The Apostates Book Two: Remnants

by Lars Teeney

  “Christ, girl, it’s a long story, but I have been jerked around so much today,” Greta confessed.

  “Really? Well, do tell? What is troubling you?” Elsa asked with concern.

  “Elsa, I fear for what is about to happen. The power vacuum we left in America after the collapse of the Regime—people are plotting to fill it. Representatives from West Europa and the North African Union tried to recruit me as a puppet for their schemes today,” Greta said with some degree of distress.

  “I understand. I have seen it myself. The situation is far from stable in New Me—in America. There are too many refugees seeking passage to West Europa to handle and they are losing faith. There are still the indoctrinated among their rank, and some even blame us for what happened to New Megiddo City,” Elsa reported. She had a look of shame on her face.

  “I blame us for what happened to New Megiddo City. It’s a disaster no matter how you look at it, and its shadow will follow us,” Greta said with disgust in her voice.

  “Well, now is not the time for reparations. We have to deal with the situation in front of us—” Elsa was cut short by Greta.

  “Agreed, which is why I contacted you. I need passage back to America, and I want to put together some sort of coalition to deal with governing,” Greta stated sternly.

  “The Neo Railroad can help with that. What of your son—what did you name him? He’s a West Europa citizen, right?” Elsa inquired.

  “Amerigo. That’s just a formality—he needs to see his real home,” Greta remarked.

  “We have room for Amerigo, too. It’ll be great to see you again. We have another few weeks at sea before we return to France,” Elsa confirmed.

  “I am looking forward to going home—Oh, by the way, did you know that Simon Schrubb has been traveling to various countries setting up neural networks?” Greta asked.

  “Yes! Isn’t it great? He suggested the humanitarian project to us and the Neo Railroad decided to fund it. The idea is that if the entire world is wired and connected, then maybe people will talk instead of fight,” Elsa sang when she said this.

  “—unless they use the neural network to oppress like the Regime did,” Greta was quick to pour water on Elsa’s fire.

  “Yes, well, it’s too early to make that judgment isn’t it?” Elsa seemed like she had been stung by that comment,“Anyhow,Greta,I must get back to my duties. I will see you in a few weeks. Take care,” she bid.

  “You too! See you soon,” The communication was terminated. Greta wondered what she would do with herself for the next several weeks. It was not as though she could contact her old friends, as sub-neural-networks could only be set up with those whose biometric signatures were within range. Once established then the sub-network was functional worldwide. Greta thought she could do more sightseeing but she had never been much of a tourist, besides all the original landmarks had been destroyed long ago, replaced with modern replicas, but the messages had been replaced with modern propaganda. Greta decided she would do what she did best with her time: plot the course forward.

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  ONE LANGUAGE AND THE SAME WORDS

  His retinal H.U.D. windows were abuzz with activity. Flurries of numbers and equations flashed by on screen for only milliseconds. Source code cascaded down the screen and it was validated rapidly and was exported to “end-user testers”. When he had finished his work for the day, which would amount to two hours due to his speed, he would wind down by reading the classics. While he had been in Britain and France he had downloaded digital copies of ancient manuscripts from prominent libraries across those countries. He had also collected as many strains of ‘Database’ as possible, reverse engineering the drug to extract the data encoded within the synthetic proteins without actually having to do the drug himself. The library in Simon Schrubb’s mind was larger than most country’s ancient archives. His vastly superior mind could finish the Odyssey in original Greek in just over an hour while solving equations. He was an organic quantum computer. He had to sharpen his mind: it was his strength, for his physical body was wracked with a terrible disability: A.L.S. or Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. He had been bound to his Disability Assistance Drone since early childhood and was dependent upon its function for his survival. Being part of the First Family of New Megiddo had its privileges, and his D.A.D. was one of them.

  Simon missed his mother. He had frantically tried to reach her, but he figured that for her survival she was maintaining neural network silence. Over the last year, he had tried to devise many methods tp contact her but they had all turned up nothing. For his safety the Neo Railroad had forbidden Simon from traveling back to America, so Simon threw himself into humanitarian work. He resolved to network the world, using the source code and schematics from his father’s technology. Simon calculated that the more people that would be connected to a worldwide neural network the greater the chances would be for him to locate his mother. He smiled at that proposition. Simon was also proud that the [Euro-Net] was near complete. Millions had already signed up for the simple operation, that once complete, would deploy ‘nano-techno-organic-bots’ to connect the neural implants to the synapses of the brain and nervous system of the body of the user. Also, the pre-existing satellite network of West Europa that orbited the Earth made the proliferation of the [Euro-Net] exponentially faster.

  “Mi scusi signore. Ci stiamo avvicinando Città del Vaticano, (Excuse me, sir. We are approaching the Vatican City,)” Simon’s driver pinged him with the announcement, interrupting several of his activities.

  “Yes!...Okay...Buona!” Simon struggled to say, slightly perturbed. He willed his face to take on a more pleasant expression. The refurbished cargo van had been outfitted to carry foreign dignitaries through Italy. The one that carried Simon Scrubb had the back seats removed to accommodate his D.A.D. Simon had disabled the hover function to conserve energy which resulted in a bumpy ride to Vatican City. He was scheduled to meet with the top-ranking representative of God on Earth (at least for the Catholics), the Pontiff Invictus. Simon was rightfully nervous to meet the Pope. He had been receiving the same ‘Immortality therapy’ that the late President Schrubb had used. This fact meant that a new Pope had not been elected in forty years. Pope Invictus was on the throne even before New Megiddo had lost touch with the Old World after the ‘Holy War’.

  The driver ran around to get the sliding door for Simon, and his D.A.D. hovered effortlessly out of the cargo van. When Simon gained his bearing, he struggled to turn his head to take in the scene. He was surrounded by ancient stonework of Piazza San Pietro. The wide-open plaza was disorientating to Simon. Off in the middle of the space he gazed upon what looked like an Egyptian obelisk topped with a Christian cross. Simon made the observation that this “statement” could be viewed in two ways: first, it symbolizes Christianity’s victory over earlier Pagan religions, and secondly, it could be viewed as Christianity having inherited the knowledge of the ancient world of the Egyptians and of the Hellenistic cultures; and Simon knew that there was much knowledge to be gleaned from the past.

  “Da questa parte, signore. Sua Eminenza attende il vostro arrivo, (Right this way, sir. His Eminence awaits your arrival,)” a Vatican attendant bid Simon. He was accompanied by two Swiss Guards, still dressed like it was the Renaissance; albeit wearing slightly soiled tights.

  “Sì. Aprire la strada, (Yes. Lead the way,)” Simon followed behind the Vatican officials. They led him through massive, bronze, front portal to Saint Peter’s Basilica. Simon was overwhelmed by the cavernous grandeur of the interior. He felt like he might have a seizure triggered by the ornate, Romanesque details of white marble and gold gilding that enveloped him. Everywhere he looked he saw statues of long-dead Saints, whose name were acquired by his nerual implant datamining the vast library it contained. Due to sensory overload Simon decided to close his eyes and allowed his D.A.D. to navigate behind the attendant. Simon lost track of time trave
ling through the vast expanse of the Basilica.

  “Signore, signore! Invictus Papa vuole parlare con te, (Sir, sir! Pope Invictus wants to talk to you,)” the Vatican attendant snapped, knocking on the body of his D.A.D. Simon’s eyes sprang open and he struggled to take a deep breath. Before him, down a central aisle, was a throne sitting upon raised steps covered by a red carpet. The seal of the Holy See was blazoned above the golden throne, that of two crossed keys flanking a jeweled tiara, draped in red ribbons. The man who sat upon the throne was dressed in Papal regalia which oozed divinity, but the form of the man was anything but divine. From what Simon could judge it seemed that the man had a severe spinal deformity that caused the Pope to hunch forward. Pope Invictus had a large, wide nose and deep-set eyes; eyes which still sparked with activity.

  “Sanctitatis...Tuae pietatem. Et glorificatus...sum in conspectu...tuo hodie—(Your Holiness. I am honored by your presence today—)” Simon began to recite his Latin greeting with difficutly, but before he could finish the Pope cut him off.

  “Yes, yes. I am from Ireland originally. I can understand English just fine!” The Pope snapped. In frustration, he gnashed his loose lips together. He seemed to have lost all his teeth some time ago.

  “Oh...Apologies...Your Holiness. I am Simon...” It was one of those moments where Simon cursed his body. He wished that the Pope already had a neural implant so that he could communicate in a manner that would do his mental faculties justice.

  “Indeed. I know who you are, Simon Schrubb. Your grandfather and I did business together long ago. My condolences for what was done to them,” The Pope offered.

  “T-thank you...” was all he could muster.

  “Before you launch into your praise or proposal, or whatever it is you came here for, let’s go for a stroll around the Piazza Santa Marta,” Pope Invictus suggested.

  “But...I...can’t stroll,” Simon complained.

  “I’m not much of a stroller either, but you have your D.A.D. there, and I have my Personal Assistance Drone for Relaxation and Exercise, or P.A.D.R.E.” With that, the Pope pressed a small button on the armrest of his throne. The massive, golden chair dislodged from the floor and began to levitate. Servo-motors hissed into action and the chair folded back into a lounging configuration. The Pope looked very comfortable.

  “Come! Let us take your D.A.D. and my P.A.D.R.E. for a few laps around the plaza,” The Pope led the way outside.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  The two floating chairs progressed abeam of one another. The Pope and Simon were accompanied by a pair of flamboyant Swiss Guards who brandished halberds. They made their rounds along a path lined with well-manicured shrubs. A babbling fountain adorned the center of the plaza. The sky was blue and the air dry.

  “So, tell me, Simon, what has brought you to Vatican City? Surely it must be that you seek to reestablish the Church of New Megiddo and that you seek my blessing?” the Pope asked in a self-assured tone.

  “No...that is not...why I came here. I am on...a humanitarian...mission...to provide neural networks...to the countries of West Europa,” Simon managed to say after straining his muscles.

  “What is this you say? Like that [Virtue-Net] New Megiddo had in place? Intriguing, that could be beneficial to the Catholic Church,” the Pope said, mulling over the possibilities.

  “I do it...for the betterment of humanity,” Simon asserted.

  “Sure, Simon. Listen, when I did deal with your grandfather ages ago, I provided him with a ‘Holy Commodity’, a portion of Christ’s blood and bod: an individual descending from a divine line. He had been among a group known as ‘Apostates’ since he had been abducted from New Megiddo’s custody. This man was known as Marco. He was responsible for the detonation that destroyed the New Megiddo City after the ‘Second Coming’ had been foiled. Marco and the Apostates were responsible for your family’s death: John, Keir, Martino, and your mother, Kate,” the Pope informed him sternly.

  “No...that is not...true...My grandfather wanted to bring about...Armageddon...so that he wouldn’t lose...power,” Simon corrected the Pope.

  “Fair enough. Believe what you want, lad. But, the fact remains the Apostates murdered an estimated two and a half million souls, among them, was your grandfather,” the Pope declared.

  “How...do you know...this?” Simon asked.

  “Please! This is the Vatican and I’m the Pope! My spies are everywhere. So, now tell me, Simon, was offering to network the Holy See the only thing that brought you here today? Are you sure there is nothing else the Vicar of Christ can provide you today?” The Pope turned his P.A.D.R.E. to face Simon and leaned in with anticipation of his answer.

  “No...no...I am here today...to offer neural networking to the Holy See...that is all,” Simon repeated.

  “Buona! Simon Schrubb. Then I will send you to the Department of Technical Details to hash out the details. Bless you, Simon Schrubb for your service to humanity. I also pray that in time you will wake up and understand your birthright! Ciao!” Pope Invictus scooted off on his hovering throne. A Swiss Guard in brightly-colored pantaloons gestured for Simon to follow him to the D.T.D. Simon silently contemplated his conversation with the Pope.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  Simon Schrubb had left Italy behind and had linked back up with the Neo Railroad motorcade which he had called home for the last several months. His aides had got him settled hack into a specially outfitted motorcoach which could handle his needs as a disabled individual. The aides had helped him undress, whereupon a skilled masseuse offered physical therapy to limbs that had a tendency to retract in on themselves. Simon didn’t usually crave physical contact, but he appreciated the benefits of massage and physical therapy. Once this process was completed, his D.A.D. assumed a flat position where Simon could lay on his back. A glass bubble advanced forth that created a water tight seal, a water source was attached to the D.A.D. unit, and gentle jets of water sprang forth within the water-tight chamber, which cleansed Simon’s frail frame. Specially engineered arms methodically moved to lather the hair on his head with shampoo. One final rinse washed away the soap and shampoo, and then the water jets shut down, replaced with compressed, warm air which shot into the chamber to dry Simon.

  Once the bathing process was complete his aides returned to dress Simon in a new set of clothes. The entire process took two hours to complete. Simon was grateful to have the help he needed, but he could not get his mind off of what the Pope had told him. He refused to believe that his mother was dead. She did, after all, promise that she would find him. But, no matter his personal motivations, he had pledged to network as much of the World as he could and he would not fail in his mission. His motorcade would head east, along the ancient Silk Road route. The Silk Road was thousands of years old, and during that time never had really fallen out of use. During the early Twenty-first Century, before Russia and China had become enemies, the two powers had agreed to resurrect the ancient trade route as a modern hub of commerce, and thus was turned into a giant highway, connecting east to west. This was the route that Simon would take, all the way to whatever Chinese city served as its capital these days. Once he was done negotiating with the Chinese to neural network its populace, he vowed he would return to New Megiddo to find his mother. She was the only thing that mattered to him, the only thing he truly lived for.

  Simon looked out the motorcoach window and saw the vast expanse of the steppe. He gathered that the motorcade was traveling through Ukraine. They were approaching the eastern fringe of West Europa and from here on out the traveling would get rougher, but nothing would stand between Simon and his goals now. So, deeper the motorcade traveled into the unknown.

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  NEITHER SLAVE NOR FREE

  “Birdie! Birdie! Stay under the blanket, the tear gas is too thick!” Kesha Nubia frantically instructed her son. Birdie’s eyes stung like an eye-dropper filled with acid had been used on them. He cried, but he tried to stay strong for
the other children, not one of them over the age of six years. The other adult women tried to comfort the children by leading them in song. The hymns they knew well. The lyrics dealt with shunning the modern world and technology, then it would go on to compare ‘Johnny Nubia’ with Jesus Christ. The song enforced the idea that ‘Johnny Nubia’ was Jesus Christ reborn and that his word was the truth. The hymns did the job of restoring calm among the children, and for a time the shooting had died down. The women had soaked blankets in buckets of water prior to the siege, anticipating the usage of tear gas. The women and children took refuge under the blankets and wore bandanas on their faces in an attempt to diminish their exposure to the gas. On top of it all, the Fire Department’s water cannons were flooding the house and there was not a dry patch to be found.

  “Be brave, Birdie! Johnny Nubia and the men watch over us. Nothing can happen to us while he is with us. Do you hear that children? Let’s sing his song!” Kesha Nubia tried to lift everyone’s spirits.

  “Nubia, Nubia, His name is Nubia!

  I am a child of Nubia and I know the truth!

  None can re-educate me, none can refute!

  I refuse the devil's commodities and his loot!

  I —”

  The group’s singing was cut short by renewed gunfire. The children wailed once more, and the women tried desperately to calm them. A P.P.D. megaphone could be heard faintly from outside, barking orders of surrender.

  “ACTION ORGANIZATION MEMBERS! THIS IS POLICE COMMISSIONER OSCAR RODRIGO! YOUR HOUSE IS SURRENDRED BY PHILADELPHIA POLICE OFFICERS, THERE IS NO ESCAPE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY!” the Commissioner would repeat this line numerous times. Being trapped under a wet blanket made the situation all the more terrifying because only chaotic sounds could be heard. Just then the door to the basement swung open and the women and children began to panic.