“Ben, it’s not like you could have done anything,” Christine responded, lifting up his head. “I thought it best that you slept. We need you at your finest.”
Benjamin knew Christine was rationally correct. However, the shallow feeling that dug through him did not abate with her words. The rapidity of Bruce’s death reminded him of the passing of his own father; the agony of that event resurfaced involuntarily.
Bruce had reminded Benjamin so much of his father. Not only did they share the same name, but also physically they were both large, strong men with the kindest hearts and a great sense of humor. Even in death they were alike: Bruce and Benjamin’s father had both died within twenty-four hours of falling ill.
“Stay focused,” Christine implored, recognizing Benjamin’s blank stare. She gently squeezed his chin. “I know he reminded you of your father.”
She stopped talking, suddenly realizing that she had said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry,” she quickly responded. “It’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, attempting a smile. “It’s what you were thinking.” He paused a moment. “It’s what I was thinking.”
“The nanosplicers took so much from us all,” Christine commented. “We all had to bury at least one person dear to us.”
Even the word nanosplicer sent chills down Benjamin’s spine. Released onto the entire planet, these self-replicating microscopic, half biologic, half robotic devils tore up the DNA of over a billion people and sent them prematurely to their graves.
“Myra Keres,” Benjamin said with revulsion. How he wished that he could have personally killed her and watch her whither away just like his father. Her instant and painless death by poison was far too easy for such a callous monster. Her thirst for power and control had left over a billion dead in her wake.
“She’s gone now,” Christine said.
Benjamin pointed to a poster hanging on the wall. Still in reasonable shape, it covered an unfaded rectangular area that might once have boasted a painting or other piece of art.
“By coming together and accepting each other’s beliefs, we can come to ultimate truth,” he read.
Christine looked over at the poster. Until now she had not noticed it clinging to the wall. The slogan was set in front of The New Reality insignia, a diamond with a gold circle in its center. The ignominious symbol had replaced the country’s national flag and all the flags of the sovereign nations around the world.
Though she despised the company, Christine knew that they, the people, were to blame for its rise to power. When the countries around the world had reached an unfathomable deficit spending and accumulated insurmountable debt to The New Reality, the company called in their loans, taking advantage of havoc wreaked by The Disease. When the countries were unable to repay even a pittance of their debt, The New Reality usurped their sovereignty, creating a New World Order that fundamentally changed the planet.
Personal freedoms and individual thought had become a relic of the past. Central planning, massive regulations, and insurmountable taxation had made the accumulation of personal wealth almost impossible. The bankers and businessmen who ran The New Reality became richer by the day while the rest of the planet’s population wallowed in servitude and fought for the economic scraps left behind.
The middle class had been eradicated and an “even playing field” had been created for everyone except the extremely rich bankers and businessmen who essentially controlled everything. Well over 99% of the world’s population lived in the same economic misery.
“Everything was supposed to change after Myra Keres’ death when The New Reality instituted their Open Society Initiative,” Benjamin commented. “Instead, it became worse. We turned on ourselves, devouring one another for the scraps left behind by the elite.”
Christine agreed. Once Jules Windsor grabbed power from Myra Keres and gained control of The New Reality, things were supposed to be better. The world he promised to all based upon the philosophies of his hero Karl Popper, was supposed to create a veritable utopia on Earth. The thought that a new, greater society would emerge out of the collective, shared values of the many proved to be a farce. Instead of keeping the morals and values that held civilization together for hundreds of years, a new morality and value system was created, one based upon the masses.
It was a system where borders, religion, and traditional values were eradicated and a new moral construct arose. In but a year, civilization completely changed. Absolute value was based upon mass belief. What is right or wrong could change on a whim.
Plus, everyone had equal say in this newly-created society. All the criminals, deviants, anarchists, racists, militants, and radicals now had an equal seating at the worldwide table. Without a true moral compass to guide this new Open Society, people self-segregated themselves into individual groups, fighting amongst each other for their voices to be heard. Instead of lobbying The New Reality for change or holding them accountable for their actions, the people turned on one another and fought amongst themselves, each faction hoping their will and beliefs would win.
Most never understood what was happening to them and their previously sovereign countries—they blindly supported Jules Windsor without hesitation.
“It led to this,” Benjamin grieved.
Ever since The Disease had taken his mother, he never trusted The New Reality again. Left to fend for himself, and homeless after the death of his father, Benjamin quickly learned how things worked on the streets. He soon realized how this Open Society was merely a ploy—a means for The New Reality to keep control of its citizens without the mass surveillance and global military force it once needed to stay in power.
As humanity’s usefulness was becoming more obsolete by the day with the rise of automatization, a massive population reduction was not frowned upon by the global elite. In fact, with less of a working population and more robots doing the labor, they could wield a much stronger stranglehold over the planet than ever before—just like their Illuminati guidelines mandated.
A rumble shook the Art Museum, sending a few loose shards of glass precariously hanging from the windows on the ceiling crashing down to the floor.
Christine jumped back, startled.
Benjamin quickly reconnoitered the entire area, looking for any signs that they were somehow under attack. The doors were still boarded shut, and all the armor and tables behind them continued to bolster their defenses.
The people in the room snapped to attention. The worn and tired looks on their faces quickly subsided with the thought of a possible battle at hand. Many instinctively grabbed a vintage medieval sword lying next to them or a piece of metal pipe to defend themselves.
“Calm down,” Benjamin assured. “I think it was just an earthquake.”
“Like that’s any relief,” grumbled a man in the far corner of the room. With one arm in a makeshift sling and a poorly healing scar on the side of his face, he continued to heckle, “It’s not like dying from this building crumbling down upon us all from an earthquake would be any worse of a fate than we all face right now.”
“Jeremy,” Benjamin pleaded, “now is not the time.”
“Listen, Ben,” he continued, “now is the time. “If those bastards outside don’t come in here soon and kill us all, starvation will do it for them.”
Benjamin could see a few heads nodding in agreement.
“You got that right,” agreed a middle-aged emaciated woman.
“Lord God, take us all now,” Jeremy pleaded, looking up at the ceiling. “Send down the fire and brimstone and take us all out of our misery.”
Benjamin did not know if this outburst were out of pure frustration, post-traumatic stress, starvation, or a combination of all three. However, he did realize one thing: He needed to take control. If they were to survive, they must remain cohesive.
Utilizing a technique that he learned on the streets, Benjamin raised his voice and tenor to meet the anger projected by Jeremy. “Do you want th
e Lopers to win?”
Benjamin looked around the room, meeting the gaze of each and every man and woman before continuing. “When The Disease struck, who did we rely on to get through it?”
Silence echoed throughout the room.
“We here in Philadelphia stuck together. We took care of one another and made sure our neighbor’s best interest was that of our own.” He stopped a second. “What happened when the nanosplicers decimated our population? Did we sit and cry? What did we do?”
“Stuck together!” Christine added with a little enthusiasm. A few others joined in, echoing her words in agreement.
“That’s right. We stuck together,” Benjamin added.
A few of the people in the room held up their swords.
“You all here are my family.” He looked around the room again. “This is our family. We have—” he attempted to continue.
The entire building began to shake. This time the tremors proved much more violent. What was once a simple rumble turned into a roller coaster ride. Parts of the ceiling began to crash down upon them as the wall Jeremy had been standing next to crumbled down on him, crushing the man.
“Jeremy,” Benjamin pleaded as he touched a two by two mm auricular chip implanted in his outer left ear canal, “are you alright?”
He repeated the request twice but received no response. The crackles emitting from the chip gave him the only answer he needed: Another friend had been lost.
Over the rubble from the collapsed wall, Benjamin saw the glint of the sun flicker off what appeared to be a shiny metal object. A few more reflections of sunlight again glimmered in the distance.
Recognizing the danger, Benjamin yelled, “Prepare your weapons!”
Chapter 2
Chapter_2
A string quartet consisting of two violinists, one viola player, and a cellist, all dressed in Renaissance-era tuxedos, played a tune from one of Jules Windsor’s favorite composers, Cesar Frank. The song, “Panis Angelicus,” soothed his mind, and never an event went by without its performance.
Aboard his massively large and equally expensive yacht, fittingly named The Caligula, Jules enjoyed the music and soaked in each harmonious note. He drew great inspiration from the song and breathed in deeply so that he could not only hear but also feel the notes.
“Jules,” interjected an older woman donning a luxurious, tight-fitting hazel dress that flowed out as it grazed along the floor. “My, you did not disappoint tonight.”
Though in her late sixties, she could easily be mistaken for someone half her age. With a combination of plastic surgery and selected genetic manipulation, the woman’s appearance certainly did not mirror her chronological clock. Only a few wrinkles on her eyelids and elbows allowed Jules to astutely guess her age. As one of his more robust financial partners over the years, Elizabeth proved not only beautiful but also cunning in the cutthroat business world.
“Enjoy,” Jules responded with a sophisticated English accent. “My dear, this little get together is for you all in thanks for what we have accomplished since I took control of The New Reality.”
Elizabeth grabbed Jules by the lapel on his black pinstripe double-breasted suit. She found his power and intellectual prowess intensely attractive. Just above six feet tall with wavy blond hair and an athletic physique, Jules’ aesthetic quality was also not lost on her. Though he was almost twenty-five years her younger, Elizabeth did not find the age disparity at all daunting—after all, she had experience on her side.
A waiter with glasses of champagne approached the two of them.
“May I?” Jules said as he took two glasses, handing one to Elizabeth.
Though he dearly enjoyed Elizabeth’s company and her business acumen, he definitely had no interest in escalating their relationship. He had a firm belief that business partners and bed partners should be completely separate. Plus, with a veritable harem of woman at his disposal, there seemed no need to take on the complications that would inevitably follow any real romantic relationship.
Jules looked out the port window onto a sister yacht known as The Billion, owned by the former French financial minister. Because of The Caligula’s magnetic stabilizers, it felt as if they were gliding on ice, despite the slightly choppy Atlantic waters below them. Looking at the reflections in the glass, he took note of everyone in the room, not forgetting faces nor to whom they were speaking. He momentarily watched as they enjoyed the generous supply of alcohol pouring out from the four well-stocked bars around the room and partook in the seemingly endless amounts of food.
He watched in the reflection as the former Chancellor of Germany approached him from behind. Though nearly equal to Jules in height, the man appeared to be as wide as he was tall.
“Your uncle would be proud,” Helmut sputtered in a jovial, deep voice. With crumbs of food in his grey beard and a jolly tenor to his voice, he continued with only the slightest of German accents, “The New Reality has far surpassed anything Albert Rosenberg would have ever imagined.”
Helmut held up his glass of champagne. “Here’s to you and the further success of The New Reality!”
They clinked their long fluted glasses and savored the drink. “Well done,” Helmut reiterated after finishing the entire glass of champagne. “Well done. You are one hell of a businessman!” With a mighty laugh, he grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waitress and began drinking immediately.
Jules cringed at the compliment. Though in agreement about the success of The New Reality, he would much rather be thought of as a philosopher or even a philanthropist. He had studied the great works of Plato and Aristotle along with countless other classical thinkers. He also poured over the writings of Marx, Buddha, and even Pope John Paul II.
However, Jules’ greatest influence was from Karl Popper. Through Popper’s works such as The Open Society and its Enemies, Jules created the modern-day version of the man’s nineteenth century vision. Unlike the former leader of The New Reality, Myra Keres, who ruled the world with an iron fist, Jules was able to accomplish the same results with a fraction of the cost and manpower. Instead of the company having to constantly patrol the masses, the masses now patrolled themselves.
As people self-segregated into smaller and more militant groups in order to have their own beliefs and ideas be heard, they fought vehemently amongst themselves to improve their financial, social, and political positions. Instead of making any real change in the system that ruled over them, they bickered for the mere crumbs left to them.
“On that note,” Helmut went on to say with a slightly more boisterous tone, “I think I see a few more chafing dishes calling my name.” He patted Jules on the back before departing.
Elizabeth looked over at him as they both sipped from their glasses.
“You don’t like him, do you?” she questioned.
“My dear,” Jules responded matter-of-factly, “whether I like or dislike him is rather irrelevant. It would be juvenile of me to conduct my daily business based upon the whim of my emotions. Helmut is a financial business asset whose worth to The New Reality is far more than most aboard this ship.”
Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Elizabeth asked, “But do you respect him?”
“As a business man, yes. However, one must never forget how he sold out his country in order to bring them under the governance of The New Reality. If you recall, he willingly bankrupted Germany so that my dear old uncle Albert Rosenberg could usurp their sovereignty through a mere financial loophole.”
Jules smiled, thinking of the utter brilliance of his uncle to not only finally take control of The New Reality but also to conquer the entire planet, without a single shot ever being fired.
“Your uncle was a remarkable man,” Elizabeth added, knowing what was running through Jules’ mind.
Jules turned to Elizabeth. “He certainly was. In a way, he was like a father to me. Though far from a loving or nurturing man, he provided me with more than a mere hug or a simple pat on the head. What he ta
ught me, dear Elizabeth, was how to think.”
The boat suddenly tilted, sending a few people and chafing dishes to the floor. Elizabeth accidentally fell into Jules’ arms.
“Why Jules,” she hinted, “I thought you would never ask.”
Jules’ company laughed at the incident as if they were on some amusement ride. With so much liquor and food in them, Jules realized that even if the boat sunk, they would still be amused.
“Tried to save some money on cheap stabilizers, Jules?” jested one of the guests, wiping some food off his lapel.
The poke provided all with a mighty laugh.
Despite their enjoyment, Jules knew such a sudden movement of The Caligula was more than a whimsical mechanical failure. With redundant stabilizing systems including two magnetic dipole oscillators, such an event should not have occurred.
After a brief interlude, the string quartet began to play as if nothing had transpired.
Still holding Elizabeth, Jules noticed the approach of one of the ship’s crewmen wearing a white tuxedo with a black hat bearing The New Reality emblem.
“Sir,” the man politely said, tipping his hat in the process. “Your presence is requested below deck.”
“My dear,” Jules said, looking at Elizabeth, “we shall continue this lovely conversation at a more auspicious time. As always, business before pleasure.”
“Promise?” Elizabeth smirked.
Following the crewman below deck, Jules was lead into a circular room with a blackened ceiling. A New Reality emblem was etched into the center of the marble floor, and a golden three-foot pedestal emerged from it.
“If you need anything, sir…” the crewman said, leaving the room. The door behind him materialized into dark mahogany paneling that matched the rest of the wall circling the room.
Jules walked up to the pillar and placed his hand solidly atop it. Upon his touch, the stark interior of the room transformed holographically into an entire scientific laboratory. Shelves piled with different mechanical devices, wires, computer chips, and electrical coils filled the area.
The Final Reality (Alex Pella, #3) Page 3