Angels of Apocalypse, Part I: Alignment

by J. J. Harkin

  “Now, Prime Minister Shosheqets, would you do us the honor of christening the system, so to speak?” finished Athaliah.

  Obediently Sémeion stepped forward, as the whole audience cheered again. The pedestal between Sémeion and the statue seemed a perfectly balanced seesaw when viewed from the side. But the mouth of the Prime Minister dropped right open when he glimpsed the image displayed onscreen behind the statue, for his heart beat fast as he saw what Athaliah’s cyber-self stood admiring. The submission which had been labeled “Highest Vote Count” was composed of nothing but cubes – three cubes, in fact. They were displayed before the crowd in rotating, three-dimensional motion, one within the next within the next.

  Sémeion was reminded immediately of his dream. He had chosen the orb. Now a glaring depiction of its antithesis had been projected before him, and it seemed that this was the contest’s most popular submission to date. It was the clearest of revelations, though he knew he was the only one present capable of seeing it as such.

  Very little reaction time was allowed him, for the eyes of the statue flashed the next second, before two strange things happened. First there was an audible popping sound. Then, as Sémeion’s vision cleared after the flash, he saw that a curl of smoke was rising from a new crack in the side of Talman’s obsidian head. Clearly something had damaged the statue, yet also he saw that both Akan’s computer and the big screen had gone blank, as if the national site had crashed. Every computer in sight was rebooting. Sémeion glanced toward Athaliah, but her pudgy face seemed as riddled with confusion as everyone else’s.

  “Ah, technical difficulties!” exclaimed Sémeion improvisationally, as no one else seemed ready to take the lead. He turned to face the crowd. “I’m sure you’ve all got the idea, anyway,” he smiled reassuringly. “When it is ready, all will be open for public use!”

  As the ceremony had been thoroughly derailed by all these goings on, Sémeion’s guards escorted him from the scene as quickly as might be. This was no small trick, unfortunately. In the end, a decoy lookalike had to be used for the Prime Minister to eventually find his way back to his apartments near Gethsemane, which took more than an hour, though they were quite close. Upon arrival there a new guard of security officers encircled him, but these remained out of sight – if not out of mind – at his request. Already the scents of the gardens of Gethsemane were beckoning to him, so that Sémeion opted for a walk before going inside. This he might have enjoyed, had the advisors which constantly encircled him agreed to go away, but such was not the case. They followed along after him like lost children, constantly asking business questions, requesting various policy decisions, and presenting him with important documents.

  “Sign here, Mr. Shosheqets,” the lawyer nearest him was asking. A clipboard was handed over as they stooped past a row of vines.

  “You’re not going to explain what this is?” returned Sémeion, giving the man a funny look.

  “Normally I would, Prime Minister, but this is nothing but what you ordered prepared yesterday,” explained the man. “We need your final approval on the terms and conditions for Israel’s online services.”

  “Recite them for me, then,” said Sémeion diligently, as he sat down upon a stone bench in the shade. He turned to a servant which stood nearby, adding: “Water. Plenty of ice. And a shot of absinthe on the side.” It was only early afternoon, yet he had no more scheduled appearances that day. He was not hungry, and the time had come for contemplation.

  “I’ll paraphrase, Prime Minister, if that’s alright,” began the lawyer, not waiting for an answer as he continued. “Of course there’s all the bits about how we may choose to sell the contact information of any member in our efforts to expand the Israeli economy. Yada, yada, yada… Then there’s the important addition we made yesterday: ‘In the case of a shortage of any commodity’ – which of course means food under our current circumstances – ‘the allocation of purchasing rights will occur as organized by the website administrators…’”

  “That’s us,” put in Athaliah, who had hovered near all the while, “and we’re placing public servants, academics, women, and children at the top of the list. Nobody will be able to bribe their way into receiving more than they deserve, because it’s all distributed directly to those who’ve earned it best, as recognized by their civic activities. There will be no way around our safeguards, as the system’s three-dimensional image-capture is so thoroughly detailed. Fooling our scanners is certainly too difficult for the average user to pull off.”

  “Well, that sounds good…” began Sémeion.

  “Oh, yes!” agreed Akan. “Athaliah and I have been working out the order of who receives what for some time.”

  “Who’s at the bottom of the list, I wonder?”

  “Palestinians, of course. Then, above them, come criminals of direct Jewish ancestry,” explained Akan, with an especially blind frankness. “Everything becomes more available as people improve their C. R. – that is Civic Rating – by doing good works.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?!” pronounced Athaliah confidently. “It’s the end of cronyism at last! The good people really will come out on top this time!”

  “What about the Palestinians?” asked Sémeion quickly, determined not to get distracted. “You said women and children are at the top of the list. What about Palestinian women and children?”

  “Oh!” began Athaliah, seeming both surprised and confused by Sémeion’s interest in the welfare of this most lowly of classes. “Well, we thought… I mean, after the mass deaths of so many Palestinians during the period of your ascension to power, we thought that…”

  “You thought me willing to starve the innocent because of the families they were incidentally born into?!” Sémeion felt quite insulted by the inference.

  “You did kill hundreds of Palestinians yourself, Prime Minister,” Akan reminded him gravely. “This is how you gained your position. Are we now reversing course?”

  “I always have – and will – kill anyone who attacks me!” contradicted Sémeion in surprise. “I struck dead all who came to stop me on that first day at the Mount, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sign off on any form of genocide, no matter how well organized. I suggest you take these documents back. Rework them, and then I’ll have another look.”

  “There’s no point, really,” drawled the bored lawyer bearing the clipboard. “How the site administrators conduct themselves is a separate issue, and therefore irrelevant. I just need you to sign off on the terms and conditions statement, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Fine, fine,” muttered Sémeion, as he signed the documents hurriedly. He pointed to Athaliah and Akan as the lawyer stalked off through the garden. “I want to hear that you’ve reworked your prioritization of our citizens without regard to their racial or familial background by next week. The Arab Union will never work if we’re starving the Palestinians in our care. Do you understand?”

  Both of the ambassadors frowned openly at this, though they nodded in reluctant acknowledgement, before stomping moodily out of the garden. Seeing that he had already reduced the thronging horde of attendants by three, Sémeion turned to the next in line with growing satisfaction. “And what can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Water,” said the man softly, as he set a glass beside the Prime Minister, “and absinthe.” He handed over a very small shot of a light green liquid, and bowed.

  “Thank you, thank you. Time to think green…” said Sémeion, throwing the small shot into the back of his throat before handing the glass back over.

  The steward hurried out of sight, and Sémeion raised the glass of icy water to his lips, admiring the swaying branches of a nearby olive tree as he drank. The remaining members of his entourage gathered around even more closely by the second, however, so that he was obliged not to ignore their concerns. Each one had a different issue, but he went right through them all, as the slow warmth of the absinthe stole over him. Some of his visitors had arrived with news or greeting
s from the surrounding lands, while others needed certain logistical questions firmly decided upon. Unfortunately, most arrived bearing news of famine, so that the many requests for assistance soon filled Sémeion’s mind like a cloud. He could not help himself. Without asking the permission of Athaliah, Akan, or any other such person, he sent out every item that was asked for and more, Civic Ratings be damned.

  As the afternoon drew onward, the siege slowly broke. In just a few hours he had video-chatted with the King of Jordan, sent relief supplies into Gaza, and further armed the citizens of Kibbutz Ein Gedi against a roving group of desert thieves. By nightfall every bit of Israel’s stored food and water had been repositioned for optimal distribution, though Sémeion doubted this would sustain the nation for more than a month. What they would do to ward off hunger after that was anybody’s guess.

  He hoped for a change in the weather, as the growing famine had come as the result of long years of drought. More and more Sémeion had been wondering if some deeper curse than simply a lack of rain might be ravaging the land. Despite the fact that he had summoned rain every day for a month, there were still no signs of renewed growth in any of Israel’s famished plant life. Every bit of the wilted nation remained unchanged, as if not even Sémeion’s miraculous powers could do it any good. Something sinister was definitely going on somewhere; he knew it. Gethsemane had only survived because of its sprinkler systems.

  He was alone at last. The bodyguards which surrounded the clearing remained well out of sight. As light drained from the sky, Sémeion began to wander the grounds. It was not a large garden, but it was quite varied in its greenery, and well cared for. He thought proudly on the last-minute changes he had made to Athaliah and Akan’s prioritizations of the people. Certainly Israel’s new Civic Rating system was a fairer method of distributing scarce supplies during a drought than the free market would have allowed for, but Sémeion still wondered if that was enough. What had become of benevolence and graciousness? When it came right down to it, would his orders even be strictly followed? Did the majority of his subjects think as Akan had? Did they all think him to be anti-Palestinian? Perhaps he had seized power too firmly.

  The ringing of his phone suddenly broke his train of thought. To his surprise, Sémeion noticed that Talman was on the line, and he eagerly threw himself down under a tree to answer. “Hello?”

  “I can’t see you, Sémeion. Put me on speaker and pull the phone away from your ear.”

  “Come on, Talman. I hate video conferences, and it’s been a long day.”

  “Fine, fine,” agreed Talman, sounding jovial. “But I heard you missed the opening ceremonies today.”

  “No, not really,” disagreed Sémeion reassuringly. “I suppose I did sleep through the first bits inadvertently, so I did miss all the sacrificing and such, but I made a fine speech when everyone finally found me, and then we showed the crowd your lovely gift. Thanks again, Talman.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, absolutely nothing,” drawled the other. “Wish I could have been there, but I’m still very busy. I’m to your north, actually, in Syria at the moment.”

  “Really? But how is your wife, Talman? Any new words of power for me? It seems not even the daily rains I’ve sent have done much to improve our agricultural prospects.”

  “No, I’m sorry to say.” Talman did his best impression of a sorrowful sigh. “She has not been entirely conscious, Sémeion, but trust that I will keep you informed if anything of worth comes through for you.” Here Talman’s voice became tinged with true concern. “But I heard there was a malfunction when you attempted to use the statue this morning.”

  “Yes,” confirmed Sémeion. “It seemed to work perfectly for Athaliah and Akan, though. It’s quite a mystery. Anyway, I’m told the system is already back up and running again, good as new.”

  “But you haven’t been back to scan yourself yet, have you?”

  “No. I’ll admit I barely care about it, Talman. I’m more concerned with where next month’s food supplies are going to come from. Any ideas?”

  “Hmm… Perhaps there is something about your messianic nature that derailed the system. It’s probably nothing,” assured Talman, though in truth the Prime Minister’s effect on the statue was quite worrisome to him. “Hold on just a minute, Sémeion.” An alert tone had sounded in Talman’s ear, so that he pulled it away to see who was calling. It was Maria, but Talman ignored the prompt, knowing his true priority to be on the line already. “Just stay away from the statue from now on, Sémeion, or at least until we believe everyone has registered. The network is new, so the ability of hackers to toy with the systems is going to take some time to work out. Maybe that’s all it is.”

  “When will I be visiting you in Iraq, Talman?” Sémeion was determined to keep the other dancing. “I hear the Darkspire is quite a sight to see.”

  “It is, it is,” admitted Talman. “We will set something up in the coming months, but until then I hope I can convince you to sit tight. The people need their leaders.” In truth Talman hoped only to keep Sémeion from seeing anything out of the ordinary in the lands where his other servants wielded the holograms, for ignorance was the means by which he pulled the Prime Minister’s strings. “I was actually calling to warn you against travel,” added Talman, relishing the lie as he spun it. “I’ve heard reports of bandits between eastern Israel and western Iraq. All of Jordan is overtaken with them. You should go nowhere without a sizeable escort.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sémeion, “I spoke to the King earlier. He warned of the bandits, but said nothing about their activities in his lands.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” scoffed Talman. “Mounting evidence indicates that they work for him.” He smiled as he deepened the lie with his best impression of concern. “Believe me, the Jordanians will be dealt with soon enough. I just need you to stay put until then. We will all meet soon, once the Arab Union is fully organized.”

  “They are saying that your King Mukasa is a prophet, Talman,” added Sémeion, having no idea how disconcerting the question would prove to the other. “They are saying he is working miracles too, Talman. What do you suppose that is about?”

  “Ah!” said Talman, hoping to sound as though the whole situation was very humorous. “Just rumor-mongering, I’m afraid… But you should know that I’m attempting to encourage it all, because it further unifies the nation we’re trying so hard to establish.”

  “Yes, yes, I see. But, as I asked before, do you have any idea where I might find further food supplies?” asked Sémeion. “I reckon we’re only ahead by a month or so over here.”

  “All of these questions are tied together, Sémeion. I’ll tell you a secret: Right now I’m actually negotiating with the very bandits we discussed before. So far there has been little progress, and they remain utterly dangerous, but I suspect that in the end I’ll be able to transform their loyalty to the Jordanians into service of the Grand Caliphate. Then we’ll pay back the Jordanians for their robberies, and feed our own people with the surplus.”

  “The King is no danger,” Sémeion assured him. “Surely your sources are flawed. The Jordanians would never support bandits.”

  “Wouldn’t they?” offered Talman untruthfully. “In extreme situations even the best of friends can fall victim to selfishness and infighting. I am sorry, Sémeion, but my intelligence on the King of Jordan is bulletproof.”

  “He’s always been our greatest ally.”

  “That belief has been the problem all along, but I don’t wish to argue.” Talman paused to adjust his tone. “I hope you’ll soldier on, Sémeion. You’re doing well. Opportunities for travel will open up as the months pass. I will keep you informed. I must go.”

  The short call was over already. Sémeion wondered why his conversations with Talman were always so short. Perhaps mending the rifts in the Middle East was a job which allowed no time for aimless chatter. At least major progress was being made somewhere, yet a stabbing doubt stayed with Sémeion always, tormentin
g him.

  “Where is the love? The selflessness?” he muttered to himself, as he craned his neck to admire the stars beginning to twinkle out between the tree branches. Thoughts of the people who might find themselves at the bottom of the distribution heap, if no further supplies were found, were proving inescapable. “What a sad and lonely world.” His mind wandered through the thousands of potential futures which awaited him, and thoughts of both cubes and spheres visited him often, but he was left blessedly undisturbed by anyone until morning.

  Maria’s Controversial Interview

  “So what do you think of those members of the religious community who express continued disgust with your art? You know: the nudity, and all the – as some say – misplaced religious symbolism…”

  “I would say that I’m here to decriminalize women’s sexuality, and that destroying a few misogynistic religions is likely to be a part of that process.”

  “Those are bold words, Maria. A declaration of war, almost. But which would you say is the bigger problem: the religions of the world, or the men running them?”

  “The problem is absolutely to do with men, and the over-promotion of masculine ideals. That’s the primary problem, but remember that religion is usually the venue by which those ideals are marketed. Consider the drowning in San Fransisco…”

  “It’s not a drowning until they find a...”

  “Gimme a break... Security cameras at the wharf recorded what appeared to be the drowning of an innocent man who is now officially missing. What do you think homophobia is all about anyway? To the mind of a male drone it’s not an attack on someone gay – it’s an attack on something feminine. Whether we speak of gay men or lesbian women, anti-gay prejudice is always about the same thing: the heterosexual male majority attempting to reinforce its dominance. They attempt to kill every gay man they can find, and to sexually enslave every lesbian that falls into their clutches.”