Olympus. Malcolm immediately agreed, knowing his friend's virtues and capacity to lead. The duo elected to go speak to Edward, de facto ruler of the lower rings, and seek permission to organize an army: an army to purge the evil that ruled upper rings, and to restore the Olympus's peace.

Macbeth Act III part ii

Despite having as much anger welled up inside them as they did, and despite the fact that Macbeth sent a third murderer to ensure that the deed was done, the murderers only succeeded in extinguishing Steeva. Steeva's son Fleance fled and found safety from the foolish murders in the darkness.

The celebratory feast was arranged to begin at twelve o'clock midnight on the anniversary of Macbeth's becoming president, not even an hour after the murderers' evil deed.

The feast began and an honored guest, Banquo, was no where to be found. The seat to the president's right was left unoccupied, as all sat in their seats, according to rank. Shortly after the meal began, and while the guests shared stories among themselves, one of the three murderers entered—blood speckling his face—and whispered into the master's ear. “Banquo is dispatched, but his son has 'scaped,” he said. Macbeth's face darkened, and his features sunk, as though suddenly infected with a deep depression. He sent the murderer away. The Lady informed Macbeth that he was definitely not helping entertain the guests with a look like that. Most of the guests were not accustomed to being at such a high-class dinner and had no preconceptions about their head of state. They soon formulated undesirable opinions of their president.

Macbeth ejaculated “Sweet remembrancer!” A man, bloodied and battered, sat at the right hand of President Macbeth. Pretending the corpse was not there, Macbeth expressed his faux regret at the disappearance of Banquo. “If only our friend Steeva Banquo were here to celebrate this wondrous feast!” In his hysteria, he forgot what he was pretending and complained, “But the table is full!” People were now thoroughly confused: one moment he announces a missing person and the next moment he proclaims the seat is full! One head of a department pointed to the newly-filled seat and informed the president of its vacancy. The occupant's bruised face turned to Macbeth, eyes staring where they had been staring. Shortly the hollow eyes followed the dead face. With a deep blank stare, looking beyond Jason, the eyes revealed the identity of this beaten body: Banquo. Macbeth would not believe that no one else saw the unbreathing body. “Which of you have done this?” he inquired. The air became thick. A crimson-covered hand raised and pointed its finger at Macbeth. All were nervous. None knew how to react to his bizarre behavior. “Don't point your mutilated finger at me! I did nothing!” The leader commanded the empty seat. All movement in the room ceased.

One commander suggested the congregation leave, due to the president's apparent illness.

“Sit!” Lady Macbeth ordered. She thought quickly and fabricated a history about the president's ailments. She explained to the group that he often acted thus and that if they left, they would offend him when he came to. She instructed them to eat and disregard his hysteria. She then turned from the guests, and tried discreetly to knock sense into her husband. “O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear. This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, would have made excellent wives' tales. Nothing you see is true! There is no one here.” Her hand passed through the body.

Calmed by her proof of the phantom's nonexistence, Macbeth relaxed some, and sat. Juliee, glad that she could calm him informed her husband, “You are frightening our guests.” Jason conferred with his wife for a moment and excused his symptoms as his wife had. “It is merely a strange infirmity, which is nothing to those that know me well,” he explained. Following his short speech, Macbeth again expressed his sadness that Banquo could not come.

But Banquo had come, as promised. And came again.

Macbeth tried to restrain himself, but was unable. He shouted at the phantom hysterically. “Why do you haunt me? You are dead!”

Seeing nothing of the ghost, the guests slowly filed out, hoping to be as unseen to Banquo as the phantom guest was to them. The fit lasted several minutes. Lady eventually convinced her husband to leave, and go off to bed.

Again, he did not sleep.

The following day, Macduff, whose seat at the previous night's feast was also empty, left Olympus's top ring, and visited the lower rings to meet with the small rebel government that had organized itself to keep order and provide for those the president ignored.. The president was so inadequate, that even the poor and uneducated arranged a more-successful government.

Macduff overheard two witnesses to the night before's madness speak. Macduff laughed at the tyrant's mental instability. So many, including the witnesses, had worked so hard to maintain order in their upper rings. Now, many figured it was all for naught and fled to the lower rings. From there, they could only pray that Macduff's leadership and the spreading stories of Macbeth's madness could inspire the lower ring's rulers to aid the higher society.

Macbeth, Act III part i

I know no one's reading this, but I thought I'd finish it up, so I'll keep posting until it's done.

III.

A year passed; Macbeth had changed, and Banquo knew it. Life on Olympus was different. No longer did everyone have the great freedoms to which they were once accustomed. Their new leader was not the kind man they once knew; no longer was he the man who had saved them from countless Lednarian attacks. He was a heartless fool. The stabilization computers were frequently out of commission, and he did little to help the people dying from lack of oxygen or excess atmospheric contaminants. People died of diseases left unchecked by the waste-management systems. No computer workers were half as skilled as the master Macbeth. Misery struck all: freedoms were revoked, disease and hunger were rampant. Macbeth no longer evenly distributed food, but instead sent much of it to the rich and powerful, while little was left to the poor. Olympus was falling.

During the previous year, President Jason Macbeth had not yet slept a full night's sleep and his state of mind—ever cautious and paranoid—showed it. He felt that even his best friend was preparing to rebel. Without their knowing it, Macbeth hired spies to keep track of his subordinates' activities and sectors. The spy in Banquo's offices retrieved and submitted a document that Banquo wrote one late night, similar to Macbeth's own distress-writing. The document said:

Thou hast it now: hero, leader, power, all, as the Velda promised, and I fear thou playedst most foully for it. Yet it was said that thou shalt not have any leaders after thee, but that succeeding presidents will be of my bloodline. As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine—their prophecies came to pass—may they not be my oracles as well and set me up in hope?

Macbeth, being the power-corrupt, paranoid man he had become, believed these writings implied that his dearest friend was planning a coup d'etat to claim the throne for his own family. But he had been left in charge of Olympus, the citizens voted for him as leader! All was rightfully his!

Macbeth made his own plans for Banquo.

The two friends met in the president's private office where Macbeth personally invited Banquo to the large banquet he was preparing as a celebration of the prosperous year. Banquo almost laughed at the concept of a “prosperous year” but knew better. Macbeth may have noticed the restrained chuckle, or simply changed his mind, but he elevated his invitation to an order. Whereafter, Banquo assured Macbeth that he would perform every order with exactness, and would attend the dinner, no matter the circumstances.

Banquo left the office, and, as he exited, met two gruff-looking men who appeared to be waiting for an opportunity to speak with the president. The three exchanged pleasantries and Banquo, noticing their poorly-hidden malice for him, excused himself to tend to his duties with exactness.

The unshaven and, poor-looking men entered the office and Macbeth greeted them with a question.

Macbeth skipped greetings, “Have you considered what I have told you? Do you realize that it was Steeva Banquo who has caused these misfortunes upon you and your families? The environmental and biological regulation systems are down, and he has done nothing. Have you realized that he is to blame for your troubles and you have been deceived and hurt by him?”

“You made it known to us.” The first man replied.

“Yes, I did. Are you ready to perform the necessary deeds to help all of us? Are you man enough to kill for your families?

“We are men, my liege.” The second answered, slightly offended.

“Banquo is both your enemy and mine, and you must cleanse Olympus of the taint that is the Banquo family name. I know that on this day of every week, the Steeva and his son sit in the third ring commons, where they are generally alone. They to speak with one another and have family time—used to plan a rebellion and the commoners' and Olympus's destruction. You must murder them then.”

They tried.

Macbeth, Act II part ii

Jamien Macduff, a head assistant to President Duncan, arrived early the next morning in Macbeth's sector of the station to awaken him, as per orders. The president had made it clear that he was to be awakened early if anything out of the ordinary occurred. The out-of-ordinary had occurred. Rumors spread like chickenpox concerning that fateful night. Some said gravity ceased to function in some sectors, which is absurd, considering that the station's gravity was supplied by centripetal force created by the station's spin. The gravity could not simply stop in portions of the wheel, could it? It did. Similarly, there could not have been animals' howls through the night—the only animals on Olympus were Human and Velda. Neither of which regularly howled. Reports of black birds of varying sizes flying around were submitted for review, as well. Several of the reports included detailed descriptions of the smaller birds violently attacking the larger ones and barbarically consuming them.
Macduff arrived at Sector C-6, and called through the intercom to Macbeth's room. Macbeth, awake, staring intensely at nothing with a dull look of utter emotionlessness, took several moments to notice the intercom's beeping. “Oh!” his eyes moved toward the panel, and his forefinger tapped Accept.
“Good morning,” came the voice of Macduff through the speaker—Macbeth mumbled a quiet sarcastic comment about the morning's lack of good, and the voice continued, “Is the president stirring, hero?”
“Not yet.”
“He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipped the hour.”
“I'll send you to him.” Macbeth lit the colored lights in the hallway, illuminating a path to Duncan's chamber.
Within a few infinitely long minutes came a panicked voice over the intercom; “O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee.”
Macbeth, knowing full-well what the matter was, inquired, “What's the matter?”
The beloved president had been murdered, and—with no functioning security cameras that night—there was no one available to blame for his death. The virus that had disabled the cameras was so well-written that Lednars were the only possible culprits. Macbeth had even thought to use an archival, slightly-altered, video and time-stamp it so that it appeared to have been taken the night of the murder. The video, along with a fabricated log, showed that some people mysteriously arrived and left in the dead of the night. He covered all his traces, and placed the blame on untraceable people. His plan was infallible. There was no doubt.

Macbeth Act II Part 1

II

The night came, and the station’s hallway lights were dim.

Banquo and his son Fleance often enjoyed sitting in the third-ring commons at night to speak with one another and simply enjoy each other’s company. Tonight was one of those nights. During their conversation about the nearby planet and its moons Banquo heard some footsteps—a peculiarity at this time of night. “Who’s there?” Banquo inquired, hand on his vintage, Earth-made sword. President Duncan had outlawed blasters due to the incredible reflectivity of the station’s smooth steel walls and the danger a stray laser blast presented to innocent bystanders.

“A friend,” Macbeth replied, returning from sabotaging the cameras.

“Ah! Great to see you! But why are you awake at this time? The president’s asleep, can’t you rest too?” He thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose you can't, since you are here.” Another pause. “I can’t stop thinking about those Velda.”

“I don’t think about them,” Macbeth lied.

Banquo was incredulous. “But that first prediction came true. Do you think there might be some truth to your possible presidency?”

“It’s impossible to tell, but I’m going to walk for a while. Let’s talk about the Velda another evening. Goodnight, Steeva. Fleance.” Jason bowed slightly to the pair.

Macbeth continued his troubled and awkward stroll through the corridors of the station. The Velda would not leave his mind, nor would the impending murder. Suddenly an ancient dagger appeared before him. Rubbing his eyes to clear them of some non-existent hindrance, Macbeth asked no one, “Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.” He reached, “I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Are you as intangible as you are visible? Are you merely A dagger of the mind, a false creation? I can feel you pulling me the way I was headed... and I was to use such a weapon—but why are my eyes fooling me? You are not here.” Macbeth’s eyes widened as blood developed on the blade “This is impossible! The bloody business must be inspiring my subconscious thus. I know you don’t exist! Be gone!” The time-bell rang a single time. The knife vanished.

Macbeth headed to Duncan’s room. Waiting outside the door for him was his wife, weeping and mumbling, “If only he didn’t look like my father. If only. If only.” Macbeth understood, grabbed the daggers from her hands, entered the small room, and proceeded to gruesomely stab his humble and gracious leader.

Macbeth exited, holding the daggers straight out, covered in gore, eyes wide open, and noticed his wife was no longer in the hallway. He ran to his and his wife’s room, arms stiff from shock in front of him. Voices without mouths echoed in the empty halls, chanting softly, “Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep.”

Juliee welcomed him with a scream of terror and surprise, “You still have the knives! Quickly! Throw them in the toilet; we’ll purge them into space!” In helping her husband with the disposal of the weapons, her hands soon were similarly filthy. “Fret not,” she assured him, “A little water clears us of this deed.” While washing their hands of the homicide, the clock bell malfunctioned for the first time in Macbeth's memory, and rang arrhythmically for several minutes, during which time the remorseful and tearful Macbeth wished the noise would wake Duncan and rid him of the murder on his conscience. Of course, Duncan would never wake again.

Macbeth Retold

I am thinking about starting to publish my Science fiction version of "Macbeth" here as a semi-regular series. I originally wrote this for my English Literature class during Junior year, but as I prepare it for online publication, I am performing lots and lots of edits and alterations. It is essentially the story of Shakespeare's "Macbeth" retold in a science-fiction space-station setting and with many variations and fun twists. It also includes several direct quotes from the original play. Here is just the first section of this almost 20-page story. If response is good, I will continue posting the remnants of this in little chunks at a time. Perhaps it will draw more traffic.

Macbeth

I.

Jason Macbeth, head of the computer and machinery maintenance crew on the space station Olympus groggily rolled out of bed. It had been a long night of investigating the station's seemingly random server crashes, and he’d only barely had an opportunity for a short nap. The night before, the Lednars had performed a large scale attack on Olympus's network with delayed-action viruses that started causing the computers to cannibalize their data at random intervals. Macbeth's incredible skills at finding roots of problems, however, saved the station from loss of healthy oxygen levels and loss of electricity, which could, in turn, skew the station's orbit and send the colony slingshot-style into deep space. Macbeth was head of maintenance for a reason: he knew his stuff. No malicious program could avoid his omniscient eye, no matter how well-written and hidden. As a testament to his skill, instead of merely eliminating the cannibal virus from Olympus's network, Macbeth—having found traces of from whence it had come—sent it back, hoping that the Lednars, unprepared for return fire, would suffer by it. He was sure the Lednars were still in the process of writing a vaccine (as it was proper to always have a vaccine for your own virus), expecting more time to develop it. Macbeth rose from the ground below his multi-mattress bed, sore from the fall and lack of sleep, and headed for the shower. After checking the time, he realized there was to be no shower that day. Macbeth thumbed the lock-pad, and the door opened.
“Good morning,” Steeva Banquo, Macbeth's best friend, greeted him.

“I know it's morning, but I don't think I would be inclined to call it good,” Macbeth retorted, still groggy.

“And I am inclined to believe the entire station would have to disagree with you! Look,” Banquo pointed to his hand-held screen. “Your face is going to be everywhere, once this is released to the public! You saved the station last night. And, you probably didn't know it, but you also found a traitor.”
“A what?” Macbeth asked. He would have continued the inquiry, had the three Velda not interrupted. The Velda are a peace-loving race, and kind. But, they are absurdly zealous in their religious convictions, and commoners believe them to be capable of prophesying forthcoming events for others, but never themselves. Velda are simple creatures, but a bizarre sight. The small species sport groups of eyes arranged neatly on their heads, and a trail of some viscous fluid which follows their path. The slug-like fluid contrasts with their small, soft, furry bodies of various shades of brown.

“Hail!” “Hail!” “Hail!” they each called in turn. “Hail the man who finds the snake sends him where he belongs,” the first continued.

“All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, bane of Cawdor!”

“All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!”

“What absurd prophecies do you have for me, little guys?” Banquo interrupted sarcastically.

“Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.”

“Not so happy, yet much happier.”

“Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!”

“Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!” The first Velda finished the group’s proclamations.

Chuckling at the silliness and intriguing language of the Velda, the two programmers meandered past the three Velda, and Banquo reminded Macbeth of their conversation with, “Keep reading the article.”

He read.

Macbeth had apparently discovered Thayne Cawdor—codenamed “Anaconda”—who had been leaking information to the Lednars. It was he to whom Macbeth had relayed the cannibalistic virus, expecting a Lednar victim. In sending the virus back to from whence it had come, Macbeth sent it to Anaconda, who soon filed a complaint to Maintenance about a malfunctioning computer. When they discovered what was wrong, the crew realized Cawdor's computer had contracted the same virus, though modified to act immediately, as the station's servers had contracted. Cawdor was the source of all Olympus's computers' grief. Policies on the Olympus are very strict, and treason is punishable by death. The Anaconda begged for forgiveness, and received none. There soon was no longer an Anaconda, and Macbeth became a hero.

How could the Velda have known that I had found “the snake?”

Macbeth asked his friend Banquo if the news he had on his screen was public knowledge. No, it was an article sent to Banquo before the formal unveiling to show Macbeth. Well, the Velda had predicted this accomplishment; could they have been right about his imminent kingship? Wait… King? They must mean president. Of course, the Velda have always been associated with the bizarre and prophetic, but could the rumors be true? Macbeth couldn't kill the president... could he?

Murderous thoughts rushed through his mind, but he dismissed them, knowing that he should just wait; if there is any truth to their prophecies, then the fates will play things out in their own due time.

But the thoughts would not leave him.

Shortly after arriving at the center of operations, Macbeth wrote an actual, tangible, letter (to prevent those he didn't want to read it from doing so) to his wife Juliee and had it taken to her in her sector of the maintenance department by his most trusted employee. In this letter—who writes letters anymore?—Juliee found perplexing writings of her confused husband. He explained how he was still exhausted from last night’s victory, and then explained the Veldan predictions and how they had miraculously known about the discovery of Anaconda (which was not yet public knowledge). Finally, he mentioned that the Velda had also told him he would be “king.” The possibility was inconceivable. Juliee thought to herself about the prophecies and knew Jason was too full of the milk of human kindness to perform the necessary tasks to fulfill the prophecies. She decided he must do everything in his power—nay, she will do all in her power to bring him to the top of the hierarchy. She was well aware that her husband was not man enough to perform the horrid deed, and that she was the only Macbeth with the will to kill.