Lucifer (aka the Lucifer Code) (2001)

by Cordy, Michael

  Soames was nursing his jaw; 'Keep them out of the way until the big day, Your Holiness. We cannot allow them to jeopardize the preparations.'

  Accosta tried in vain to read his expression. He wanted to believe that the reason Soames had poured so much of his money, time and intellectual resources into this grand scheme was solely because of his faith in God and his conviction that Accosta was His chosen minister. But even now the Red Pope was unsure of Soames's true motives. 'I don't want them harmed, Bradley' he said carefully, 'not before the Day of the Soul Truth and not after it. Is that clear?'

  Soames frowned, like an awkward adolescent who can't comprehend why he is being lectured on something that has nothing to do with him.

  'We've almost reached our sacred goal and I've you to thank for that,' Accosta continued. 'Regrettable actions were necessary to reach this moment. But after the Day of the Soul Truth there should be no cause for violence or disagreement. Is that understood?'

  'Of course, Your Holiness.'

  Accosta turned to the others. He understood them better. Carvelli was vain and shallow, but he had served the church unquestioningly. Knight was a true believer, who didn't trumpet her faith but shared Accosta's turmoil when it came to making difficult moral decisions to fulfil God's will. And Monsignor Diageo had always been his right hand, his rock. Soon their loyal service would be rewarded. Soon they would be able to bathe in the warm certainty that they had contributed to something righteous and wonderful. 'Dr Soames has expressed his desire to remain here for the Day of the Soul Truth, out of the spotlight,' he said.

  'And the sunlight,' Soames said.

  Accosta smiled understandingly. 'The rest of us shall return now to the Red Ark and make our preparations.'

  They looked sad but Accosta said, 'Don't be so downcast. This is not an end but a beginning. Rejoice with me. We're on the brink of a golden age of enlightenment.'

  A sweet smile illuminated Virginia Knight's troubled features. 'Yes, Your Holiness, it'll be a glorious day' she said.

  'Glorious,' echoed Diageo.

  Carvelli was more expansive. 'The Day of the Soul Truth will be a revelation.'

  Soames nodded as if in agreement. 'It will indeed be the day of Revelation, Your Holiness -or, as the Greeks would say, the day of the Apocalypse.'

  *

  The blue sector.

  Two days later

  'It doesn't look much now,' Soames said as he led Fleming and Amber into the virtual reality suite housed within the blue sector, 'but you wait. You haven't been in here before, Amber, have you? It's something VenTec have been developing with KREE8 Industries.' Amber refused to meet Soames's gaze. She still found it difficult to accept the extent of his betrayal, to reconcile the man who had abducted her and authorized her mother's murder with the man she had respected and admired for years. And obviously this is a first for you as well, Miles,' Soames said. His face was still swollen and the contusion drew attention to a fresh scab on his already scarred chin, but his anger had gone. The events of thirty-six hours ago might never have happened.

  But Fleming's anger, like hers, was still alive. Ignoring the two security guards hovering inches behind him, he didn't acknowledge Soames. Fleming and she each wore a deep blue, skin-tight bodysuit, gloves and slippers with sensor pads. The blue smart fabric was made up of thousands of microscopic beads, like pixels on a computer monitor. Soames and the two guards were similarly attired.

  The room itself was a large but unprepossessing space. The floor, walls and ceiling were the same deep blue as the bodysuits. The floor felt solid, and she guessed that, along with the walls and ceiling, it was a high-resolution screen. In the centre of the room were three rows of two seats. 'Since this is going to be essentially a spectator experience I thought we should be comfortable,' Soames said, ushering them to the two front seats. The guards sat behind them and Soames at the back. Soames had a palm-top computer in his left hand and tapped the touch screen with his right. 'How shall we dress?' Soames said. 'Formal, I think.'

  Immediately the blue suits were transformed. Fleming was in a dinner suit, complete with bow-tie, and she wore a strapless black dress. Amazingly the area of bare flesh on her arms looked real and her hands were apparently no longer in blue gloves. Moreover, her hands didn't feel as if they were wearing gloves. If she looked very hard and moved her hand quickly against the blue backdrop she could just about see the joins, but when Soames transformed the room she was transported to another place and the illusion was seamless.

  Now she and Fleming sat in the front row of a vast congregation, in an auditorium that resembled a cross between a theatre and a cathedral. Columns flanked both sides, like a nave, and ahead there was a stage. Overhead there wasn't so much a vaulted ceiling as the illusion of a sunlit sky dotted with puffy white cumulus clouds. At any moment Amber expected cherubim and seraphim to appear. There was a balmy freshness in the air and, bewitched by the surroundings, she surrendered herself to the guilty frisson of excitement. She recognized the cathedral on the Red Ark from her VR excursion at the hospice.

  Over the last two days, grieving for her mother and trying to come to terms with her death, she had sought distraction by watching television in her secure quarters. Constant news coverage from CNN and the BBC had explained the Day of the Soul Truth and she now understood the breathtaking arrogance of what they had planned. But, try as she might, she could not understand their strange alliance. She had known Soames for years and had never seen any evidence of a religious streak in him. The idea of him serving or following Accosta was ludicrous. Soames only associated with people who could serve him, never the other way round.

  A murmur rippled through the audience, like wind through a field of barley, then a tall figure in red entered from the left and stood in the centre of the stage. Watching Accosta's self-satisfied smile, she was determined that he and Soames would pay for what they had done. She didn't know how or when, but they would pay.

  Turning her head she caught Fleming's eye, and her courage swelled when she saw her own determination reflected there.

  *

  The Red Ark. 18deg 55' N, 16deg 99' W

  Xavier Accosta had never felt more alive than he did now, minutes from death. Standing on the dais in his cathedral aboard the Red Ark he gazed out at the physical audience of little more than a hundred. Invitations to attend his service aboard the ark were randomly despatched to a few among the millions of e-mail addresses of his registered followers, depending on their location at the time. This practice hadn't changed for the Day of the Soul Truth, although a limited number of special invitations were sent out to the major religions. Interestingly, not one declined. All had sent a senior delegate, no doubt to witness and subsequently deconstruct whatever took place.

  Accosta had heard that many of those lucky enough to be attending today had been offered thousands, even millions, by media representatives and wealthy individuals to attend in person. He was gratified that few, if any, had sold their ringside seats to this turning-point in human history. But the physical audience was only a fraction of the true audience. According to Carvelli, the numbers watching on virtual headsets, Internet screens and television exceeded four billion - 90 per cent of the wired world. Carvelli had been right. This was the biggest media event in history.

  Before the main event, Accosta presided over a short service in which he paid tribute to all his dedicated followers and extended his blessing to all of those watching, regardless of their faith. Then, barely pausing for breath, the Red Pope raised his arms, summoned all the remaining power in his diseased body and spoke to the world: 'Today I am going on a journey. Many have gone before me on this journey from life to death, and in due course every one of you will follow me. It is unfortunate that dying is the last thing we ever do, because it could teach us so much about living. But this final journey still remains a mystery to us all.

  'The uncertainty about what happens to our souls after death lies at the heart of religion, with every cre
ed demanding that its followers believe exclusively in its view of the afterlife. Each -including the Church of the Soul Truth - demands this, based on nothing more than an act of faith.

  'Two thousand years ago a man was crucified for our sins. The man we Christians believe was the Son of God came to live among us and tried to help us go beyond faith to see the truth. But even then many were blind to his lessons. His parables and teachings were interpreted in ambiguous ways, and only a few saw him or his miracles with their own eyes. Even his death and resurrection were inconclusive to all but true believers.

  'Today I won't preach to you. I don't want you to believe in me or have faith in God. I will show you the truth - all of you. You will all see my resurrection with your own eyes and hear my truth with your own ears.

  'I have been chosen as God's second messiah to die and be reborn, so that I can stand astride both worlds, one foot beside God and the other beside you, my fellow man. Today I, Cardinal Xavier Accosta, will blunt Satan's horns by removing for ever from your hearts the spiritual doubt that the Devil exploits to create conflict and evil. After today there will no longer be any excuse for yielding to Satan's temptation, because you will know that God, your true God, exists.

  'At the end of my journey today, I will return to share the secrets of life and death with you. I will reveal to you the Soul Truth and, with this act of sacrifice, I will gain salvation for your soul and the souls of all humanity'

  When he finished there was no applause, just a hushed, awed silence.

  Diageo and Virginia Knight appeared beside him and escorted him to the left of the stage, to where Bukowski and Tripp were waiting by the couch and the apparatus.

  Diageo had tears in his eyes when he helped Accosta lie down on the laboratory couch that would be his deathbed. 'Don't be sad, my friend,' Accosta whispered. 'I'm not leaving you. By doing this I will stay with you for eternity'

  Diageo tried to smile as Knight placed the electrode on Accosta's temple with trembling hands.

  Bukowski came then and gently pegged open his eyes, before inserting the dye and the lenses. His eyes stung but he told himself that soon his pain would be gone. Soon he would be filled with peace and joy as he bathed in the love of God.

  Tripp helped raise Accosta's upper body and placed the glass sphere over his head.

  Then Carvelli appeared from the left of the stage, beside the bank of sound equipment and the KREE8 holopad. He double-checked with Tripp that the wireless interface between the NeuroTranslator and the other equipment was operational. Then he scrutinized the cameras and media equipment. The audience watched their methodical movements with awestruck reverence.

  Bukowski moved to the NeuroTranslator, ensuring that the soul wavelength was on screen.

  Knight waited for each of the team to nod their readiness before crossing herself and turning to Accosta. 'All is in place, Your Holiness.'

  Accosta sighed, with a blissful sense of release. He was so close now. Moments from his apotheosis.

  'We're starting, Your Holiness,' Carvelli said. 'If for any reason-'

  Accosta cut him off. 'I'm ready.' He had never felt more prepared for anything in his life.

  Carvelli's face was tense. 'May God go with you.'

  'God awaits me,' Accosta said quietly, as the switches were pulled and the humming grew in intensity. Gas entered the sphere and bathed the already distorted world outside it in a green glow.

  To his left he could see Virginia Knight praying. He smiled. She had no need to pray.

  Above the hum he could hear another sound. A deep wordless cry, a collective intake of breath, rose from the audience. He wished then that Carvelli had arranged music and, for a second, he wondered what music he would have chosen to accompany this moment.

  Then the countdown started.

  10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ...

  To his right he saw Virginia Knight's trembling hand holding the palm pad that controlled the electrode attached to his forehead - the electrode that would release the lethal electric shock, killing him instantly. He realized then that this would be the last thing he would ever see as a mortal man.

  6...5...4...

  Like a spiritual cosmonaut Accosta took one last deep breath and waited for launch.

  3...2...1...

  At first there is a black void. Then he is aware of a light in the distance and rushing towards it. The speed is breathtaking, exhilarating. He feels no fear. The faster the speed, the quicker he will reach his journey's end.

  Within the blink of an eye he is inside the cone of light, moving so fast that it seems to stand still around him like a shimmering blizzard of silver particles. He is merging with the light, becoming indivisible from the photons that surround him. He is aware of being both a discrete entity - himself- and a part of a greater whole, a greater self.

  A feeling of bliss flows through him as he nears the source of the radiance. Filled with rapture he surrenders himself to the luminous host, bracing himself for the moment of revelation - for the moment when he will be at one with God and he will know all there is to know.

  The instant he reaches the source, a blinding, blue-white supernova blots out everything. He is consumed in a swirling maelstrom of colour and light, a burst of energy so powerful it explodes his whole being and reconstitutes it, again and again and again.

  Suddenly the blinding light-storm is gone and his vision returns - but not as it was. He can see new colours, shapes and dimensions. A host of previously unimagined sights are revealed to him. It is as if he can see everything.

  Then he understands what he is seeing.

  And it is at this moment that the departed soul of Xavier Accosta wishes he could speak.

  But he has no voice and can only cry out in silent despair.

  *

  Virtual reality suite.

  The blue sector

  Fleming watched the glass sphere on Accosta's head as the spark of life leapt from the Red Pope's dying eyes, hit the photon-detector screen and formed the distinctive halo of light in the sphere's outer layer of optical fibre. He now understood the procedure: the beeping noise and the four columns of light coming into alignment on the unit at the base of the bed signified lock-on, enabling them to trace Accosta's soul. The barcode interference pattern displayed on the monitor next to the lights signified Accosta's unique soul signature. With these two pieces of data - the lock-on signal and the signature - they could now make contact. And with Fleming's NeuroTranslator and Amber's soul wavelength Tripp and Bukowski should be able to communicate with the Red Pope's soul.

  At that moment Fleming's anger was suspended. He wasn't thinking about the morality of how this had come about: Soames's deception, the murders, and the Red Pope's ruthless, vaunting ambition were all forgotten. His only thoughts, as he watched the line between life and death being redrawn, were of his brother and Jake.

  When he had first sat down in the VR suite with Amber, he had been determined not to give Soames the satisfaction of reacting to his technical wizardry or the Red Pope's circus act. But it was impossible not to be consumed by the spectacle, not to be awed by the import of the event unfolding before his eyes. His helpless fascination went beyond mere scientific curiosity or even his concern for Rob's soul. It was more primal. All his life he had assumed that there was no afterlife and certainly no interventionist God. Even the recent events had been tantalizingly inconclusive, yielding more questions than answers. Soon, however, he would no longer be able to choose what to believe in: he would know the truth and the thought terrified him. But still he couldn't turn away.

  The light had dissipated from the glass head-sphere when Knight and an independent doctor checked the Red Pope's life signs and declared him officially dead. Carvelli seemed preoccupied with the black equipment to the right of the scanner, focusing on the black circular disc on the floor, checking its infrared connection to the NeuroTranslator.

  'Watch the KREE8 holopad,' Amber whispered in his ear, and Fleming understood what was i
ntended to happen next.

  Not only were Soames's people going to use the NeuroTranslator to allow Accosta's soul to speak to the world, they were also going to control a hologram of him in the same way that Fleming controlled Brian. What was about to take place was nothing less than the virtual resurrection of the Red Pope. He shifted his gaze to the black pad and a shiver ran down his spine.

  Seconds later the KREE8 holopad hummed into life. The halo reappeared in the glass head-sphere on the Red Pope's corpse and Fleming imagined the soul wavelength on the NeuroTranslator split-screen monitor starting to spike.

  Then it began.

  Horizontal line by horizontal line, an apparition appeared before his eyes. Accosta seemed to solidify out of thin air. To all intents and purposes, the Red Pope was standing not ten feet from his own corpse. Every detail was perfect, down to the expression on his face.