by Gary Lovisi
Arabella Rashid was growing older too. In fact, at just thirteen, she felt so old; for she had experienced so much. She had seen too much darkness. Truth be told, she was now also too old for Simon. He preferred his “mistresses”—as if they had any choice at all in what befell them—quite a bit younger. Though no person but she knew this most intimate truth about him. It was, in fact, the most secret of all DOC secrets. She was too old for Simon now. She knew his eyes had already wandered to others. She didn’t regret this at all, she only felt pity and fear for those others. She was determined now that if Simon had in fact destroyed all freedom on Earth, there would be one place where it would not be destroyed.
“Simon?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Will you let me set up Mars? Let me set up the outpost and the colonists. You want it to be a dumping ground for incorrigibles and troublemakers, well I think I could help cleanse our planet of these undesirable elements. Putting them all on Mars is a good idea. Then we can deal with them all later as we like.”
“Easy, Arabella, I have my plans for them. DOC scientists have done endless studies, reports, extrapolated future crisis data from current trends. There is a method to my plan. I ask you, why has every great empire in the history of this world—why have they all eventually fallen?”
She was quiet and did not answer; it had been a rhetorical question, his way to allow her an inner glimpse of his wisdom, knowledge and power.
He told her, “Ancient Egypt and Greece, Rome, Britain, Soviet, American, Red China, it does not matter. The reason they each fell, is that they rotted from within. They lost control. Control is what is important; it is the only factor that can stop this inner decay from occurring in our own time. Total, complete, uncompromising Control. Control over every aspect of life, of thought, of being. Now we have achieved that here on Earth. Complete totalitarian control over every aspect of the human citizen.”
Arabella Rashid acknowledged his truth, “Yes, the Department of Control is the total master.”
“And I am the master of the DOC,” Simon laughed with a sinister power he knew only too well, and held so tightly to his being.
“That is true, Simon,” she said finally.
“So we have achieved total control on Earth. For now. But that is not enough, Arabella.”
“How so?”
“Total control must be achieved for all time—forever. And there lies the rub, my dear. I want myself and the DOC ingrained in this world and its people unto their very soul. To do that our scientists have determined that unless certain challenges present themselves at certain nexus points in our history in the future—all this, all I have built here—will eventually collapse.”
Arabella Rashid felt a brief surge of emotion, actual joy at the prospect, but she camouflaged it well. “So Mars is part of your plan, master?”
She knew he loved it when she called him master.
“Yes, these incorrigibles and troublemakers—men only—they will not be allowed any women to procreate and enlarge their vile numbers—will be set up as a future enemy. An enemy for DOC to destroy and be victorious over. These are to be my straw men, Arabella. Their existence and rebellion will ensure the DOC’s supremacy forever. They will become the great bugaboos of our Earthly citizens, we’ll brainwash all to accept our truths about the men on Mars. They will become the enemy of us all. Feared, hated, despised. And it will work. And because of that, I shall live forever as the master of it all.”
Arabella Rashid stood stoic and silent but within her soul was anger and fear. This man—this monster...so twisted by hate and power.... It was not sane. It could not be done. Nevertheless, she knew the combination of his ultimate power, mighty intellect and relentless drive for conquest made him supremely dangerous. Anything could be possible.
“Are you familiar with the term—the antiquated term these days to be sure, Arabella—of God?” Simon asked softly.
“No, I....”
“Come now, I know you read, even some of the old forbidden hard copy texts. Those paperbound books from a hundred years ago. It would take all day for me to have your brain transcribed and then whipped clean of it all, but then you would loose so much of yourself, so don’t try to play dumb with me, girl!”
“Yes, I am familiar with the term—I mean, the concept of—God.”
Simon smiled divinely and it was horrible to see, “Well, Arabella, I can tell you with all certitude, that I am now God here, young lady. I am the new God of our Earth, a new God to reign forever. Our science has ensured that I shall live forever...as a God....”
Arabella Rashid was stunned and revolted by his arrogant words but she could ill afford to let him see even an inkling of her true feelings. She had played this game for years, had learned it when she’d been so much younger—at the feet of the master.
Instead she smiled sweetly and nodded pleasantly.
“How little you truly know or realize, my child,” Simon added in paternal disdain, now leaning back in his huge chair, all-knowing, all-powerful, laughing all-insolently....
“What?”
“My dear, you have no idea. Our science, our technology, the DOC—we have learned so much from the past. It is all ours for the taking, for the using. Billions of memories, and the manipulation of those memories, facts, all that data—all of it to give us the outcome we want. It really is quite amazing. It is all now in the digital record, just electronic impulses, bytes and bits, nothing more, nothing less. Electronic impulses to be manipulated as we see fit, whether in a machine...or the human brain.”
“Simon, what are you trying to tell me?”
“Hah! That’s why I chose you, among other reasons—so sharp, so inquisitive, so perceptive! And you mean to tell me you really have no idea at all?”
“No idea about what, Simon?”
“Your dreams, child? Why, your very dreams?” he chided her softly.
Arabella Rashid tensed, a chill swept over her soul. It was a more private area than any mere physical place that Simon had already raped and plundered within her years before. Her dreams were sacred, personal, special, even mystical. They were the most secret part of her inner being. They were not for being known to anyone. Especially not by Simon.
“What are you saying?” She held down her panic.
“Come on, girl, don’t tell me you do not even have an inkling. You must. You have the dreams, don’t you?”
“Yes, I have dreams...,” she agreed carefully, softly, fearful of what was coming. What new monstrous device was up Simon’s wicked sleeve?
“Hah! But not just any old dreams, eh, my dear?”
“I don’t know....”
“Did you never suppose...?” Simon asked softly.
“Suppose? Suppose, what?”
“Memory, it was all cloned. See, I know all about you, child, more than you even know about yourself. I searched for you, I found you. I created you.”
“What do you mean, Simon?” she was becoming fearful now, but held herself in check, at the peril of her sanity.
“I bred you, girl. I know you took the name of Arabella Rashid after that night when I first took you, but before that you were....”
“No, don’t say it!” she screamed.
Simon laughed. “Now then, what was your name...?”
“No! Simon, no!”
He laughed heartily, she’d not heard him so happy in years—the vile bastard! He was enjoying every moment of this torture.
“Yes, your name.... Do you remember that little girl? I remember her well.”
Arabella Rashid froze with fear and loathing. She was not that other girl now, that weak girl who had been abused by Simon. She was someone else now. She was Arabella Rashid. Someone stronger, more powerful. Smarter. Different. Like in the book.
She hoped she was. She prayed.
“Yes, her name, dear girl—your name—it was Cathy...Ryan....”
She didn’t say a word.
“Acknowle
dge it!” Simon demanded loudly, brow-beating his thirteen-year old girl lover/victim as she stood so powerlessly before him.
“Yes,” she answered meekly.
“Well done! You have accepted one basic truth at least, Cathy—Arabella,” Simon said it as if he were twisting a knife into the young girl’s vitals. “Well, anyway, our DOC science has made magnificent achievements. Stunning achievements! Progress, that will be most useful....”
Arabella Rashid tightened up inside but could find no words. She was at Simon’s mercy, she had always been at his mercy.
“You are a clone, child. A clone of that self-same Cathy Ryan who lived way back in the 1950s—far away in last century, You are one of many I have had reconstructed for my own aims. Personal and political. You see, we can not only clone the physical body, but we can delve deep into the inner psyche and soul. We can retrieve and duplicate memories and personality from our special long-ago original stock of people.”
Arabella Rashid was stunned but at this point in her life she was ready to believe any evil that the minds of men like Simon could conceive.
“You and James were the first. Agents, spies, and killers that proved most useful. A matched set. In my opinion, you two were the best as well. Of course there were some others. All amazing early prototypes. Eventually, once the process is perfected for mass production, we’ll be able to bring them back in large numbers—shock troops for the new order. We will create amalgams of the worst of the worst, the Huns, the Old Guard soldiers of Napoleon, KGB killers, the Gestapo and SS. Isn’t that delightful? And of source, we will bring back their leaders as well—the most excellent killers of all time—Adolph Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, and even Saddam Hussein and those two lovely sons of his. Now those two boys surely died far too young—so much potential so sadly wasted there.”
Arabella didn’t say a word.
Simon nodded, smiled, “Good boys, so young. Terrible to be cut down before they had achieved their full potential. Well, that shall be changed. Corrected!”
Arabella scarcely knew what she was hearing. Was it the ramblings of a mad man? Or the promises of a monster with the will and ability to carry out those promises and make them come true?
“Of course, they shall all rule under me, in my future directorship of the DOC. They will not exist under their original names, but the DNA, their memories and personalities, will all be the same. Exact! My angels, playing the parts—I, as their God—shall decree for them.”
Arabella Rashid knew now that Simon wasn’t just an oppressive ruler, a rapist, and a monster—he was the Devil himself. His once massive mind had deteriorated into madness and an evil deeper than any other human being in the history of the race. He had to be destroyed. Now. This instant. Before he took one more squalid breath of pure sweet air. Simon had to die and Arabella Rashid was the only one who could make it happen.
“It will be glorious,” Simon mused.
“Yes, Simon, it will,” she said, moving closer to him.
“And you shall rule by my side,” he said, with a twisted smile that she knew was false, even mean in its false promise.
But now Arabella Rashid smiled back, as she bent down to kiss Simon’s cheek. She did it with a great gentleness, a warm softness, a delightfulness that she knew Simon felt irresistible. She smiled again at the thought of what she had to do.
Then she did it.
CHAPTER TWO
THE DEPARTMENT OF CONTROL
Simon was dead.
The world was free!
But Arabella Rashid found herself more enslaved now than ever.
For the Department of Control, and the world totalitarian government headed by the hated Authority and all its minions personally picked by Simon, still went on and on and on. To not accept that reality would mean death and worse. So she must continue with the fabrication. She must continue to play the game. And the crushing, binding, and enslaving of minds and bodies—as no government, no cult, no organization in human history had ever done before—must continue seamlessly. With Simon never seen, but with his presence always felt, and when necessary, even heard from. With Arabella speaking for him, and giving the orders in his name or through virtual image holos. And in so doing she attained complete control over society and the world via The DOC. And at the head of it all now—was Arabella Rashid.
* * * *
How had it all come to this?
Arabella Rashid sat quietly with only the corpse of Simon for company beside her. He looked so quiet and peaceful in death, a little aged man, perhaps someone’s funny old grandfather if you didn’t know any better. You could never imagine all the damage he had done to the human race.
Now what was she to do?
She shed not a single tear for her former mentor, nor one tear for her present position. Instead, she decided to use that superior mind that Simon had created for her to examine the situation and find a way to put into operation a plan that would free the world and some day bring back human dignity.
She wanted to set in motion some kind of revolution—but she knew the world was not ready, nor able to understand that concept yet. The fear was too ingrained. It ran far too deep.
So first things first. The germ had to be planted, and nurtured, ideas had to be kept alive and spread. She had to be careful and plan for the long haul. She was good at planning. She took a long overview of the present situation. It was grim. Earth was out as a source. It was too tightly controlled and monitored. The people had been too deeply neutered. But Mars was another story. It might be the perfect place. It was a world full of incorrigible, pain-in-the-ass troublesome men, all non-conforming individuals.
Mars might just do the trick!
She realized it was necessary for her to now assume leadership of the Department of Control. As much as she hated the very thought of it, she must assume control of this monster Simon had created. She must keep the DOC and Authority in place, maintaining order, even as she planned to crash it all down into the dust heap of history on one fine glorious future day.
First she’d have to get rid of Simon’s body. The evidence of her crime, if discovered, would surely doom her and all her plans if discovered. Then she had to construct a story to explain her assuming control of the DOC. She realized that here, in this type of organization, a rumor might work best. A rumor from Simon’s own office, presumed to be from Simon himself. It would be an order for her to assume daily control of the DOC. The only person who reported directly to Him. It would require her to monitor all departments, oversee all personnel, give orders and decrees in Simon’s name to the leadership and all the staff. Holograms of Dear Old Simon would help. Thus she would become the impenetrable layer between Simon and the DOC. And all would obey, or else. Then, for all intents and purposes, as far as anyone at the DOC knew, the new realignment would be in place. She never used the word coup, but such intent might be implied. It would never be whispered openly. DOC secrets remained secret.
Simon was out.
Arabella Rashid was in.
And that was that! The new order of things continued seamlessly.
The King was dead, long live the Queen.
Everyone throughout the vast bureaucracy of the DOC, the worldwide governmental Authority and the various security districts they controlled, would accept the fact. The new reality was indisputable—or disputable at your peril. Questions, she knew, that would never be asked.
But first to dispose of Simon’s body. That bit of physical evidence, the evidence of murder, had to disappear. Forever. It had to be done correctly and quietly. And she realized that here, she needed help.
The only person she could think of to call for such a duty was another of the clones, the one by the name of James Ryan. She thought it strange that she remembered his name and image so clearly now from an earlier life. She began to wonder just what Simon and the DOC had done to her memories. Had Simon, in fact programmed her? Had he told her the truth? Was she even now, somehow, following his orders?
Orders that were not her own? The thought chilled her and she immediately dismissed it—but doubt still nagged at a dark place in the back of her thoughts for she knew Simon and his evil ways only too well. So questions only posed more questions.
Arabella Rashid placed the appropriate request for Ryan in the usual manner, as if Simon himself was still the Director. It was an order no one would ignore, an order that must be obeyed immediately upon pain of terrible consequences.
* * * *
James Ryan heard the call and obeyed. He quickly put the old paperback book he had been reading back in his pocket and stood attentive and waited. Soon two DOC officers approached him and he was told to immediately take the private elevator up to the Director’s personal level.
The mansion-like edifice atop the World Tower was a maze of a hundred luxuriously appointed suites of various size and function. Ryan was lead along cold chrome hallways by armed replicant DOC house staff, bodyguards in essence, former DOC shock troops who had proven their value and loyalty. He was brought before two huge engraved wooden doors—they looked as if they had been taken from some ancient cathedral in old Europe—and then he was told to wait once more.
Ryan sweated, fearful, as he tucked the old paperback—a forbidden and subversive media—down his pants and hoped it would not be discovered. He wasn’t obsessively concerned about it now—for being called to the Director’s office was much more serious and potentially deadly than anything that could result from being discovered with some old book. Be it forbidden or not. He tried to calm himself as he waited, but the fear was roaming inside him wild and bright and it threatened to push him into full panic mode. However, Ryan held himself firm and kept his nerve. He waited and he prayed, not knowing what would befall him in the Director’s office on the other side of that ancient engraved doorway.
