The Prophet: Life: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by David Beers

  Spending a life underground, she hadn’t realized everything she’d missed. She hadn’t left to convert people like Rhett and Christine, but remained close to David.

  Always.

  It’s coming to an end, she thought, and the knowledge weighed on her with such force that she thought it might crush her very soul. He won’t make it out of this, and you won’t either for that matter.

  She had no one in this world she could share such a thing with, not anymore.

  Rebecca knew it had to end, though. For years she’d been plotting how to bring David down, a traitor long before he had any idea. This woman they were going to find, Rebecca didn’t know what role she might play, but she seemed opposed to David’s rise, and Rebecca had to count that as a good thing.

  In the beginning, when she first understood that David had to be stopped, she’d almost walked up to him and slit his throat with a knife. Thought about simply sneaking up on him and running a knife across his Adam’s apple, because the other options seemed far too hard. Sitting next to her brother, following his orders, being in his confidence—and all while working against him. Not just against his goals, but against his very life … because David had to die.

  She didn’t try killing him, though, because she would have failed.

  Rebecca felt his death so necessary, that she gave up her soul to accomplish it.

  She slept next to him, broke bread with him, and advised him. She smiled with him, cried in front of him, and relived their past through conversation in ways only they could. She’d done it all, and then she’d brought the Prevention Division to his compound.

  All those lives, gone, she thought in the transport’s stillness.

  Would they be added to her soul’s tab when judgment came down? Rebecca thought so. Deaths would need to be paid for, and Rebecca believed she was the one holding the bill.

  She wasn’t worried about David discovering it was her, at least not yet. Ten years ago, Rebecca realized that David had to die, and she’d spent the next half decade tooling with her nanotech so that it could help mask much of what his blood could see. It took a long time to perfect it, and she knew the magic was fading now. The nanotech took almost daily fine tuning to ensure it kept working, and she hadn’t done anything with it in days. Even with the fine tuning, David would eventually break through—she had no doubt about that.

  This woman they were chasing may be powerful, but Rebecca knew her brother better than anyone in this world. If he wanted her dead, then she would die. If the Unformed wanted her dead, then David would make it so.

  Yet, this presented an opportunity (and how Rebecca hated that word) to kill him. From everything Rebecca could tell, opportunities of that nature were growing fewer and fewer. This woman though, and whatever powers she possessed, Rebecca could use them.

  She sighed gently.

  What would their parents think, if they could see into her head? Rebecca couldn’t sit with that question, though. It was too painful. They’d think the same thing she did: Rebecca was evil. She was cold and calculating and perhaps even wrong.

  Rebecca wouldn’t stay with the question, because the answers that came back brought only pain.

  And her course wasn’t going to change, no matter the pain—so it was best to ignore such things.

  Rebecca rolled over on her side. She wanted to try and sleep, but didn’t know if she should. Sleep meant she wouldn’t have to consider what was coming—the end. She wouldn’t have to think about killing her brother.

  Message received.

  Rebecca opened her eyes, seeing darkness still hanging from the outside sky. She blinked a few times, trying to remember when she’d fallen asleep.

  Urgent.

  Her nanotech knew she was sleeping, but had still delivered the notification.

  Rebecca looked over her shoulder and saw only David’s back. He was lying on his side, his body moving up and down slowly with his breath.

  The message was Rhett, had to be. Maybe Christine, but no one besides those two would send her something right now.

  Show me, she told her nanotech. No visual.

  Rebecca Hollowborne?

  The voice was neither Rhett’s nor Christine’s. It was someone Rebecca had never met, and a cold fear grew deep inside Rebecca’s chest.

  My name is Raylyn Brinson. I’m the Director that you brought to the compound. I’m with the Prevention Division, or I was. I’m not really sure if it exists anymore, given everything that’s happened.

  How? How could this woman possibly know who Rebecca was? David didn’t even know. Rebecca had masked everything, diligently spending hours each day ensuring the coding was correct.

  No. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t real.

  The words continued, though, the message rolling on.

  You’re alive and I have to assume that your thoughts haven’t changed. I was shocked to find out the weapon is your brother, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. The world is dying and you’re our best hope, I think. We have to stop him, and I promise, this time I will listen to you.

  There was a brief pause.

  You have my nanoID now. When you get this, make contact. Please. The world needs you, Rebecca, and not just the True Faith. Humanity needs you.

  The message ended and Rebecca lay on her side with wide open eyes. She didn’t move an inch, terrified that David might already know. Perhaps he’d heard it at the exact same time she did, his power fully returned.

  Her ears strained as she listened for any sign that he might be awake. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder again, fearing that he would already be looking at her, his eyes burning gray.

  She heard nothing but the muffled wind moving over the transport’s exterior.

  The same question kept rolling through her mind. How is it possible?

  Rebecca thought quickly, fiercely, and the only thing she could come to was they’d broken their own rules. They had somehow gotten everyone’s nanoID at the compound, used that to find their nanotech code, then reverse engineered it.

  For anyone living in the True Faith, including a nonbeliever like Rebecca, it was unthinkable.

  But isn’t it just as unthinkable that the Prophet’s sister would be committed to killing him?

  The answer was swift and its judgment severe. Rebecca had sold her soul to kill her brother; would the True Faith not do the same?

  She supposed it didn’t matter how they accomplished it. The message had been received and Rebecca couldn’t deny anything. Not a word of it.

  The only question she had to answer now was, did she speak with this woman, or did she ignore it?

  If you ignore it, she’ll return. She’ll send another message, and another, and another. She’ll keep coming until you do answer her, because if not, she knows David is going to kill her. And next time she messages, will David be asleep? Or will he be standing next to you, the Unformed telling him exactly what is happening inside your head?

  Rebecca either answered now, right this instant while David slept on the other side of the transport, or she risked dying the next time the woman tried connecting.

  The world needs you, Rebecca, not just the True Faith.

  That’s what the message said.

  That was true, only the world was just now recognizing it—and perhaps too late.

  “We know where he's going,” the First Priest said.

  The High Priest was alone, as he always was. He looked at the wall in front of him, though green pixels were recreating the First Priest on his right. The First could see the High’s profile, though the High didn't care about his appearance.

  “That is great news, my friend. Where is he going?”

  “He’s chasing the woman; we think to the One Path.”

  “And now, my First Priest, you know my location as well. The woman is coming to me.”

  “Yes, your Holiness,” the First said.

  The High said nothing, only stared forward, letting the silence between the two of them st
retch out without really recognizing it.

  Finally, as if the High Priest remembered someone was waiting on him, he said, “What do you plan to do?”

  “That is why I’m here, Most Holy. What would you have me do?”

  “It’s important that we kill this weapon, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” the First said.

  “Then I think you should do that. How did you come about this information?”

  “The informant,” the First Priest said.

  The High heard something in his second in command’s voice. He didn’t move, not so much as a single muscle fiber twitched, but something was beneath those two words that the First didn’t want anyone to know.

  “My friend, have we always been honest with each other?”

  “Yes, Most Holy.”

  “Then this is the first time you’ve been dishonest?”

  Seconds passed in silence, the High completely ignoring the green pixels next to him.

  “I haven’t lied to you, your Holiness.”

  “Then withheld information?”

  “Yes,” the First said.

  “Then are you ready to give me all of the information?”

  Another moment of silence, though it was all the same to the High.

  “We reverse engineered the nanotech of those that were inside the weapon’s compound.”

  “And that is how you found out the informant’s identity?”

  “Yes, Most Holy,” the First said.

  The High Priest stared forward. Perhaps for only a minute, perhaps for an hour.

  “What do you plan to do with the knowledge of his destination? You seem very capable of making decisions on your own, regardless of whether my input—or even Corinth’s—would be valuable.”

  “The blame is mine and mine alone,” the First said.

  “I know where blame lies,” the High responded without a moment’s pause. “Tell me what you plan to do with Corinth’s shattered Proclamation.”

  “The informant suggested an ambush. That we let him find the girl. Her power is growing according to the informant. When they meet, we kill them both.”

  “No,” the High said. “Only kill the weapon. I would like to see the girl.”

  The first paused for a moment, then said. “Of course, your Holiness. Is there anything else you think should be done differently? Any details you would like to add?”

  “Yes,” the High said. “I want you there when we ambush him.”

  “ … Me, Your Holiness?”

  “Yes, my First Priest. Do you not wish to see the results of your work? If I were to break one of Corinth’s Proclamations, I would certainly want to witness what it brought me.”

  The First was quiet for a few seconds, then slowly tried speaking again. “Your—”

  “No, my friend. I think I am done talking now. I’ve grown tired. Ensure that you lay eyes on the weapon when we attempt to kill him.”

  The green pixels next to the High Priest vanished, leaving him alone in his room.

  He sat for another undetermined amount of time before standing up and walking across the small room. Hardwood floors lay beneath his feet, as well as wood paneling across the walls. The High Priest preferred wood to all other decorative styles. Perhaps because so much of his life had been spent below earth, where wood was nearly impossible to get. Maybe there were other reasons for his preference, though. These things were never easy to tell with the High Priest.

  He walked to the window and looked out of it. Clouds hung around his room, and beyond them, blue sky … though not as far as he could see. The One Path was burning, just as other Ministries surely were. The High could see it from where he stood, far, far in the distance. Corinth would protect him. He’d built his home far enough on the outskirts that he doubted anyone would come this way. Not immediately anyway, with so many easy targets in the larger cities.

  The High had spent many, many years alone. He didn’t know how many anymore, but he didn’t think the number was very important. Others might have, but he hadn’t listened to others’ opinions in a long, long time. He hadn’t always been this way, so needless of the outside world, but perhaps the years without any real contact created this mindset.

  Corinth came to him from time to time … but not in many years.

  The High had not been born the High. He had been a Priest as all others, and only through Corinth’s grace had he risen to this point. His duty had never changed, though—to understand Corinth’s will and constantly move the True Faith toward it.

  What was His will now, though?

  With the world ending, what did Corinth want him to do? He had hoped Corinth would come again—partly for guidance—but there’d been no visit.

  The High Priest’s mind had already discarded the First Priest. The man had little faith, and all with such little faith must be swept away. If the First Priest did not die in his encounter with the weapon, then the High would dispose of him using other means. To break a Proclamation … Never mind. The decision was made.

  The High Priest’s mind fluttered to the weapon, and from there to the woman being brought to him. He wanted to study her brain, and hoped he would have time to do that. The Disciple would carry her to him regardless what the First Priest—or the weapon—did. The High thought something valuable might rest in her brain, though he didn’t think it would help them stop the Black’s return.

  He knew the truth about Rachel Veritros, even if none of the others did. Hadn’t they once, though? Yes. Of course, but they had forgotten, or allowed the truth to be diluted. The High Priest didn’t know which, and he no longer cared.

  The sky outside was something he cared about.

  The woman being brought to him, he cared about her too.

  And Veritros. Her memory. The truth behind it.

  Then why do you want to look at the woman’s brain? he wondered in a rare moment of self reflection. Why is it important to you if it won’t help?

  The High Priest didn’t consider whether he was losing his mind; he thought that only a fact of life at this point. He imagined whispers floated around about him, but besides the one meeting with the other Ministers, he hadn’t left this room in a long, long time. Even the One Path’s Minister didn’t know he lived here, amongst the clouds. He actually thought he had another home inside the One Path. He couldn’t fully remember, but it seemed right—like he’d had one built on the other side, far, far away from the cities just like this one.

  The High Priest was okay with losing his mind, and soon he thought he might not even know it had happened. Perhaps that was the promised land, as those in the Old World said.

  Veritros … The word moved through his mind like a snake through grass. It slid effortlessly, without friction. This man now, he was not Veritros reborn, and what of this new woman? What would her brain show the High Priest? No one remembered how lucky they had been—they all bought into their own propaganda. A thousand years ago the world almost ended, and everyone thought humanity won because … well, they had their own reasons for it, but all were lies.

  The High Priest kept coming back to a single thought: we won’t be lucky this time. The weapon, the Black, the woman—none of them changed his mind. Or maybe they created his mind. He didn’t know the answer to such a conundrum.

  This new woman, though. If you get to her brain in time, maybe something can be done with it. Maybe you can still save the world.

  The thought was a rational one, but it fluttered away from the old Priest, and he forgot why he wanted her brain. He only knew that he wanted it.

  The High Priest remained staring out into the sky until the sun descended and the moon replaced it.

  The woman would arrive soon and then he would remove her brain from her skull … maybe Corinth would deliver them again. Maybe not.

  Rachel Veritros

  The High Priest was right in that the world had forgotten the truth about Rachel Veritros. Whether or not he actually remembered it was debatable, but there had
once been truth, even if the world no longer knew it.

  Truth, like morality, lives in all places at all times. Something that holds true today also held a thousand years in the past, and will hold a thousand years in the future.

  Rachel Veritros was that truth, not only her actions, but her heart. Her soul.

  After destroying the Citadel, she could not shake the question asked of her. The war waged on, and she commanded armies as if she was born to do it. Her lieutenants brought her problems and she listened, thinking deeply on them, and then acted with a ferociousness that would have made the greatest generals to ever live envious. Once she made a decision, she never wavered, never heard dissent or criticism, and never altered course.

  More and more cities were razed to the ground. Death, always something waiting beyond the horizon for most people, now grew to be all they knew. An intimate family member living in the next room.

  The question, though—it plagued her mind like locusts on crops. It ate at her peace constantly.

  What does It want?

  And even as the question grew in importance, she understood time was coming to a close—at least for the human species as it currently existed. The Union was nearly upon her.

  What does It want?

  The question was ever present, and yet Rachel Veritros didn’t have an answer. Nor did she know how to find one. She couldn’t simply go to the Unformed and ask. One did not stare God in the face and demand answers, let alone think that one could understand any which may be given.

  Another question was also plaguing Rachel, though not asked by herself or the Ministries. Her lieutenants threw it at her.

  “When do we go to the Nile?”

  The question she asked herself—the one about the nature of the Unformed’s mind—did not bother them in the slightest. No, they wanted to stop killing. The Ministries were at bay, and where they did fight back, they made little progress. Her lieutenants wanted the war to end, and the Union to occur.

  “It’s time,” they told her. “Has the Unformed contacted you? Is It ready?”