The Recarn Chronicles- Omnibus Edition

by Greg Krojac

  “No, Santino. We’re not your life. Your festering hatred for Recarns is your life. We’re nothing to you.”

  “But…”

  “And, for your information, I’m a Recarn. And so is our eldest daughter.”

  “You can’t be.”

  “Well, we are. We have no PLM anymore but we’re Recarns. If you wanted to kill all Recarns, maybe you should’ve started with us.”

  “But you were tested.”

  “Test can be faked.”

  “Sofia. Please don’t turn against me.”

  “I turned against you a long time ago, Santino. How do you think these guys knew your movements, your weaknesses?”

  “But I love you.”

  “Maybe you think you do. But you don’t. And I certainly don’t love you.”

  With that, Sofia and her two daughters left the room.

  Garcia looked at Captain Winston who grinned.

  “That didn’t go too well, did it?”

  It was now 3.50 a.m. and governmental offices and communications centres all over the world were now under UN2.0 control. Of course, there had been some resistance, but embedded rebel troops within the units of government troops had made the overpowering of the One Life infrastructure much simpler than it perhaps could have been. All loyal members of Garcia’s ministries were now under arrest. One Life was paralysed. Within another ten minutes, all the main thoroughfares in all major cities in the UK had been blocked, signalling similar road closures to be executed on a global scale, along with the UN2.0 commandeering of every TV and radio station. One Life was no longer just paralysed. It was dying.

  At 4 a.m. Captain Nicholson switched on the TV in Garcia’s bedroom. Around the world any visual broadcasting medium that wasn’t unplugged sparked into life. The same advertising displays that Garcia had used to broadcast his message of hatred were now turned against him. A figure came on screen, a figure that Garcia recognised but couldn’t believe he was seeing. Zafar smiled at his audience, as his words were automatically translated into the local language and subtitled, wherever the video was being watched.

  “Good morning. My name is Zafar and I imagine you are wondering what has happened today. Illuminati rule was oppressive and unjust and had to go. I was part of the organisation, One Life, which removed it and took its place. I am ashamed to admit that One Life did not live up to expectations and became a murderous tool of a new barbarous and unjust regime, with only one aim – to annihilate Recarns. Millions of you were duped into believing his lies and vengeful rhetoric, Millions of innocent Recarns have died. Genocide is never the answer. Collective punishment is never the answer. The history books tell us that.”

  Garcia couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  “How? How is he there? He’s locked up in stasis somewhere.”

  “He’s been out for ages, Garcia.”

  Captain Winston had tired of being polite.

  “We extracted him months ago.”

  “But I would have known. The tube would have shown up on our systems as empty.”

  “Oh, the tube wasn’t - and isn’t empty. It’s occupied by one of the prison guards. It’s very difficult to tell who’s in a stasis tube when their covered in all that shit; especially when the monitoring equipment has been tampered with and sees the DNA of one person as that of another.”

  Just like the Illuminati leaders that he had overthrown, Garcia had fallen foul of complacency. He thought that he had all bases covered and that he was untouchable. He was shocked to find that he wasn’t. He returned to watching the screen again. Zafar was explaining what would happen next.

  “The unjust laws that Garcia put into place are hereby repealed. The acts of 2084, the Recarn Population International Act, the Prohibition of Sexual Relations and Mixed Marriages International Act, the Acquisition of Recarn Land and Property International Act, the Health and Education International Act, and the Freedom of Recarn Movement International Act are no longer law. There will be a twenty-four hour curfew, which may be extended if necessary, but this is a general curfew and not just for Recarns.”

  It suddenly occurred to Garcia that he had fallen foul of his own Prohibition of Sexual Relations and Mixed Marriages law. How could he not have realised that Sofia and Camila were Recarns?

  Zafar was about to finish his announcement.

  “There are to be no recriminations against humans or Recarns. We must learn to live together and part of that process is to forgive our enemies, to move on. Of course, that is easier to say than to do, but do it we must. We cannot forget, but bearing grudges and acting upon them is a recipe for disaster. All participants in protests against Garcia’s regime, who were arrested and imprisoned, are being released as I speak. Finally, I am assuming – temporarily – the position of Acting World President. Please rest assured that once stability has returned, free and fair democratic elections will be held to create a new world government that will serve all the inhabitants of this wonderful planet of ours.”

  The video was then broadcast on a loop so that all those who were unable to watch the announcement live could discover the news when they woke up.

  Captain Winston turned off the TV.

  “So what do you think, Garcia?”

  “Not impressed.”

  The sound of a JetCopter could be heard landing on the Presidential Palace lawn, at the rear of the building. Garcia was handcuffed and led out of the bedroom to meet his fate, whatever that would be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  08:47 THURSDAY 8TH NOVEMBER 2091

  Carole Drummond was driving into central London with her colleague Jethro Harper. They were both journalists and made the same journey twice a week; the rest of the week they worked from their respective homes. It suddenly occurred to Carole that the nature of the journey had changed over the years. She swivelled in her seat to face her passenger, leaving the car to do what it always did – drive them to work in perfect safety and without human intervention. The fact that she normally faced forward was just a habit that she and many others still could not shake off; it seemed so natural to face forward with one’s hands on the steering wheel, even though it was completely unnecessary.

  “Jethro, how long have we been making this journey together?”

  Jethro thought for a moment before answering.

  “About fifteen years, I reckon. Yes, fifteen years.”

  “Do you remember how we used to complain about the traffic congestion, that it was getting worse and worse?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Where’s the traffic now?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Look at the traffic. When’s the last time we got caught up in heavy traffic?”

  “A few years ago, now I come to think of it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But it’s because of the Automatrix isn’t it? It’s got better and better.”

  “It could be, if the number of vehicles on the road were the same or increasing, but look at the spaces between cars. The gaps are bigger. I’m sure there are fewer and fewer cars on the roads now.”

  Jethro hadn’t noticed before, but he had to admit that Carole was right. Carole switched on the in-car monitor and navigated to the national twenty-four hour news channel. She wound the programme back until it came to the business news part of the schedule.

  “Watch this report.”

  The pair watched the screen as the news presenter gave the latest financial and unemployment figures. She turned the monitor off as the car entered the raised section of the M4 motorway, the old Chiswick Flyover.

  “Record numbers of companies are closing down and becoming bankrupt. They’re not making sufficient sales to keep going. There’s less demand for their products so they’re producing less. If they’re producing fewer goods, they need fewer staff. But unemployment rates aren’t going up radically.”

  “Surely that’s good, isn’t it? Unemployment not rising, I mean?”

  “You’d think so, w
ouldn’t you? But why isn’t unemployment rising? It should do, if the number of job vacancies is reducing.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it. What if the number of people available for those jobs that do still exist is getting smaller?”

  Carole switched the monitor on again and searched the Deep Web for the UK population figures, which updated in real-time thanks to monitoring software that had been introduced five years previously, registering each birth and death as it occurred and updating the system accordingly. These were the actual figures which governments would be aware of, as opposed to officially released figures. Carole wasn’t supposed to be able to access the Deep Web but she had a very helpful contact in the government’s IT department who had provided her with an authentic username and password, on the proviso that it was to be used only in an emergency. Carole’s journalistic instinct felt that this constituted an emergency.

  “Look.”

  Carole and Jethro watched as the mortality figure for the UK was displayed. Carole waved her hand to freeze the ever changing figures that were shown onscreen.

  ”Look there. The UK population is 67,147,707.”

  “So?”

  She waved her hand again.

  “This is the population as of today’s date in 2080. What can you see?”

  Jethro looked closer.

  “78,496,348.”

  “Now look at the previous year, 2079.”

  “80,118,000.”

  “The population should have increased. It always increases. But between 2079 and 2080 the population dropped by 1.6 million. And between 2079 and today it’s dropped by nearly thirteen million.”

  Jethro was shocked.

  “How the hell didn’t anybody notice this before?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they did, but it’s been covered up for some reason. We’ve been fed duff figures for the last decade or so.”

  Another gesture and the screen showed the projected UK population for the current year, 2091. Carole could hardly contain herself.

  “This is what it should be now. 85,364,694. Or thereabouts. Today’s population is over eighteen million less than it should be.”

  Jethro was starting to see the importance of what he was looking at.

  “What about the world population?”

  “Ok, let’s have a look. On this day in 2080, it was 10,550,487,014. Today it’s 8,587,453,766. That’s about two billion less. It was projected to be somewhere between eleven and twelve billion. That’s a shortfall of about three billion of what it should be. That’s not supposed to happen. In both cases, the population has fallen since the census figures of 2079. Something happened to cause this, and it’s my bet it happened in 2079”

  Jethro tried to take a positive attitude.

  “Looking on the bright side, fewer people means there’s more food to go around.”

  Carole sighed.

  “If only it were that simple. But why has it happened? We need to dig a little deeper.”

  She ordered the car to park up on a piece of disused wasteland. She was on a roll now.

  “UK deaths are about half a million per year. But those deaths are replaced by new born children correct? In fact, generally a few more than the number of people who have died.”

  “Correct.”

  “Let’s look at births for the UK.”

  Another gesture was made and the history of births between 2080 and 2091 was displayed. Carole and Jethro gaped at the screen before them. Jethro was the first to speak.

  “That can’t be right. Check the connection.”

  “It’s nothing to do with the connection. Those are the figures.”

  The screen was showing that there had been hardly any births since mid-2080. Jethro was in shock.

  “I’m gobsmacked. According to these figures, the birth-rate hasn’t just gone down, it’s virtually stopped.”

  Carole took a deep breath.

  “This means that twelve years ago the human race suddenly became infertile. This isn’t just a doomsday scenario, it’s an extinction scenario.”

  “But there are some babies being born.”

  “A few, yes. But nowhere near enough. We may not go completely extinct but the numbers of births are so low that society won’t be able to sustain itself.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  “Fucking hell indeed, Jethro.”

  “What on earth could have caused it?”

  “I have no idea. Some disease I imagine.”

  A thought occurred to Jethro.

  “What was here before?”

  “Where?”

  “Here. This wasteland. What building used to be here? I think I know; I just want my suspicions confirmed.”

  “Let’s ask Google.”

  The search engine supplied the answer in a matter of microseconds. The car was parked on land that, until two years ago, had been home to a twenty storey office complex belonging to BabyCorp IVF, the world’s largest group of fertility clinics. Carole slumped back in her seat.

  “No wonder BabyCorp collapsed. I imagine that initially there was an upsurge in sales, with couples being unable to conceive naturally, but when even IVF wasn’t working it was forced out of business.”

  Jethro scratched behind his ear.

  “This is huge. What do you reckon we should do now?”

  Carole turned off the monitor and started the car.

  “We say nothing to anyone. We go to work, act normally – we have to – and you can come round to my place tonight. About sevenish? We can sort out that we’re going to do then.”

  Carole instructed the car to turn back onto the main road and continue its journey to Canary Wharf.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  19:03 THURSDAY 8 NOVEMBER 2091

  Carole placed two wine glasses and a bottle of Chilean Merlot on the coffee table. There was no reason why they shouldn’t enjoy a glass of wine or two whilst deciding upon their next move. She fluffed up two white cushions and tucked them into the corners of the sofa. It was approaching 7:30 in the evening; Jethro should arrive any minute.

  The monitor was turned off but the computer was only hibernating, ready for the journalists to analyse the information that they already had at their fingertips and to search the Deep Web for more information. She looked at the coffee table again; something was missing. She tutted to herself as she realised what it was, and went into the kitchen to fetch some breadsticks.

  The doorbell rang and she walked briskly back into the living room, placing a tall tumbler full of breadsticks on the coffee table, alongside the bottle of wine. She checked the door security monitor. Jethro had arrived. She disengaged the security lock and the front door of her apartment clicked open. She went back into the kitchen to fetch some napkins.

  “Come on in, Jethro. Make yourself at home.”

  She exited the kitchen to see not only Jethro standing in the living room but also four other men. She looked nervously at her colleague.

  “Who are your friends?”

  One of the dark-suited men stepped forward.

  “Carole Drummond?”

  “I might be. Who’s asking?”

  “My name is John Travis. I work for UN2.0 who – as you know – are the interim world government until elections can be held.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  Carole didn’t like authority figures of any type, be they minor or major. She hadn’t made up her mind as to which of the two John Travis was. She was leaning towards minor.

  “We need you to come with us, Miss Drummond.”

  “Why? Am I under arrest?”

  “No. But you do need to come with us. Somebody very important wants to have a conversation with you.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Not an option.”

  “And Jethro?”

  “Mr Harper is coming with us. In fact, we brought him here.”

  “And I’m not under arrest?”

  “You’re not under arrest.�
�

  “And I won’t be arrested when we get to wherever you want to take us?”

  “You won’t be arrested.”

  Carole’s journalistic curiosity was piqued.

  “Ok then. Take me to your leader.”

  After a brief journey into West London, the rear doors of the limousine opened and Carole and Jethro were led from a secure loading deck through a maze of corridors until finally being ushered into a large room through an unmarked door. The room was furnished in the style of an Edwardian study, two burgundy leather sofas facing each other. On one of them sat a distinguished Asian gentleman. As Carole and Jethro entered the room, he stood up and proffered a hand. The two journalists accepted the man’s greeting.

  “Carole, Jethro, may I use your first names?”

  The two nodded in agreement.

  “Of course.”

  “You may be wondering why I asked you here.”

  Carole pointed out that they weren’t asked as such but that it was more of a summons. The man apologised for the manner of the request. He continued.

  “My name is Zafar Azad, and I am the Acting World President.”

  Of course, the two journalists had recognised Zafar as soon as they had entered the room. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have been very good at their jobs. But Carole wanted – needed – some answers.

  “So why are we here, Mr Azad?”

  “Just Zafar, please. This morning you accessed some very sensitive information on the Dark Web, information to which you had no right. Not yet anyway.”

  “You mean the fact that humanity isn’t reproducing, that people are dying and not being replaced. Yes, we discovered your little secret.”

  “You would have been told – very shortly in fact – but now you know, there’s no point in putting things off.”

  That sounded ominous. Jethro felt a little nervous. Were the two of them going to disappear? Zafar could see the worried look on Jethro’s face.

  “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to either of you. My predecessor would probably have had you killed, but that’s not my style. Actually, I need your help.”

  Jethro felt much more relaxed now that he knew his life wasn’t in danger.

  “So how can we help you?”