Zach and Jorden intercept Simon for a debriefing. “Did you ask him?”
“What did Sacro say?”
Simon halts their bombardment of questions with a simple raise of his eyebrows. “He said they’re preparing for the final ritual. The big one.”
Jorden backhands her brother in the shoulder. “I told you I heard them! What else?”
“Did you ask him about the Guardians?” Simon smiles at the new round of questions. He can see the anticipation in their eyes and is loving every second of it.
“He didn’t want to get into specifics with me but apparently everything is running like clockwork. And… He said the two brothers are ready.” This knocks the wind out of these siblings. Wide eyed and jaw dropped, Zach asks carefully, “So this is really happening?”
“As it was written,” replies his sister.
“I have to go. I promised him breakfast. But when I get back I’ll show you a new way I found to sneak into the cloning facility.” This is too much information for the twins to process. Simon leaves them where they stand and dashes back to the Central Control Room.
Simon bursts into the room with the elder’s food, skidding to a slow walk. Sacro is sitting back in his chair, resting an elbow on his armrest with his palm raised. Hovering six inches above his hand is a pen, rotating slowly in the air. Simon slowly puts down the tray keeping his eye on the pen the whole time. The pen begins to spin faster and faster till it is just a blur. With a subtle flick of Sacro’s wrist the pen shoots through the air towards Simon. He raises his hand and focuses his energy but the pen flies past and hits him in the chest.
Damn. Disappointed in himself, he bends over and picks up the pen as Sacro wipes a drop of blood from his nose--a side effect of using telekinesis.
“Seems you have not been doing the exercises I have set for you.” Simon hangs his head in shame. “Tell me, do you think your destiny has been written and you are just following its path?”
With his head still lowered Simon nods, “Yes father.”
“That passage is not a precursor to life, it’s a hindsight. There are an infinite number of ways your destiny can play out. If you practice the arts, you get to choose the path you take. We aim to free ourselves from the constraints of natural law. Becoming in tune with the universe allows one to control which of the infinite universes we exist in. So should you not want to train in the arts then make that choice, but you’ll have to own it.”
Simon hands Sacro the tray and he stares at the food, then looks back at Simon for an explanation.
“I sensed that’s what you wanted.”
Sacro is pleased that his student is excelling in other areas and starts to peel a tangerine. “Good.” There is a long pause that would have been awkward had Simon not been so accustomed to it.
“Instead of you sneaking into the cloning facility tonight, why don’t I introduce you to the brothers?”
Simon’s plan has worked. A front row seat. It took him a moment before he is composed enough to answer. “Really? Now?”
“No, when I’m finished here. I’ll send for you when I’m ready. You can go now.” Sacro swivels his chair to face this terminal and returns to his work. Simon will figuratively explode if he doesn’t share this news with his friends, and he sprints out the door. Elder Desdom shoots Sacro a disapproving look before returning back to his work. Sacro fails to hide his smile.
Simon has reached top speed and he is barely even out of the door when he collides with a group of three aging women. Losing his footing he crashes into a wall and splits his head open badly. The three, Nina, Decia and Marta, don’t even flinch. Instead they watch as the injured child gets to his feet. Simon waits impatiently, tapping his foot and mumbling to himself, “Come on, come on,” as if having a gaping head wound is a mere inconvenience. The bleeding stops immediately and the laceration begins to heal. Coursing through his veins, millions of tiny building machines working at the molecular level have engaged and are repairing the damaged tissue. In under one minute the only evidence of an incident is the hole in the wall. Simon sheepishly looks up at the three women. “Sorry for running into you.”
When Simon recognises who they are he nearly wets himself. Today is like all of his Thubaneve’s at once. “Are you three, the three…”
“Stooges?”
“Amigos?”
“The Moirai, yes.” Marta turns to her two comrades, “He’s not going to know those references.”
“You’re here?” Simon couldn’t think of what to say--it has been a big day already, and it was hard to read them. Or maybe it was the concussive blow he just received.
Marta ends the awkwardness. “Now run along.”
“At a walking pace, please,” corrects Nina. Simon complies and dashes down the corridor, the three observing him as he runs out of sight.
Nina on occasion enjoys a debate, and likes to target Decia. “Devil’s advocate. Go.”
Decia bites. “Okay. He’ll never know what it’s like to
heal traditionally; cleaning the cut, the stinging of antiseptic, the itch of a scab, the reminder from the scar.”
“None of those seem terribly appealing. That’s a good thing for humanity don’t you think?”
“No. A natural function that’s hard wired into our DNA is there for a purpose. The synaptic pathways that are connected to watching where you are running due to of fear of injury are meant to grow and strengthen as a result of these experiences of injury and recovery. This improves motor function, balance, reflexes. As a result of this technology, this boy’s brain is creating a deficiency in areas of synaptic growth necessary for proper development. And he will repeatedly be running into things.”
“Surely immunity from sickness and injury trump a slight increase of bumps and bruises. Logic and self-preservation are still evident within the population.”
“Yes, but he’ll never truly appreciate the fragility of life, of any lifeform. Also, what is normal for him is artificial and can be switched off in an instant; then what tools will he have to cope with the real world? The trouble is that now the human experience is an ever-receding pocket of scientific development, coupled with a crippling set of religious principles and practices. What chance of a normal life do these kids have?”
Marta has had enough. After all, she is the creator of the technology Decia was criticising. She interjects: “They will be gods.”
CHAPTER II
The Moirai - Nina
Decades ago
Lying on a gurney in the centre of a small laboratory, seven feet tall with grey skin and disproportioned though human features, was a prototype, a Frankenstein, created through genetic engineering and DNA resequencing. A sequence written thousands of years ago. One that, up until now, had been locked inside an equation written by the unknown master.
Hooked up to a life support system, every so often its chest would rise slightly to take in air. Nina has spun the thread of life, but it was only alive due to a technicality--state of the art technology.
Observing the creature through a two-way mirror was Elder Sacro (still looking just as old) and Nina (forty years younger). Both were trying to hide their disappointment. Marta was lying back on a couch reading a book while Decia played on an antique looking computer. “Tell me again why we aren’t just genetically altering readymade people?” Decia made a good point.
Marta doesn’t even look up from her book to reply, “Because to reach the specifications required meant pushing people to the point where they would go mad, sorry, suffer psychotic episodes, kill everyone and die.”
Decia was shocked, she’d never heard that. “I never heard that. That’s not something I’d forget.”
Nina dismissed her colleagues’ comments to continue her frustration with her creation. “Why is it not alive? Technically it is alive but there is zero brain activity. As soon as we switch off the life support the body dies.”
“The answer is simple. Only a god can create life.”
&nbs
p; This is our lab, not your church. “My parents were not gods, yet here I am.”
Marta lowered her book for the first time in hours and looked up, finally taking some interest in the conversation.
Sacro switched his tune from secular to scientific, hoping to appease. “Existing in an isolated system, energy cannot be created or destroyed.”
We’re familiar with the first law of thermodynamics.
Sacro continued, “You, me, and every other human alive and dead are simply different manifestations of the same thing. These sculptures already possess the allocated energy the system can offer, but it is not enough to make them rise. Not enough to give them a soul.”
Decia was quick to reply, “So to create life, we need to find a source of energy that exists outside of this isolated system; outside of the universe in which we reside. I’m all for the multiverse theory, but I’m not sure how you propose we continue.”
“There is another plain of existence we can access, a place where energy often comes and goes. The life force you need is attainable, though not from another universe.”
There was silence in the room as the three waited in anticipation.
Marta broke first. “By all means keep this information to yourself.”
“The souls you need to power your army will not be found on any Earth, but from Hell.” This was not something the three expected to hear. They were women of faith and science, but were able to differentiate the two.
“Ah… see, a few problems spring to mind.” Nina was about to get on a roll when Sacro interrupted quickly as to not to get stuck in another long episode of lists and opinions.
“I understand you may have some reservations…”
Nina hadn’t finished. “Scientifically, spiritually, ethically, you’re absolutely right I have reservations. This absolutely compromises the work I have done and the job we need them to do.”
“Once Mother is online and the brothers are resurrected, enough safeguards will be in place to ensure positive results. This is the path.” Sacro was still the boss.
Nina was not completely letting it go. “If I find another way we’ll revisit this conversation.”
“No.” The air went still. Sacro was very rarely this blunt and direct. His expression had changed, his darkness revealed: only for a moment, but enough to drop the three down a peg. Sacro held up a copy of the Book of Light and showed it to Decia. “We have not wavered from the path once. Your work has not reached a dead end, your part of the prophecy is nearly resolved. It is up to your colleagues now.”
Marta and Decia looked to each other. Marta decided to answer for the two. “We’re all good. It’s up to your satanic rituals now.”
Days later
The body of the Guardian remained still, but the laboratory was alive with monks running around preparing for a ritual. Smoke from the burning sticks of incense and candles was heavy the air. In the observation lounge, safely behind the mirror, the three watched on with eager eyes. One-part excited anticipation, one-part train wreck. Marta thought the candles seemed clichéd but not being an expert on the occult she held back any comment. Sacro entered the room and pushed the door shut with a gentle click. He depressed on the P.A. button so the monks in the lab could hear, “This is Elder Sacro, can you hear me?” One of the monks looks up and nods. “Is everyone ready?”
Decia checked her computer as a monk checked a small handheld scanner. They gave each other the thumbs-up and waited for the Elder’s next order.
“Continue.”
Two monks began to chant in an ancient and evocative language, while a third monk commenced injecting the nanotech in the Guardian’s body. Sacro broke the silence with an old-mansplain.
“This creature heralds the birth of our soldiers, peace keepers, and guardians. There are now tens of millions of self-replicating microscopic engineers coursing through its veins. The nanotech is coordinated and efficient, it can remedy any injury, chemical imbalance, even signs of aging. It will also administer punishment, the severity of which is determined by the crime or intention of such crime.” A monk is injecting a microscopic computer chip into its right hand and into the brain through the forehead. “The Atom Chip controls the nanotech and relays all diagnostic information to the primary processor. After measuring and calculating the data, it relays the appropriate course of action; medical procedure, punishment…”
It will know, diagnose and record our thoughts. Decia was a believer, a true follower, but she now had to face walking-the-walk.
“Once the soul has possessed the body and been born-again, we can detect the specific bio-electric signature unique to that individual and register their Atom Chip in the network. Then we retain full control.”
That’s a comfort. The Guardians were strong, and Nina knew it. Being the author of their DNA, she would.
They watched as the monks performed the satanic ritual. Energy built up all around them, and the lighter hairs on their heads were beginning to rise when all of a sudden the lights flickered and died. If not for the candles it would have been pitch black. The chanting got louder and the ground started to shake. Cliché.
“We’ve lost life support.” Decia’s computer was totally unresponsive as it slowly bounced atop her desk.
“Is this supposed to happen?” Nina had to yell through the rumble of low frequencies. Her fight or flight response had engaged.
“…Raaaaa-Heeeeee.” The monks finished the ritual. The room was still and quiet. Even though the tremors only went for ten seconds, it had felt like minutes. For Decia, dealing with waiting and anticipation while fighting the kick of adrenaline made this an extremely difficult exercise in restraint. She looked back down at her computer and realised it was still out of action. The implications would be dire. Knowing the exact location of a spare computer, she sprinted out of the room to retrieve it. Without a working computer the demonic spirit they conjured was off leash, in a body frighteningly powerful.
The Guardian began to move, at first just a finger. The two closest monks took a step back as the one with the Atom chip scanner stepped forward. He gave it a shake and a few taps but it too was not operational. The desperate monk looked towards the mirror hoping his plea will be seen before the creature awoke. Too late. The Guardian erupted from its bed like a man possessed, manically speaking in German.
“If it’s not bad enough you’re using demonic spirits, you managed to grab a Nazi.” Marta’s joke fell on deaf ears. “What were you saying about registering them first?”
Sacro was unamused. Scared even; not that he was going to let them see it. This was his idea and there was too much at stake for this to fail. Ignoring Marta, he tried to use the internal P.A. system but it was also down. Nina started to see a pattern and checked her watch to see that it was also non-operational.
Damn.
Decia made it to the neighbouring room and was relieved beyond measure to find it still had power.
Whatever happened didn’t reach this far. Decia threw herself inside, grabbed the nearest computer and yanked it from the desk. As she rushed back the power cable popped out of the wall and whipped wildly behind her like a lifeless tail, belting into the partitions and doorways.
As she approached the observation room she saw Marta and Nina back away from the glass in a state of shock and fear. Decia entered the room in time to witness the Guardian tearing off the head from the last surviving monk. Their twisted and dismembered bodies, their faces frozen in anguish and pain: they must have died horrifically. Blood was running down the dividing mirror while the Guardian stood triumphant in the middle of a massacre. What the fuck did I miss?
Decia plugged the computer in and waited as patiently as she could while it rebooted. If they thought the tremor felt long, this was an eternity. By the grace of Thuban the Guardian was stationary, meditating. She pulled out a scanner from the side of the new computer and turned it on. A second later a little flashing green light indicated that it was operational. Decia held the scann
er up for a volunteer to operate, but she was left hanging. No one dared attempt entering the room while the Guardian was still unleashed. “I’m going to need somebody to take it. My post is here and I can’t do both.”
Nina and Marta would not move, so Sacro took the device and slowly walked towards the mirror. The Guardian was breathing heavily; real air for the first time in a while. It looked up towards the mirror and something caught its eye.
Can it see us? It looked as though the Guardian was looking through the mirror, and it slowly approached, matching Sacro step for step. Sacro raised his left hand and pressed it on the glass. The Guardian mirrored him and the two hands met, separated only by the mirror.
They’re communicating. Sacro was calm, his eyes were closed and the two began breathing in tandem. Nina and Marta were frozen still; scared to break the cease-fire now established, scared to look away and miss what their collective work had produced.
“Ding.” For these four, it was the best sound in the world. The computer had booted up and connected to the main frame. The scanner in Sacro’s free hand began to flash. If there was ever going to be a time to use it, this was the time. Sacro slowly raised the scanner and held it over the glass where the Guardian’s hand was pressed. The same hand that was only just injected with an Atom Chip. The scanner quickly ran through its process and within seconds the Guardian was registered and in the system. Unfortunately, this has disturbed the peace and the Guardian recoiled as if betrayed, frowned for a second, and then punched the glass, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The four had been sprung. Their cowering look of guilt would have been funny if the Guardian had a sense of humour. It didn’t, and targeted Nina first. It focused its thoughts harnessed its telekinesis, creating an invisible force that slowly pulled her towards the broken glass.
Titus Page 3
