“Ah, Montevideo. Uruguay.” He said this with the confidence of someone who felt that everyone else in the room knew he would have found the city without any help.
“That’s done, but it was a weird one.”
“Because…?”
Matt shook his feet as he walked closer to Irene and stared at the globe. “Because there are no people.”
Irene looked shocked. “Say that again.”
Matt pointed to the now-disappearing city of Montevideo and repeated, “There are no people. Usually there’s at least a small crowd in the distance watching me work. This time, nothing. After my work in the districts there I also went out a little into the countryside, which I did mostly by walking because I had to save my teleporting for the trip home.” He paused, then repeated, “There’s just no one there.”
Irene set the clipboard back on the table and walked over to Matt, who opened his arms to embrace her. With her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “Where do you think they went? Were there…bodies?”
Matt kissed the back of her head and rocked her gently. “No. No bodies. About the only thing I found alive was birds and stray dogs. Lots of stray dogs and seagulls along the shore.
“Do you think Orb…?”
“That would make sense,” he answered her question, “but they also could have used the portal without being forced to do it.”
Irene pressed her head against him and hugged him closer. “What do you mean? A mass suicide? Of everyone?”
Orb’s voice boomed over the small room. “It is not hard to find examples of mass suicides in the history of your planet. Many times, these events occurred when one population became subject to another, more advanced civilization–at least in terms of technology. Over 100,000 native inhabitants of Hispaniola took their own lives to avoid the sadistic oppression of Christopher Columbus, for example. Not one of the best examples of your species, that Mr. Columbus.”
Irene pushed away from Matt and looked to find Orb, who hovered in place in front of the globe. “Christopher Columbus–as in Columbus Day? Why would they have a holiday for someone who did the things you say?”
“To the victor go the spoils, and the ability to ensure the history books treat you kindly,” replied Orb.
Matt and Irene shared a look. Orb did not seem to feel that he too should be considered an oppressor, or perhaps Orb simply did not care.
“So, all of the people in Montevideo thought it was better to walk into a portal rather than continue to live under your new rules?” Matt asked and received an elbow in the ribs from Irene for his blunt question.
“Oh, no,” answered Orb, drawing a smile from Irene as she gained hope that the answer might be kinder than she had been led to believe. “I sent them all into the nearest portal when I became aware that Cube had recruited several members of their population.”
Irene’s jaw dropped, and it was Matt’s turn to nudge her.
Irene frowned. “They’re all dead?”
Orb chuckled. “Dead? Your society is obsessed with this idea. Your scientist Antoine Lavoisier was close to the mark when he said that ‘energy can neither be created nor destroyed; it can only change form.’ Your first rule of thermodynamics clarifies this rule by stating, correctly, that it applies only to a closed system. What you are failing to account for is the size of our closed system.”
Jenny suddenly appeared next to them, followed by Peter and Eli. Everyone began talking over one another, with Irene and Matt doing their best to catch up the others on current events, until Orb’s command of “silence” rang out in all their heads.
“Be still, Children. I will attempt to explain this in a way that you can understand but know that your brains, your thought processes, are not strong enough to appreciate many of the concepts.”
Peter looked over to Jenny, who looked angry. “I don’t appreciate being yanked here to join you with no notice. I could have been in the bathtub, or worse.”
Orb surged red and chuckled again. “My point exactly, Jenny. You have had months to adjust your minds to the reality that there is no shame in nudity or the cleansing of your bodies, nor is there any shame associated with expelling food and drink which has been digested. Look no further than our followers, who are now free to go about without clothing and are no longer concerned with the trappings with which they previously adorned themselves.”
“Most of your followers wear tunics,” Peter answered.
“Yes, most feel the tunic offers better protection against the sun, but I leave that choice to them.”
“You’re missing the point!” Irene yelled. “Orb had everyone in Montevideo enter a portal. They’re all dead and it doesn’t matter what they were wearing, or not wearing!”
Everyone stared at Irene. Peter, Jenny and Eli, who were teleported in by Orb after this was first revealed, were very confused.
“Isn’t that in South America?” Eli asked.
“Dead?” asked Jenny.
Peter was the only one of the Disciples not surprised by this news. Orb had been more subtle about it when Peter pushed to find out what happened to those who were banished, but, deep down, Peter already knew what was happening.
“How many people lived in Montevideo?” Peter asked.
“Roughly one point nine million,” replied Orb.
“You had one point nine million people march into a portal?” asked Eli, still trying to grasp what was being said.
“The portals unzip the molecules of what enters and place it elsewhere within the system. ‘Death’ as you perceive it is actually just mass and energy taking a new form.”
“And the souls of those who pass through the portals—where do they go?” asked Irene.
“This is another concept which is difficult for you to comprehend. Probably the easiest way to think about it is to say that your species became the apex predator of this planet not because of your use of tools, or fire, but because you achieved knowledge of your own mortality and did not let that hold you back. Unlike the other species of fauna on the planet, which fight, or flee, for survival, humans do the same while knowing that no matter what you do, no matter how fleet of foot or skilled with a spear, you will eventually die.”
“That’s grim,” muttered Matt.
“It is actually meant as a compliment. You could easily choose to look at the normal arc of your short life and decide that it’s not worth the effort as it’s over before it starts in terms of the cosmic clock.”
“Yes, but I don’t understand what that has to do with my soul,” Jenny replied. She still looked angry and this conversation did not appear to be helping. Eli edged over to her and put his arm around her, but she pushed it off and took a step closer to the image of Orb.
“I am sorry, my Child, as I believe the truths behind these concepts are beyond you.”
“Please try,” Jenny replied.
“Your consciousness is linked to your idea of reality as you know it in your present form. The building blocks of your form, like an old mattress which retains the indention of your body, develop a familiarity with your current form and, in most cases, retain a memory of how the blocks were assembled. As your form, your mass, comes from our closed system it has changed thousands, millions of times. New components join the old but there is always a continuity of components as one form gives away to another. This is the source of what you call deja vu. It’s also bursts of clarity where you understand things about a person from the past that were known only to that consciousness.”
Jenny nodded. “I believe I understand. And our closed system is…?”
“The entire universe, yes, though the majority of the material which enters a portal on this planet will stay here as part of a new form unless it is needed elsewhere.”
She paused, looked at the others, and then returned to look at Orb. “So, there is no such thing as a soul. Malcolm said we had a soul.”
“Malcolm spoke truthfully but struggled with the limitations of your language and cognitive
capacity. It is as I’ve described it, but you must understand that your society came up with your concept of a soul as a coping mechanism—a way to numb the pain caused by your knowledge of your own mortality. You will require time and reflection before your brain will stop resisting efforts to revisit this idea.
Eli waded back into the debate. “So, you have no guilt over the fact that you’ve compelled thousands of people to enter the portals because, the way you look at it, they’re only moving to a different form?”
“Yes, Eli, that’s correct—though I do not experience guilt, which is another emotion unique to your society and a few others I’ve come across. I should also point out that I very much want those who cannot serve in a useful function to enter a portal and move on. Your species is similar to what you call locusts in that you invade a space and then devour its resources. We’ve made progress but still need to reach a global population level roughly six billion less than current figures.”
“But don’t you want, even need some portion of our population to serve you?” Peter asked.
“To worship you,” muttered Eli. “And we have a term for someone that feels no emotion, including guilt. We call them sociopaths.”
“You are both correct. I calculate that a worldwide population of 500 million will be more than sufficient. I’m surprised you haven’t already noticed the population declines in the areas you have visited.”
Jenny looked to Irene, then Peter. “None of us, besides Peter, have a reason to go back to the same site unless it’s one of the major cities which has miles and miles of districts.
The others nodded in agreement, and Peter added, “I did notice that the meetings were smaller, but I thought some people just decided to stay away if they weren’t interested in a change in constable.”
“When called, meeting attendance is mandatory for all those in a district. I compel those who do not attend to the nearest portal. The number of requests for constable meetings will continue to decline with the reduction in population. People will slowly figure out that a new constable will grow to be just as corrupt as the old, and lose interest in trying to enforce fairness so that they can concentrate on work, and worship of me.”
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” said Peter.
“Yes, your Lord Acton was definitely correct on that front.”
I wonder if Orb thinks I was speaking about the constables, or him, thought Peter.
“So, you don’t care if the constables are corrupt?” Matt asked, trying to catch up.
“Over the next few hundred years that role will be phased out. It’s of no long-term consequence.”
“And if there are constables who are stealing supplies, acting against you?” Eli asked.
“That is typical behavior for your species. Indeed, it is likely that one or more of you, my Disciples, will attempt to act against me at some point. It is normal, and part of The Game.”
The stomachs of all the Disciples dropped. All of them looked at the ground, afraid to speak.
Orb then completely changed the mood, and further confused his audience, by saying, “All of you have done such good work with so little time off and with almost no guidance from me. It’s probably time for me to reward you with a small break. Even Disciples need to rest now and then.”
They watched as the image of Orb faded and they were again staring at the floating sphere that was Earth. This time, however, the Earth was free of red marks indicating trouble spots. Irene grabbed the clipboard she had been using and ran her finger down the list of locations.
“They’re gone. All the spots are gone,” said Irene as she compared her list to the blemish-free image of the Earth.
“Yes,” agreed the voice of Orb, “population centers where a complaint existed have been compelled elsewhere, and I will handle the projects in process. You should all be able to rest easy for at least the next twenty hours.”
Irene laid the clipboard back down on the table. “And by compelled elsewhere, Orb, you mean you sent them all to a portal?”
“Yes. We’re now 400 million closer to our goal.”
Irene looked at Matt, horrified.
“You just killed 400 million people?” asked Irene.
“No, though I’m sure Eli will characterize my act as typical for a sociopath. You must be particularly tired, Irene, as I thought we covered this point in sufficient detail.”
Matt lowered his gaze to the carpet, as did everyone except Peter, who continued to stare at the slowly revolving image of the Earth.
“Go forth and enjoy yourselves, Children. You can resume your duties at this time tomorrow.”
Eli looked around the gloomy interior of the bank but saw nothing other than his small group of friends. Tears ran down Irene’s face. Matt clenched and unclenched his fists. Peter let out a loud sigh and turned back to meet Eli’s gaze.
“You think he’s gone?” asked Eli.
Peter threw up his hands and started walking towards the front door. As he walked, he called back over his shoulder, “Is he ever really gone?”
CHAPTER TEN
The Joyless Vacation
Peter sat on the curb of the stone-lined sidewalk next to the worn, cobblestone streets of Real de Catorce. Across from Peter sat the church he had visited what seemed like an eternity ago. The church where he met Bartholomew. The church where he learned more troubling things about Orb and the larger game being played in which he and the entire population of the planet were just pawns moved around a board they could not see and likely could not understand.
He stretched his jean-clad legs into the empty street and stared at the dry dirt between the rough pieces of cobblestone. The dirt and dust in this arid place had been compacted into the gaps over hundreds of years and now looked more like concrete. He stared past his feet at the smooth grooves worn into the cobblestone by the wagons which had once busily paced these streets, when the lure of gold had called out to men from all over Mexico who sought to make their fortune.
Money. Considering what Peter now understood about the larger universe and his insignificant, temporary role in it (at least in this form) the pursuit of wealth seemed all that much more ridiculous.
He picked at a pebble stuck in the crack of the rectangular cut stone beneath him, moving it back and forth to free it from its perch. After a minute, and with the loss of the corner of the fingernail from his index finger, he freed the pebble, hefted it briefly in his palm, and then tossed it into the street where it clattered among the cobblestones before coming to rest. He put his wounded finger in the corner of his mouth and sucked at the blood leaking out from beneath his fingernail.
“I thought you might be here,” said Eli after he appeared on the right side of Peter.
“Great minds and all,” said Jenny as she walked a couple of steps closer and sat on the curb to Peter’s left.
Eli opened his mouth, but Peter shook his head and pointed to the church. Peter got up, rubbed his posterior a bit to knock off the dust and get the blood-flow back, and walked across the street. Jenny and Eli fell in behind him and in short order they all stared at the closed wooden door of the church. The door looked formidable in the dying light of dusk, and curious as its exterior was now covered in a number of different knobs and knockers of different styles and vintages. Peter wondered what would happen if he turned one of these new knobs or used a different knocker. Ultimately, the knocker made of a ring of wrought iron, the one he had used before, taunted Peter to lift it up and let it fall to summon Bartholomew—if he still resided in the church.
Eli, who had never entered the church, reached up to lift the iron ring and let it fall back heavily against the door. They listened as the thunk of the impact echoed inside the cavernous old building.
Jenny squeezed Eli’s hand and he squeezed back as they stared at the door awaiting a response. After several moments with nothing to show for it, Peter shrugged and reached up to again grab the ring. As he did, the door opened. With a quietness that did no
t fit the look of the ancient, slightly rusty hinges, the door opened smoothly, fully. Just as it had during their prior visit, it revealed nothing but darkness.
“Bartholomew?” Peter asked of the darkness. There was no response.
“This is ridiculous,” muttered Eli impatiently as he pushed past Peter and dragged the reluctant Jenny along with him. “Who is all of this drama for? We’re the only ones here.”
Jenny shot Peter a worried look as she disappeared into the darkness. Peter sucked at his front teeth for a moment, then followed.
Peter was not surprised to hear the door slam behind them, but jumped a little when Eli screamed.
“What did you say this guy’s name is—Bartolome?” Eli asked from the darkness.
“You’ve got a real flair for the dramatic, Bartolome!” Eli yelled.
Peter looked around the dark space, wondering for the first time why no light penetrated the stained-glass windows he had clearly seen from the outside, when a flame appeared to his left. Just like the first, and only time he and Jenny had been inside the church, the flame slowly lifted to reveal a large, gray mustache which was pulled into neat points on either side of a face that had previously belonged to an old man with a pronounced twinkle in his eye.
“My name, Master Eli, is Bartholomew,” he replied.
Bartholomew turned away from them and the light was obscured by his body as he walked farther into the church. “You are right, of course, it is all a bit overly dramatic.”
As he moved, other lights, which as the teenagers’ eyes adjusted proved to be candles, provided enough illumination for them to make out the heavy, wooden pews before them. Peter squinted in the dim light at Bartholomew. There was something odd about him. Well, odder than usual.
Bartholomew turned back to them, tugged at the right point of his mustache with his free hand, adjusted his long skirt over his crossed legs, and sat on the arm of one of the pews. He delicately balanced his candle holder along the flat top of the pew, and then gestured for them to sit.
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