The Recarn Chronicles- Omnibus Edition

by Greg Krojac

  “Told you.”

  Malcolm stuck his tongue out at her. He tapped the ‘answer’ button and an unknown voice started to speak.

  “Malcolm McCreadie. My name is Santori Filipe Garcia and I have an important message for you.”

  Malcolm started to speak, wanting to know who was calling him and why they had called him, but the voice continued unabated.

  “Has your life not lived up to your expectations? Is your life problematic, perhaps unbearable at times? Have you ever considered that one final visit to a Self-Termination Centre? Do you fear for your children’s future? Would you like a life free from oppression? Would you like your life back? I’m sure you would.”

  Malcolm was tempted to hang up on the caller, but continued to listen, much against his better instincts. People who called trying to sell him something usually got short shrift. Something made him continue listening though.

  “All your problems can be traced to the Illuminati. The Illuminati is not a myth. Yes, you heard me correctly. The Illuminati is real, and this evil organisation has taken control of the world through its puppet ONP governments. Recarns are the problem.”

  His wife went to say something but he gestured to her to be quiet.

  “The Illuminati is a Recarn organisation whose agenda is to enslave non-Recarns, normal people like you, your wife Sonya, and your children. We cannot allow that to happen. We need you to help us free humanity from this scourge, from these mutants. They are amongst us. They are hiding in plain sight, just biding their time until they can enslave you. Your best friend may be a Recarn. That schoolgirl going to tennis practice may be a Recarn. Your boss, your neighbour, your colleague, your lover – they may be Recarns. Be vigilant. If you suspect anyone of being a Recarn, get in touch with us urgently at this number. For your sake. For your children’s sake. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US.”

  The line went dead.

  “Who was it, Malcolm?”

  “It was a recorded message. A bit disturbing really. Talking about Recarns and how they want to enslave us all.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It was like a follow-up call, you know, to those videos that suddenly took over the TV on Wednesday.”

  Sonya’s phone started ringing in the kitchen.

  “Hang on, Malc, I’m expecting a call from my sister Maggie.”

  She quickly retrieved the phone from the kitchen and answered it.

  “Sonya McCreadie. My name is Santori Filipe Garcia and I have an important message for you. Has your life not lived up to your expectations? Is your life problematic, perhaps unbearable at times? Have you ever considered that one final visit to a Self Termination Centre? Do you fear for your children’s future?”

  Sonya moved the phone away from her ear and mouthed to her husband that it was the same call that he had just received. She went to disconnect the call but he shook his head.

  “Keep listening.”

  She put the phone back to her ear.

  “They are hiding in plain sight, just biding their time until they can enslave you. Your best friend may be a Recarn. That schoolgirl going to tennis practice may be a Recarn. Your boss, your neighbour, your colleague, your lover - they may be Recarns. Be vigilant. If you suspect anyone of being a Recarn, get in touch with us urgently at this number. For your sake. For your children’s sake. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US.”

  After the line went silent, Sonya tucked the phone into one of the front pockets of her jeans.

  “As I said. Ridiculous. I’m not going to spy on my friends and neighbours. They’ve always been very helpful to us. They’re lovely people. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt us. This is just rubbish.”

  “Yes, my love. It’s pure bullshit. Not worth thinking about.”

  Malcolm waited until his wife had gone back to the kitchen and then saved the caller’s number in his phone’s contact list.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  20:36 WEDNESDAY 16 NOVEMBER 2089

  “Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  Ethan Armstrong was fuming. Life had been normal or, at least, as normal as could be when he ran the world. The resistance attacked Illuminati strongholds. The Illuminati defended the strongholds. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not so successfully. That was how it was, it was to be expected. Any government had its critics. Even the ONP. Well, especially the ONP. That was to be expected. Policies put in place by the various ONP governments around the world weren’t designed to help the general population. The general population, mostly non-Recarns, were the worker bees. Their sole purpose was to make the already obscenely rich Illuminati even richer and to entrench the Organisation’s position in the world.

  He looked around the great boardroom at the Council of Thirteen, each member looking regal in their ceremonial robes.

  “I asked you a fucking question.”

  Councillor Cavendish went to rap his ceremonial staff three times, hard on the ground, to signify that he was about to speak, as was demanded by Illuminati protocol. Ethan, the Pindar, held his hand up to stop the Councillor from doing so.

  “Screw protocol Cavendish. If you have something to say, then say it.”

  “Very well, my Lord Pindar. We have received reports that Douglas, the Businessman, is dead.”

  “Yes. A great shame. Of course, we were enemies but at least you knew where you were with Douglas. Go on.”

  “The leadership of One Life should have gone to Zafar Azad, but nobody has heard anything from him for a few days. And then this Garcia character has appeared from out of the blue, as it were.”

  “How? Where did he spring from?”

  “Nobody knows, sir.”

  Councillor Bruce stood up, taking advantage of the absence of protocol.

  “If I may interject, my Lord Pindar. I think the more pertinent question is how did he get access to the IT infrastructure? I mean, he appears to have access to anything, absolutely anything, that is interconnected. It’s as if Internet security measures seem to be nonexistent to him. He can access and hijack anything he wants to. At anytime. At will.”

  “And what about our systems?”

  “They’re secure my Lord Pindar. As soon as the first Garcia transmission occurred I checked our network and beefed up our firewalls.”

  That was a small mercy.

  “I’m glad somebody was on the ball. Thank you. So we’re safe.”

  “For the moment, sir. But imagine that the Internet is an enormous building with an infinite number of locked rooms. Garcia has found a master-key that will open all those rooms. We’ve changed the lock of our room and have barricaded the door with furniture, but it’s only postponing the inevitable. He will get in, sooner or later.”

  Councillor Bruce took a breath and continued.

  “And his videos are everywhere. It’s like a virus. Except that it isn’t. Not in the way we think of computer viruses anyway. We have no idea how he’s doing it. Try to access a video on YouTube and his propaganda plays instead. Try to post a message on Facebook and half the time your post is replaced by a propaganda video. It’s the same for Instagram. And Twitter feeds are getting flooded with Garcia’s propaganda. It’s quite impressive really. In a bad way, of course.”

  “How can we stop it?”

  “We can’t at the moment. We’re doing our best, but we haven’t been able to do a thing to stop it yet. I’ve got teams of experts working around the clock.”

  “Well, if you need to, put more people on it. We can’t let this continue unchecked. Every hour that passes, more Normals will be brainwashed and think that they can overcome us. I can’t stress how important this is to our future, our very existence.”

  Ethan started to walk towards the door. He turned to his councillors.

  “I want all hands to the wheel to find out anything about this Garcia fellow. Who he is,
where he’s from, what he has for breakfast, where he hangs out, who he hangs out with. Everything. If he has a shit, I want to know the colour and the consistency. I need information. Down to the minutest detail.”

  He went to open the door but was halted by a throat being cleared.

  “Yes, Councillor Sinclair?”

  “My Lord Pindar. I think that we need to address the elephant in the room.”

  And what elephant might that be?”

  There was a hush, almost visible in its intensity, that enveloped the room. Councillors looked at each other. Nobody had spoken of it but each was aware of it. Was Councillor Sinclair really going to say out loud, that which they all knew but were afraid to admit? Councillor Sinclair took a deep breath.

  “My memory. My memory is not what it once was.”

  “You’re getting old, my friend. It’s to be expected.”

  “No. My memory is perfect - regarding this life anyway. I’m talking about my past lives. I can’t remember a thing. My past life memory has disappeared. Gone. Kaput.”

  “Probably a temporary thing. A virus perhaps. It’ll come back. I’m sure.”

  Councillor Warburg raised his hand.

  “My Lord Pindar. I have no past life memory either. I’ve tried to remember my previous existences but I can’t. It’s as if there’s something blocking me from them.”

  Ten of the remaining members of the Council of Thirteen felt emboldened by the confession of Warburg and Sinclair and admitted that they too had lost their past life memory. Councillor Bruce turned to Councillor Cavendish, a fifteen year old boy in a room full of adults.

  “As everybody knows, I am standing in for my father until his new incarnation is able to return to the fold and he can reclaim his place on the Council. But I’m concerned that he will never come back. If he too is suffering from a loss of PLM, he won’t know that he should come back. He won’t remember us. He’ll only be aware of his new life. Councillor Cavendish, our special forces located your new host body in a remote village in Vietnam and brought you back to us. Do you remember how your previous life ended? Do you really remember? Please be totally honest.”

  Cavendish wanted to say yes but he was terrible at lying.

  “In my sleep?”

  “Try again.”

  “Some kind of accident?”

  “Nope.”

  “I give up.”

  “You were blown up by an exploding golf ball. The kind of thing that a Recarn would remember. We’re Recarns. That means we remember our past lives. Without PLM what are we? What are we? We’re normal. And more importantly, we’ve lost our advantage over the rest of humanity.”

  Ethan felt obliged to calm things down.

  “We’ll deal with that in due course. Our most pressing problem is this Garcia character. Let’s solve that situation first. Anyway, I still have all my faculties intact, including my past life memory. All resources must be focused on Garcia.”

  His hand had been hovering over the door handle during this more recent discussion. He opened the door and hurried out of the room, only relaxing a little when he was back in the comfort and security of his own office. He pulled a bottle of whisky from the desk drawer and poured a generous shot into a crystal glass, wishing that he could remember his past lives, wishing that he could pool all his considerable experience gained throughout the centuries and could find a way to deal with Señor Santori Filipe Garcia.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  21:27 THURSDAY 17 NOVEMBER 2089

  Michelle could hear something.

  “Shhhhh. I think Max has arrived. She moved just outside of the protection of the VACS dome and called out in a whisper.

  “Max, over here.”

  “Where?”

  “Behind the mausoleum.”

  Max headed towards the source of the whispers. He followed Michelle and ducked inside the invisible dome. Caitlin was already inside, sharing a bottle of water with Philippa.

  “Whose idea was it to have this meeting in a bloody cemetery? Halloween was over two weeks ago.”

  Michelle handed Max a bottle of water.

  “You may be wondering why Caitlin and I asked you to meet us here.”

  Max shook his head.

  “Not really. It’s got to be about this cyber-hacking by Garcia, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes. That’s right. But the hacking isn’t the main problem. It’s the message. He’s stirring up hatred against Recarns, all Recarns. And I’m not just talking about persecution, I’m talking about genocide, total extermination. That affects you two directly. You both have Recarn souls, you’re both targets.”

  Philippa took a swig of water.

  “But Max and I have always been loyal to One Life. One Life saved Max as a baby, and I know that I was on the wrong side for a while but since then I’ve fought against the Illuminati.”

  Caitlin touched her doppelganger on the arm.

  “Nobody’s questioning your loyalty, Pip. You’re one of us. But that doesn’t make any difference to Garcia. To him, you’re both Recarns. Recarns. Nothing else. He doesn’t care if you’re a good person or if you’ve been fighting for One Life. To him, you aren’t human.”

  Philippa looked down at the ground. She could feel her eyes moistening.

  “I’m a clone and a Recarn. A double whammy.”

  Caitlin put her arm around Philippa’s shoulder.

  “Pip, you are human. Don’t ever think otherwise.

  Michelle was secretly pleased to hear her sister comfort Philippa like that; there was a time when Caitlin had despised clones, a time when she hated Philippa with a vengeance. But that was a long time ago. Philippa reached up to her shoulder and squeezed Caitlin’s hand.

  “I have a confession to make though. It’s a bit strange…”

  Michelle had a feeling that she knew what Philippa was going to say.

  “Don’t worry Pip. You’re among friends.”

  “OK… Well, I’ve lost my memory. My past life memory I mean. My normal memory’s fine, but I only remember being this Philippa. I’ve no idea who I was before. Or what I did. There’s a gap in my mind. I don’t know how it happened.”

  Michelle felt that she needed to come clean. It would be a shock, even to her sister. Only a handful of people knew her secret.

  “Pip, I need to tell you something. You too, Caitlin and Max, ‘cos it’s bound to affect Max too. The reason that Pip can’t remember her past lives is our fault. One Life’s I mean. We spread a virus, created a pandemic to suppress past life memories. Its purpose was to cripple the Illuminati, to take away their advantage. Unfortunately, it affected all Recarns, not just the bad guys.”

  Philippa was speechless. She just didn’t know what to say. She really didn’t know how she felt about hearing this news. Max broke the silence.

  “But I can still remember my past lives. Why’s that?”

  “Really?

  Michelle was shocked.

  “You shouldn’t be able to remember. Your PLM should have been blocked off.”

  “Maybe I’m immune.”

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t tell anyone else. Pretend that you can’t remember anything about your past life, you mustn’t attract attention to yourself.”

  Caitlin returned to the original subject.

  “Anyway, you didn’t ask us here to drop that bombshell, Mitch. About Garcia.”

  “Yes. Garcia. We need to stop him.”

  “How? Do you have any ideas?”

  “Not really. He’s creating a common enemy, someone to fear and to blame for everything that’s gone wrong in people’s lives. And that enemy is the Recarn. It doesn’t matter whether a Recarn is a member of the Illuminati or not; good or bad, he’s tarring all Recarns with the same brush.”

  “What about Zafar? Can’t he do something about Garcia? Zafar was the Businessman’s number two.”

  “Nobody has seen or heard from Zafar for nearly a week. He’s disappeared into thin air. I hope he’s okay.”
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  Caitlin frowned.

  “So what can we do?”

  “Garcia is spreading his vitriol through the internet and through any telecommunications system. People are starting to receive recorded messages at all times of the day or night, urging them to seek out and report people who they suspect of being Recarns. It’s what Hitler did a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “Hitler?”

  “You really should have paid more attention in history classes, Caitlin. Hitler tried to exterminate Jews in the same way but, even though he didn’t have the technology we have now, he still managed to get a large portion of the German people behind him.”

  Max sighed.

  “I remember it. It was awful. I was killed in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising of 1943. I was burnt alive when SS-Brigadeführer Stroop ordered the burning of the Ghetto, block by block. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I don’t see how we can stop Garcia though – modern technology means that he’s got global reach.”

  “We have to do what we can. If we don’t, then millions of innocent people will die. They may die anyway, but I’m not prepared to stand by and watch it happen, without even trying to stop it. The Massacre of the Innocents was horrific and this has the potential to be even worse. We have to save as many as we can. It may be a drop in the ocean, but many drops make an ocean. If we can make people see what’s really going on maybe we can turn it around. But it’s not going to happen overnight. I don’t know how, I just know I need to do something. So, if anybody has any ideas?”

  Max hated that he still had memories of those days in the Warsaw Ghetto. He could remember seeing family and friends gunned down indiscriminately by Waffen-SS troops. He remembered the houses being searched and ransacked and the inhabitants being dragged off to await transport to the Treblinka Extermination Camp. He remembered seeing his best friend herded into the square with a group of prisoners. Suddenly his friend opened fire with a hidden pistol, shooting at one of the police officers. He remembered seeing his friend racked with pain as bullet after bullet tore into his body as the SS troops responded with gunfire of their own. He would never forget the evil expression on SS-Brigadeführer Stroop’s face as he stood over the boy and gave him the final coup de grâce, not out of pity but out of hatred.