The Reality Incursion (Deplosion Book 2)

by Paul Anlee

  “It was not your command that led to the destruction of your Wing, Lord Mika.” Alum’s voice was steady and kind. “I used them as a suitable distraction to prepare an even greater destructive force.”

  “Besides Your own might, what could be more destructive?”

  “In this case, three suns exploding simultaneously in an enormous supernova. Sadly, your Wing was not the only thing sacrificed in service today. No doubt, the blast from an antimatter core being opened in the middle of each sun came as a surprise to Gabriel. I’m sure it overwhelmed his defenses before he could escape.”

  “Your might and will are truly awe inspiring, my Lord.”

  “The loss of that system, the suns, and their ringworlds was a small price to pay to remove such an abomination from this universe.”

  Alum was quiet a moment. He stroked his chin and let his thoughts drift somewhere distant. “The Aelu must have advanced significantly in their knowledge if they can construct the likes of that,” he concluded.

  “We shall find them and destroy them forever, my Lord!”

  “I have something much worse in mind for them. I shall dispatch them to the worst Hell imaginable, the Chaos, for all of eternity. They shall never come to know My love in the new Heaven I create.”

  Mika pulled his sword from his sheath and raised it high where he kneeled.

  “Thy Will be done!”

  43

  “Heavenly Yeshua, bless this Church and these, your people, for thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory. Amen.”

  John Trillian smiled discreetly as he muttered his own, “Amen” from backstage. His laptop was open on the small table in front of him. Today was a big day at Yeshua’s True Guard Church of the Prophet Alum in Austin.

  “Be seated, my friends.” Reverend Alan LaMontagne stood at center stage, looking over his adoring flock. Thousands settled into their cushioned chairs in the nave, mezzanine, and balconies.

  Television cameras representing various networks relayed his image around the world: aged, wise, and serene but still showing a glint of fire and brimstone in the eyes.

  A team of assistants stood attentively in the wings, and a two-hundred member choir, resplendent in their rich purple and gold robes, formed a regal backdrop behind him.

  The Reverend walked around to the side of his podium, leaving a steadying hand on its solid oak edge, and nodded to the recently elected President Heath situated prominently in his private box seat.

  “My friends,” he began. His amplified voice filled the spacious structure and reverberated to the farthest reaches of the globe. “I have some great news for you today.”

  He paused for dramatic effect and savored the sight of his beloved congregation—his greatest achievement—and the magnificent building they occupied.

  Unlike many Pentecostal churches that eschewed science and technology, Yeshua’s True Guard Church had taken a strong pro-technology stance over the past eighteen years. The Glory Hall of the Diamond Cathedral reflected that stance. It inspired glowing admiration—if not outright worship—on its own account.

  Modeled loosely on the spectacular old Crystal Cathedral of California, it was an engineering masterpiece three times larger than its predecessor. Its outer walls were made of insanely expensive diamond-coated borosilicate glass, chosen for its striking beauty and significantly greater strength over the “ordinary” glass of the older building. The walls required only the thinnest of metal support struts, more for convenience than structural strength.

  The Diamond Cathedral glittered where its predecessor had merely gleamed, and shone where the other had only sparkled.

  A weighty forty-meter cross and Savior rising up from the back of the stage bestowed gravity and solemnity to proceedings. The artist had placed a subtly stern expression on the face of the Savior, which was echoed by the spearmen protecting the base of the cross from curious tourists.

  The spearmen were the most literal representation of Yeshua’s True Guard. The spears were adorned with their Savior’s flag, the Christian cross centered atop a brilliant sun with a pair of swords overlaid along the diagonal. The same flag was proudly displayed around the Hall, adding to the military feel.

  When questioned about the militaristic touches in the cathedral, the Reverend once proudly explained that it was intentional: it was a tribute to the embattled founding of the Church and of the country. He openly rejected the whole “lion lying with the lamb” stance held by other churches, calling it, “dangerously irresponsible, blind pacifism.”

  Sensing the optimum level of eager anticipation had been achieved in his congregation, LaMontagne resumed.

  “I am an old man in a young Church,” he confided and held up his free hand to quell the anticipated protests from his choir, assistants, and followers.

  “You are too kind. We all know the work of the Church outlives any one of us.” He was speaking not only to the people in the Cathedral but to the millions more who were watching via television, internet, and inSense presence, around the world.

  “Over the past few years, I’ve employed my heart and mind, my full capabilities and resources, in a search to secure a worthy successor, a strong and inspired leader to guide this congregation.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that I’ve finally found the One who will lead us into a New Age, an Age of Godly righteousness throughout this solar system!”

  Applause and a fresh chorus of Amens erupted from listeners around the world. He allowed them a moment to settle themselves.

  “A few years ago, I was approached by a young man who sought to learn more about our movement. He had not been a member of any of the established churches of the day. Indeed, he spoke out about the vile corruption that plagued many of them.

  “Yes, just as our Lord Yeshua condemned the evil money changers on the steps of the Temple, this young man spoke against the Godlessness that infiltrated the so-called holy houses in this country and beyond.

  “We talked at great length on that first day we met, and we’ve continued those conversations during the months and years that followed.

  “This young man made no claims of special dispensation to me, yet his divinely inspired wisdom and piety could not be denied.

  “He saw the evil permeating our societies and our churches, and he felt the need to act against it. We all know of his pronouncements and his prophecies. We watched, astounded, when our Lord acted through him to save the wonderful city of Vancouver, Pacifica, from nuclear destruction at the hands of the greediest and most powerful individuals in the world.”

  His listeners at once gleaned the identity of the young man whom the Reverend was about to introduce. An excited buzz rippled through the air.

  The Reverend smiled. He could almost read their minds: Could it be true? Alum, the man being called by many to lead the entire world, has favored our Church and is coming to lead us?

  “Yes indeed, I have offered my place as Head of this Church to the young man known as Alum. And….” The congregation erupted into applause and waves of Hallelujah.

  LaMontagne hushed those nearest, and waited patiently for the applause to die down.

  “And, I am absolutely delighted to report, he has accepted. Ladies and gentlemen, children, I present to you your next spiritual leader, Alum!”

  Unable to contain themselves any longer, the congregation jumped to their feet, pounding their hands together, whistling, and cheering, while the shy young man walked across the stage to where LaMontagne stood waiting to greet him.

  The choir broke into a joyful hymn while the two men hugged in a comfortable and familiar way, like father and son.

  LaMontagne moved to one side and lifted his arms to encourage the flock to continue their cheering. Needing little encouragement, they redoubled their efforts until the diamond-encrusted windows shook with the sound.

  LaMontagne looked offstage and caught John Trillian’s waiting eye. He gave a purposeful nod, and Trillian pushed a button
on his laptop to activate what was surely the hacker’s crowning achievement.

  Anyone in the Cathedral, anyone who watched the broadcast later, on whichever medium they used, would be affected by the virus he released with that simple motion.

  As the code worked its way into his congregation’s belief systems, the Reverend recalled the day the man had burst into his home office, full of excitement.

  * * *

  “Reverend, I’ve brought you a gift,” Trillian announced as he threw open the heavy office door without knocking.

  Across the room, the Reverend looked up from his work. From a matching desk along the adjacent wall, Alum—the Reverend’s child protégé now a young man—swiveled his chair around and also opened his eyes. The two regarded Trillian expectantly.

  Trillian stopped, captivated by the young man’s eyes. As well as he’d come to know Alum over the past sixteen years, the boy’s piercing green eyes still mesmerized him. They seemed to contain a greater depth of knowledge and experience, lived and studied, than a person of that age had any right to possess.

  For someone so young and presumably innocent, his eyes were impossibly ancient. At times, they were tinged with a smoldering rage that bordered on murderous intent. At other times, they were filled with a profoundly peaceful confidence and love. Trillian could never get used to them.

  “John?” The Reverend nudged him back to the present. “Your gift?”

  “Yes, sir. I think you’ll like what I’ve developed. I’ve been thinking about how the Cybrids working on the colonies could be a problem for us. We have no way of making sure they’ll be loyal to the Church once the colony’s complete.”

  “And to Alum,” LaMontagne prodded.

  “Yes, of course. And to Alum, as well.” Trillian was painfully aware of the older man’s devotion to his adopted son.

  The hacker was more in awe of Alum’s talents than almost anyone. He’d trained the teenaged Alum in the art and science of information systems.

  He knew how quick and clever the boy was and had sensed how deep his penetrating intelligence might someday grow. Now that Alum’s lattice enhancements were nearly fully mature, the extent of his capabilities seemed practically boundless.

  Trillian understood and appreciated all of this on an intellectual level but, sometimes, it still hurt.

  He wondered again if LaMontagne had intentionally restricted his lattice development. Why would he do that? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to develop my capabilities, unhindered, as Alum? If it weren’t for these limitations, maybe I’d be the one in line to succeed the Reverend in leading the Church.

  Unless…maybe the imperfection was in him, not in the lattice. Perhaps he wasn’t worthy. Maybe he still had much to prove to the Reverend and to Yeshua.

  The Reverend cleared his throat and Trillian returned to his reason for barging in. “To reduce our risk, I’ve developed a way to assure Cybrid loyalty. I obtained their base O/S code from one of our contacts at the factory in Shanghai. It’s quite brilliant, as one would expect from Dr. Liang.”

  “Yes, yes,” prompted an impatient LaMontagne.

  It occurred to Trillian that Alum never expressed irritation like that. He left that to his adopted father.

  “Okay, almost any code is susceptible to some sort of intrusion. The Cybrid operating system is based on models of human cognition. Dr. Liang calls it the concepta, a complex network of perceptions and labels assembled into an associative framework. It blurs the line between knowledge and belief.”

  The Reverend leaned forward with interest. “Go on.”

  “It’s difficult, but not impossible, to engineer a virus program to alter the part of the concepta that affects the persona, that’s the Cybrid’s set of personal preferences and tendencies that simulate what is human.

  “A virus like that could alter the belief system of the Cybrid including, for example, where it considers its loyalties to lie. I have developed just such a virus.”

  The Reverend walked over to Trillian and grasped his shoulders. He looked directly into the hacker’s eyes. “John, you continue to amaze me. This is a wonderful gift. Thank you.”

  Trillian beamed.

  “Why stop there?” asked the voice from the side of the room. Both men turned toward Alum.

  Trillian struggled to suppress his annoyance. “What do you mean?”

  “People have concepta and persona spaces as much as Cybrids. Everyone has a lattice implant these days, for entertainment purposes if nothing else.”

  “Are you suggesting that we alter the belief system of real people?” Trillian was surprised at the personal affront he felt. The idea should have occurred to him. Distasteful as it may have been, it was an obvious extension.

  “Why not?” Alum challenged.

  LaMontagne turned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he swiveled in his chair. “Can it be done, John?”

  Trillian considered the differences between a Cybrid’s silicene-based system, and a human’s biological system when overlaid by a lattice.

  “Theoretically, yes,” he concluded. “At the hardware level, it would work best if we could coax a lattice extension into the pleasure centers of the brain.”

  He quietly set a program running in the background of his lattice that would protect his own belief system, thinking—I’m already loyal enough to the Church and the Reverend, and I will be as loyal to Alum as required. I do not want or need that loyalty to be forcefully imposed.

  LaMontagne pondered. Even though his own brain housed sophisticated dendy lattice technology, he didn’t know as much about it as he would’ve liked. A simple O/S tweak should accomplish the kind of extension Trillian needed. He sent a section of code to Trillian.

  “If we make these minor changes to the basic lattice code, I think it will achieve what Alum suggests. Go ahead and incorporate this code with yours.

  “We shouldn’t need to do more than adjust our audience’s loyalty factor a little. We’ll launch it when we broadcast Alum’s succession to the leadership. Everyone will be watching either live or streamed. What better time to add a little value to the presentation?”

  * * *

  Backstage, Trillian pressed a button unleashing the virus into the broadcast, and then sat back to enjoy the rest of the show.

  Reverend LaMontagne released Alum from his affectionate embrace and walked him to his new home at the podium.

  The elder leader of what was now Alum’s Church, both in fact as well as name, took a seat in the simple chair waiting for him a couple meters behind and off to Alum’s right. The Reverend was in the wings, but clearly visible to the congregation so they could witness his love and support for his spiritual son.

  “Thank you, Reverend LaMontagne, for the trust you have placed in me today. And thank you, everyone, for your kind and loving acceptance. I call upon the guidance of our Lord Yeshua to help me lead this Church through the troubled times ahead. I pledge to work diligently and faithfully for you, toward the greater glory of God and of His Son, Yeshua.

  “For we do have troubled times ahead, friends. Our sinful world is heading rapidly toward its Final Days. God Almighty, with Yeshua on His right, wielding the sword of justice and vengeance, is about to descend from Heaven and put this planet out of its misery. The sea of sinful unbelievers and heathens who rejected God’s pleas to join Him in Heaven will soon be brought to an end.”

  The crowd joyfully yelled, “Hallelujah” and “Praise be Yeshua.” Normally, Reverend LaMontagne avoided End of Days sermons except for the most special occasions. The changing of the guard certainly qualified as a most special occasion, and the flock in the Glory Hall was eager to celebrate.

  “I do not mean this in any figurative sense,” Alum continued. “No. I’m talking about the literal End of Earth. The clock has been set, the date and time selected. The cause of the Earth’s demise has been put in motion and it is growing in power daily.”

  The crowd hushed as the weight of his words sunk in. This was
not the End of Times/Glory Days sermon they were accustomed to hearing. This seemed more serious, and more troubling, than usual.

  “Only a small portion of the sinful people of Earth will be spared the destruction our Lord will bring upon the globe. Only you, the true followers of Yeshua’s message of hope for humanity, will survive. For a refuge has been prepared for those of True Faith. Your salvation is at hand.

  “I therefore call upon you to prepare yourselves. If you are a sinner, come to us on your knees and beg forgiveness of your Lord. Join us and salvation can be yours. For God has appointed me the Sword of Yeshua to bring His justice to the people.

  “If you are already a member of this Church, listen carefully. Sometime in the next few months, we will reveal the time and place to assemble to receive God’s final Grace. At the appointed time, God will sweep up the Faithful and wash away the sinners.

  “Turn your hearts and minds toward our Lord. Pray for forgiveness. Pray that He accept you into His loving arms.”

  Alum stepped back from the podium and the shocked crowd erupted into applause and joyful weeping. The long-foretold and anxiously awaited Day was finally, finally, at hand. The world would see the error of its ways, and the Faithful would be saved. Their love of Alum and freshly sworn devotion to him was only exceeded by their love of God and His son, Yeshua.

  Trillian raised his hand and faked a cough so he could hide his grin. It was gratifying to see the sheep accept the destruction of everything they knew. The virus was working perfectly.

  44

  “Is it okay to move now? What happened? What kind of place is this?” Mary asked. She looked through the open window framing a diffusely lit New York City.

  Darya clasped her hands in front of her face. “You’re here! Oh, you two have no idea how glad I am to see you!”

  Mary and Timothy stood calmly in front of her, side by side, right where she’d sent them. To her great relief, Trillian was nowhere in sight.

  There was only one troubling detail. Instead of smooth walls running in ten directions through the local spatial dimensions, they were boxed in by the same four drab, pitted walls of that cheap hotel room in which she’d conjured a virtual pipeline and evacuated Timothy.