God was the world, the world was a wheel, and the wheel was Gaea.
Gaea was not a jealous God.
No one had to worship her, and it never occurred to anyone to do so. She demanded no
sacrifices, no temples, no choirs singing her praises.
Gaea basked in the heady energies to be found near Saturn. She had sisters scattered through
the galaxy. They too were Gods, but the distance between them enforced Gaea's theology. Her
conversations with them spread over centuries at the speed of light. She had children orbiting
Uranus. They were Gods to those living inside them, but they hardly mattered. Gaea was the Supreme
Titan, the Fairest of the Fair.
Gaea was not a distant concept to her inhabitants. She could be seen. One could talk to her.
To reach her, all one had to do was climb 600 kilometers. It was a formidable trip, but an
imaginable distance. It put heaven within reach of those daring enough to make the climb. She
averaged one visitor in a thousand years.
Praying to Gaea was useless. She did not have the time to listen to all those within her, and
would not have done so if she could. She would speak only to heroes. She was a God of blood and
sinew whose bones were the land, a God with massive hearts and cavernous arteries who nourished
her people with her own milk. The milk was not sweet, but there was always enough of it.
* * *
When the pyramids were being built on Earth, Gaea became aware of changes going on within
her. Her center of consciousness was located in her hub. And yet, in the manner of earthly
dinosaurs, her brain was decentralized to provide local autonomy for the more prosaic of her
functions. The arrangement kept Gaea from being swamped with detail. It worked very well for a
very long time. Around her mighty rim were spaced twelve satellite brains, each responsible for
its own region. All acknowledged Gaea's suzerainty; indeed, at first it was hardly proper to speak
of her vassal brains as separate from herself
Time was her enemy. She was intimately acquainted with death, knew its every process and
stratagem. She did not fear it. There had been a time when she did not exist, and she knew another
such time would arrive. It divided eternity, neatly, into three equal parts.
She knew Titans were subject to senility-she had listened as three of her sisters degenerated
into ravings and fantasy, then fell silent forever. But she could not know how her own aging body
would play her false. No human suddenly throttled by her own hands could have been more surprised
than Gaea when her provincial brains began to resist her will.
Three million years of supremacy had ill-prepared Gaea for the arts of compromise. Perhaps
she could have lived in peace with her satellite brains had she been willing to listen to their
grievances. On the other hand, two of her regions were insane, and another so darkly malevolent
that he might as well have been. For a hundred years the great wheel of Gaea vibrated with the
stresses of war. Those epic battles came close to destroying her and resulted in huge loss of life
among her peoples, who were as helpless as any Hindu before the Gods of Vedic myth.
No titanic figures strode the curve of Gaea's wheel, throwing thunderbolts and mountains. The
Gods in this struggle were the lands themselves. Reason vanished as the ground opened and fires
fell from the spokes. Civilizations a hundred thousand years old were swept away without trace,
and others fell into savagery.
Gaea's twelve regions were too headstrong, too unreliable to unite against her. Her most
faithful ally was the land of Hyperion; her implacable enemy, Oceanus. They were adjacent
territories. Both were devastated before the war became an armed truce.
But revolt and war were not to be enough disgrace for an elderly God; elsewhere worse
disaster approached. In the wink of an eye the airwaves were flooded with the most astonishing
noises. At first she thought it was a new symptom of encroaching dotage. Surely she had invented
these impossible voices from space with names like Lowell Thomas, Fred Allen, and the Cisco Kid.
But she eventually caught on to the trick. She became an avid listener. Had there been mail
service to Earth she would have sent in Ovaltine labels for magic decoder rings. She loved Fibber
McGee and was a faithful fan of Amos and Andy.
Television hit her as hard as talkies had stunned audiences in the late 1920's. As in the
early days of radio, for many years most television was of American origin, and it was these
programs she liked best. She followed the exploits of Lucy and Ricky and had all the answers to
The $64,000 Question, which she was scandalized to discover was rigged. She watched everything,
something she suspected not even the producers of many of the shows did.
There were movies and there was news. In the electronic explosion of the eighties and
nineties there was much more as entire libraries were transmitted. But by that time her studies of
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