Over the past year, Adharma had led the charge to unite the nation’s ten largest financial markets under one, biologically-transferred currency, dubbed “the mark.” In the process, he built a friendship with Mateo, whose endorsement of the mark and popularity among Hispanics pushed him to a crushing electoral victory. Unlike his friend, Adharma held more esteem and sway as Prime Minister.
“So, this is the infamous maker of kings?” A member of the Italian parliament winked at the woman and kissed her right hand. “A pleasure.”
Kareza hid her discontent beneath a glimmering smile and tender knees slightly bent in a curtsy. “A misnomer, I’m afraid. A few congressmen and representatives here, a Prime Minister there – I do it for the cause.”
“Lovely and modest.” He reluctantly dropped her hand and faced Adharma. “Mister Prime Minister, you exerted diplomacy in getting the Americans to validate the mark. President Mateo will soon sign it into law. I have heard that the mark‘s popularity will lead to others adopting it, as well. You must be proud.”
“When a man desires, truly desires, peace and prosperity, he will do anything he can to secure it.” Adharma delivered his words with perfect diction. “The United States has been financially enslaved to the world for over half a century. Ramsey's a progressive thinker who’s not tied down to the dictates of the religious right or the leftist liberals. The mark will secure this country’s financial future.”
“Regardless, you have to admit,” responded the diplomat, “that it’s a risky gambit. If it fails, more than a few economies will fall into ruin.”
“But they will not – not with a new, united currency.” Kareza concluded her retort just before falling into a coughing fit. A potentate signaled for a waiter to give the older woman a drink. The water helped cease the hacking, but it did not remedy the metallic taste of blood.
Adharma patted her on the back. “Are you alright, dear one?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat a final time. “A little cold, that’s all. I don’t suppose you have another body I can inhabit, do you?”
The response drew a nervous chuckle from Adharma. “I believe the scientists have discovered a way. Right after that, they solve the mystery of time travel!” His nonpareil charm commanded attention and respect wherever he went.
The throng of foreigners proceeded to the reserved banquet room inside the restaurant. There, laid a buffet outfitted with a selection of rich meats and Italian delicacies.
“Excuse me, my friends.” Adharma drifted to an almost vacant corner of the room. There, Micah James fidgeted in a fine designer tuxedo – nondescript, except for being one of the select few African-Americans at the dinner. Adharma plucked two lamb kabobs from a silver platter and approached him. “Mister James, you have the look of a man who does not believe he belongs here.”
Micah dug his hands into his pockets. “I don’t, Mister Prime Minister. Why did you invite me anyway? You leveraged your foreign influence to revoke the Exodus Foundation’s federal funding. You eliminated 40,000 jobs, including mine.”
Adharma removed the skewered lamb with his teeth. “Where’s your boss? Off somewhere licking his wounds?”
Micah‘s eyes rolled back. “Let me see. . .he said ‘the authors of the Exodus Foundation’s destruction don’t deserve my presence’.”
“Pretentious,” he mused. “That‘s Chu for you.”
“Well, you did strip away the substance of his life’s work.”
“I did no such thing. Miles Chu’s life’s work consisted of extremist experiments and needless social work. Your founding fathers supported separation of church and state.”
“The state out of the church, not the church out of the state,” he corrected.
“Regardless, the two entities should be separate and exclusive, and Chu used federal funds in the name of God. Your government that took action and your people elected the representatives that voted for its downfall.”
“Weren’t a majority of them strong-armed by your mentor?”
Adharma chuckled, while patting Micah‘s shoulder. “Enjoy the dinner.”
Micah watched Adharma peel off to glad hand a couple of politicians before rejoining the main group.
Soon, the dinner hour began. Following a half-hour of eating and idle chatter, champagne made the rounds for Kareza to give a toast. Dubbed “Princess of the Airwaves” for her captivating rhetoric and uncanny ability to tap into the pulse of her audience, she would give a speech enticing enough to keep the populace silent. At the point the spotlight shined on her to perform, the room went silent.
“Good evening.” Kareza muttered, stifling a cough. “People often ask about the mystery behind what I do. In other words: how do I breed success in the men and women whose campaigns I run? Politicos around the nation have interviewed me on this subject. But have I reserved the true answer for only you.”
The audience took a collective gasp. Micah speculated her direction. What's she doing?
“Politicians, the good ones, increase their odds for success by going out and meeting the people. They make promises that special interests groups will never allow them to fully realize.” Kareza took a little water. “So, what then is the solution? Simple: fix the odds.”
Kareza’s words stunned, until one of the oldest dignitaries heartily laughed. Merriment whisked around the room from corner to corner: a humorous political roast!
“How else do you think an inexperienced, private sector businessman like Nandor Adharma captured President Giovanni’s attention? Motivation.”
There was more laughter. Various statesmen pointed fingers and shot at one another, still laughing. Adharma did not play along. Nothing about Kareza’s demeanor suggested jest, which made it funnier. The circumstances surrounding his rapid ascent did gnaw at him from time-to-time; especially when he spent time in President Giovanni’s presence.
“If I discover a weight that tips the scales in my favor, I apply it. If there’s a weakness, I expose and exploit it. The Palestinian president’s opponent was a whoremonger, no? Israel’s acting prime minister – the first woman in history to assume power there – did so because her predecessor, a chain-smoking glutton, snuck pork to his table. And the U.N. Secretary-General. . . well, I bribed someone to poison his challenger.”
My God, why are they laughing? Micah excused himself without garnering attention.
Adharma knew the truth of the situation. No one in the audience knew Kareza like he did. In 2017, he became CEO of his father’s corporate finance firm at the age of 25. Twenty-six years later, she politically seduced him. From the start, he found nothing attractive about what the old political magnate had to say. But she convinced him; first to have a sumptuous dinner with her, and then a nightcap. He remembered little else about the encounter, but the next day, Kareza told him that he had a great future in international politics. And he believed her.
Critics gave him less than a 20 percent chance of victory, but his unprecedented rise as a Prime Minister candidate in the ‘46 appointments culminated with an overwhelming win.
“But, in all seriousness, my career in shaping the future of the world comes to an end. I hereby resign as Prime Minister Adharma’s campaign manager, effective immediately, but I will continue to advise him. It has been a fantastic run, fashioning his ascension. His selection sits among the highlights of my career. After uniting the ten most powerful nations in the world beneath the mark, I look forward with great anticipation to what Nandor Adharma does next.”
Though he applauded like the others, Adharma assumed Kareza’s icy stare was meant for him. She flourished an accepting hand upon her return to the round dinner table. He took her free palm and squeezed it, signaling their exit.
In a hallway, replete with hand-carved, marble Roman pillars, Adharma cornered her once he ensured they were alone. Following them from a distance, Micah ducked behind a pillar and extended the recording range of his handheld to pick up the conversation yards away.
“Wha
t sort of business do you mean in there, quitting?” “Cagey until the end,” she uttered through a cough. “Widen your scope. Thus far, I have advised you. From now on, I will lead you.”
No, she meant she would advise me and not lead me, he thought. “And what’s that nonsense about fixing the elections?”
“Can’t take a joke, Prime Minister?”
“That was hardly jest. Have you perpetrated a crime?”
“Have a little faith. Mister Prime Minister. Haven’t we come a long way, you and I? Do you not have luxury transports at your disposal? What about all of the women you’ve slept with and the palatial mansion? Why doubt me now? Has the world suffered for it? Where‘s the crime?”
“But. . .”
“Largely due to your overtures, the ten most affluent nations in the world have adopted a united currency. You selected a majority of Italy’s parliament, and have gained worldwide notoriety and influence. Most men would be pleased with this and not question my infallible methods.”
“If your ‘methods’ include extortion, murder, and blackmail, you’re a criminal,” he said impetuously. “And I am not most men.”
“Precisely why I selected you. Surely, you don’t think my success comes from lumps of clay too difficult to mold? The potential to rule an empire bigger than that of the Romans lies within you, and I will personally see to it that it comes out.”
Adharma’s shoulders slumped. “I thought you to be driven – relentless even – but you have lost your grip on reality.”
“Not so,” Kareza said, as Adharma turned his back to her. She laid a strong hand on his shoulder and exerted enough force to cause him pain. “I used 80 years of my life force creating this reality, but my time has run out. I am soon going to die.”
Adharma attempted to move. “What have you done to me?”
“Given you a life you never would have otherwise known; plucked you from obscurity and fashioned the spotlight for you on the earth’s largest stage.” Kareza licked her lips, not unlike an animal. “I have prepared you for this – a grand moment! The world’s population will kneel before the man who brought it peace and prosperity. He will be a god in their eyes, and they will tremble beneath his feet, as he commands them to do his bidding.”
Adharma found that he could not speak without struggling. She has subdued me, but once I am freed, I will go to the authorities, he thought.
“I have much to accomplish and a short period of time in which to do it, Mister Prime Minister.” Kareza concealed her free hand behind her back. “Breathe. At this point, I cannot be stopped. But my form must change, one last time.”
“What. . .” he blurted, “do you need. . .me for?”
“Frankly. . .” She stopped short of finishing her sentence before violently plunging a blade into Adharma’s back and watching him die. Once his breathed no more, Kareza knelt at the prostrate corpse, which landed face down on the hand-woven carpet.
As she reached for the wound, Micah straightened up, and then peeked at the scene. Kareza removed bloodstained fingers from Adharma’s back. He did not wish to know whether she wiped off the blood or sucked it like a vampire.
“You served me well,” she said with distinction. “You were the key to my ascension in the former world, and you will do so once more, here in the latter.”
Speechless, Micah continued to stare without betraying his position. What he saw next defied logic; visible crimson waves emanating from Kareza’s fingertips dissolving into Adharma’s back. Naturally, as an expert mathematician, Micah searched for scientific answers as to how it could have occurred. Simple physics dictate that matter cannot be created or destroyed, but changed. But the change happening – the inspiration of life transferred from one body to the next – was not possible.
Adharma now stood over the fallen Kareza’s body – apparently victim to his former demise. His shoulder blades, including the navy blue silk suit jacket, showed no sign of being punctured. No blood soaked the tapestry beneath his feet. This new version of Adharma checked them all with the intensity of a forensic scientist searching for telling clues – except in this case, he did so to prevent discovery of his own mischief. Why he did so, Micah did not know. Surely, a being able to transcend death could not be concerned with mortal laws?
Prior to that moment, Micah separated faith from his profession. When his relatives spoke of his great-grandfather, Micah responded with spiritual reverence – never science. The two were mutually exclusive in his mind; unrelated, one undetermined by the other. Spiritually, one could explain what happened to Darrion James; he had risen from the dead and gone on to live almost 40 more years. But, without a physical explanation, Micah never considered one with respect to the other. What now occurred bridged the two.
“Help!” Adharma’s yell, unmistakably female, readjusted to male. “Help!”
Micah vanished into the ensuing ruckus and snuck out. How could he remain inconspicuous and be sure that no one followed him? He stowed his Casper several blocks away and proceeded by foot, as public transportation could also be traced. He said a mental goodbye to his favorite vehicle. If its loss meant avoiding suspicion of tonight’s events, he would sacrifice it to the criminal element. Wait, my holophone! He dropped it onto the street, intending to crush it with the heel of his shoe when Doctor Chu called. He bent over, answering it on its voice-only setting.
“How was the dinner?” Chu’s inflections conveyed an air of expectancy.
“Nothing I can talk about right now.” Micah increased his walking pace.
“Then when can you? Where are you going now? And why do you whisper?”
He looked around. “It‘s not safe.”
“Come to the laboratory, the west door.”
Micah removed the holophone’s memory before disposing of it. The foundation building was at least two miles away, and his feet were freezing. Still, he soldiered on through the residual puddles of rain, mentally dissecting what he had just seen.
In the Bible, Jesus cast out evil spirits from people many times. Was it illogical to assume a malevolent spirit could move from one human body to the next? He had never actually seen it done before. The event even fit the profile of matter – the spirit – moving from Kareza to Adharma, and Kareza needing to free Adharma’s spirit before replacing it.
But why?
Chu had asked him to attend the celebratory dinner to plea for the restoration of the foundation’s funding. The legal team had worn out its welcome, and so Chu sent Micah instead. It posed a risk, as his presence could result in a harassment charge. Though stealthy in his approach, one of them had slain the other before he could talk to them.
Indeed, Chu had left the west door to the Exodus Foundation unsecured. But the area was dark and, without his holophone, he had no way of lighting the way. Micah ran his fingers along the walls until he reached the elevator tubes, stumbled inside, and ascended to the top floor. Power still flowed there, he assumed, from a backup source. He accessed the handprint security panel.
“Voice recognition required,” said the automated voice. “Please state your full name.”
“Micah Darrion James.”
“Micah Darrion James. Access granted.”
Micah entered the top-level laboratory, where Chu – a kind dark-haired Asian – piddled about with the technical equipment remaining inside the round room. Their research concentrated on neuroscience, the brain’s behavioral tendencies, and holistic procedures. Close to discovering a method to power their research, they lost funding. The angel and capital investors had dried up, as well. In a few days, the building would be destroyed and the work would have been for naught.
“So, what did the Prime Minister say? Did Kareza still pull his strings?”
With a fair degree of shellshock, Micah handed over the holophone’s memory and he narrated as the audio file played.
Chu, of slight stature, tinkered without pause, even at the point where Kareza assumed the Prime Minister‘s place. “Hand me that v
ial over there, the one with the red liquid in it.” Micah did so. “It’ll have to do.”
“Nothing I just said surprises you? Or you don‘t believe it?”
“Oh no, I believe it.” The man set his tool on a black recliner. “But do you?”
“It violates every scientific principle that I’ve ever studied.”
“And those scientific principles are immutable?” asked Chu with false gravitas.
“Aren’t they?”
“Hmph.” The recliner automatically leaned back. “What about the metaphysical? How much more do you need to see to be sure? You saw a woman stab a man to death and reanimate his body.”
“It makes even less sense now that you said it out loud. I don‘t know. Metaphysics were always more philosophy than mathematics to me.”
“Separation between belief systems and finite systems.” He patted the chair‘s padding. “Why don’t you have a seat and relax?”
“I just witnessed a murder, sir. Relaxing isn’t the foremost thing on my mind.”
“Five people besides me can open or close the door to this room and none of them would try to kill you.”
Micah complied and felt immediate relief. His legs and feet needed respite from the two-mile walk. “Why am I here?”
“Why are any of us here?” Chu quipped.
“No, sir, I meant in a smaller sense. Why did you want me to come here?”
“We have a project to finish.”
“The hexagonal probability theory? How can we finish with no funding or method?”
“Will you help me?” Chu asked in a calm alto.
Micah nodded. “Should I cue up the Sixth Equation files?”
A cool hand touched Micah’s forehead. “No. Just try to relax.”
He closed his eyes and, before he could react, a needle pricked his arm and blackness covered his face. Immediately, a blitz of mixed images played across his mind‘s eye. Before he knew it, they stopped and he saw Chu again. The taste in his mouth reminded him of sponge cake.
The Anarchists Page 13
