Cap’n’s heard worst last words. Huddling up to her crew, she shuts her eyes and holds their hands. The rumble of the wave increasing exponentially as her grip tightens, the crash of the wave hitting the shore makes everyone in the tower scream and cower. The crashing sound continues but there’s no impact, no water, not even a breeze. Cap’n looks out to see vertical walls of ocean pass around the tower. Noah looks out the window and calls everyone forward. There they see Titus standing like some martial artist, standing in a ‘horse stance’ with his palms facing the surging torrent of water, using every bit of strength in parting the sea.
What unimaginable power. It was at this moment Cap’n truly feared Titus, and how his makers would treat his collaborators.
The wave eventually passes over them and the sun comes out with a vengeance, temporarily blinding everyone in the control room staring out to the horizon.
They survived, and everyone begins to laugh and cheer in disbelief. But Titus is gone. Noah scans the water for a few seconds before spotting something diving into the water.
CHAPTER IV
Elder Sacro
The walls of the Central Control Room feel as if they are closing in on him. Maybe he’s been positioned at his station too long. Displays highlighting the level of destruction adorn the walls like a global morbid oeuvre. Counters in the billions are ticking along as projections of the dead are calculated. This is a day to celebrate, the dawn of a new age, not a vigil to the past or for those that contributed to Earth’s sustained downward spiral. But not until the final phases are enacted can he rest. His faith in the prophecy notwithstanding, there are elements in play that shook his core: Titus being in the forefront of his mind primarily, distracting him from his main duty. The stress of the very notion seemed to age him during the past day, and there is little he could do to shake Titus from his mind.
“Our latest estimation put us at four billion dead. Heavy losses in the United States, India, and China. The entire Pacific Ring of Fire Island chain has gone and surface temperatures have already begun to drop.” Elder Desdom loved his data. The figure printed on a page was enough to validate him and abscond him of any accountability. But Sacro still feels the weight of it all. A necessary evil is still evil. One that he prays will be worth it in the long term.
“How many Guardians have been possessed?” Another eager monk hints at prematurely consenting the next phase of the plan. Desdom happily abets the query.
“There are four million one thousand and seven registered Guardians awaiting their first order.”
“That’s enough isn’t it? Should we enact the second phase now?” The eager monk has overstepped. Sacro has had enough of this discourse and corrects the out-of-place parishioner.
“Firstly, only a small fraction have connected with Dumachus so, before they do, no one is leaving. Secondly, remember the scriptures. The fire cleanses, the water revives. Only after the final waves hit will those that remain be ready to take the mark. Then we move in. As it was written.”
“And what of our missing friend?” remarks Desdom almost pleasingly. It seems the blame for his rebellion falls entirely on Sacro’s shoulders. Perhaps it does, but Sacro doesn’t need a subordinate adding to it.
“No sign of Titus yet, but security at the present is the highest it’s ever been so let’s just focus on what’s in front of us.” Sacro’s answer is text book. To be expected. But Marta is not satisfied.
“His whereabouts is at the front of my mind.”
Desdom turns quickly as if he has finally found an ally. “Oh you have no idea friend. And here I thought the boy running around was bad.”
Sacro puts an end to the discord. “Enough. To put what we have built into question is to question God. Titus will return and whatever happens, is supposed to.” Desdom is about to retort when Sacro stops him mid-breath. “I’m finished speaking with you. Everybody out.” Harrison, Nina and Decia exchange a quick glance before deciding not to challenge the already strung-out leader. Desdom however is more defiant than the rest.
“But this is my station here. You need me.” Desdom quickly revises his former stance after Sacro stands up to meet his eye line. He is not one for conflict, and Sacro looked ready to add another number to their already burgeoning count.
“Fine. We’ll reconvene in an hour. By then the state of the world will have surely caught up with the prophecy writings. Don’t leave this too long, Sacro, or there may not be any of the world left to save.” Desdom leaves on that note and Sacro exhales, leaning back into his chair, the weight on his shoulders somewhat lighter now. He flicks off the displays and sits in a quiet state of meditation, a moment of peace for the first time since this all began.
CHAPTER IV
Jason
Hundreds of snow laden silo doors open, pushing the accumulated white downfall to the side as hot air rises from the metal lined shafts. Futuristic hover planes, kept secret from the public, launch silently from the giant hangers carrying huge payloads of technology, aid relief, and Guardians.
Inside the hangers, patient Guardians and followers queue and await their designation. Fervently the followers edge closer to the planes like children in need of ablution. Jason looks out the window from the pilot’s chair, counting the souls on seats before take-off. His time as a pilot proved a useful commodity in his application for consideration into the church.
Was this the only reason they took me in? To alleviate himself of these negative thoughts he puts his mind to task and completes his pre-flight sequence. His co-pilot is young, disciplined, but has a tendency to look down on him for being an outsider. This will pass, hopefully. Except this is not an isolated experience of an attitude expressed by Antarcticans.
With a full load and locked doors Jason powers his bird up and takes flight. The first of many scheduled runs between continents. Hopefully a taste of the outside will warm his offsider. Jason is a wealth of knowledge and experience regarding outsiders. A hostile takeover of any culture requires some depth of cultural understanding and practice for a smooth transition. Time will tell.
First stop, Buenos Aires.
CHAPTER IV
Baby Seth
Elias is in the back of the pickup, Seth is fully wrapped up and asleep in his arms, Camila wrapped in a sheet next to him. Sprawled out in the tray is every baby product imaginable, but the baby is asleep, he has done his job. On cue, Seth begins to squirm a little.
The constant beating rhythm is gone, my home is gone. The world is fuzzy and grey. I feel wet. Nothing is familiar. I’m missing something. A smell, a taste, a sound. I need her…
“Wahhhhhh!” The scream is long and loud. Strong. Healthy. Elias begins to rock the baby.
This is familiar.
Elias holds Seth to his chest and breaths deep.
There it is… Seth drifts off back to sleep and Elias follows suit.
There are few people on Earth who are asleep right now.
CHAPTER IV
Marianne
“I am part of the chosen generation. We are the strength of the church, the future of civilisation. What foundations I lay today will live in the core of history forever.” She finds herself repeating this manta quietly at various times during the flight. It resonated with her. Everything she’s believed her whole life has come true. A belief built on faith and evidence.
Trained as a field medic, her primary role is to administer nanotech and atom chips into casualties and keep them alive long enough for the nanotech to administer first aid. The training for such involved becoming accustomed to the sick and injured, both of them foreign concepts to the latter generations of Antarcticans. Book knowledge biology is very different from having a stranger cough blood into your face, or having giant pus filled blisters burst upon inspection, what a psychotic episode really entails or how often you are bitten or kicked. That, and the best place to inject the nanotech for quickest spread. She was surprised to learn it’s not the heart.
The flight is crowded (o
ne thousand people at a guess) but smooth; not that she has any other flight experience to base it on but she does know what smooth feels like.
The Guardian she is assigned to has not spoken to her yet. Just sits with its eyes closed, shallow breaths, and warmth. They radiate energy. She’d seen a few Guardians over the years but never had the opportunity to get to know one, or even see what they can really do. This is her chance. But what to say? What’s the first thing you tell someone you’ve just woken up? Hi?
She is nervous. She knows the difference between the figurative and the literal. The state the world she is flying in to rescue is literally the worst state the world has ever been in bar the extinction of the dinosaurs. Maybe not even then--the extinction did take millions of years.
❖
Marianne’s plane is flying over the South American countryside at a low-altitude towards Buenos Aires. A man with a laden bag on his back and a baby in his arms is walking towards the same location as the hover plane flies overhead. Seeing another human being, something not affected by the EMP, is a powerful motivator for him to pick up his pace.
❖
The city is in absolute ruins. Dead bodies left on the street, people trapped in collapsed buildings. What isn’t drenched with sea water and debris is on fire. People are digging through rubble looking for their loved ones, looting shops for supplies. The air reeks of desperation and helplessness.
The hover plane sets down on the helicopter pad of a hospital, its appearance already drawing a huge crowd. Mostly positive as far as she could tell. As soon as they disembarked, the plane jettisons the cargo and takes off to repeat the whole process. Hundreds of Guardians grab their human escort and step off the helipad, floating gently to the ground. Marianne is entranced by it all and is enjoying herself. Her companion Guardian impatiently taps her on the shoulder and snaps her out of it.
“Sorry, I was just…” She stops when she realises she isn’t going to get a reply. Marianne tugs on the strap of her bag, which contains her supply of nanotech, atom chips, two hand scanners and a mobile registration unit--known as a portal--to signal she’s ready. She gives her Guardian a nod and leads on towards the hospital stairwell.
Dark. Loud. Crowded. The smell of wet dog and death. A hospital run with a third of the staff filled to eight hundred times capacity with no power. The people don’t take much notice of the Guardian. They most definitely stand out of a crowd, but the peoples’ suffering is stronger than their curiosity. Marianne’s eyes begin to adjust to the low light and there she sees the true horror of the Fall. Bodies piled on top of bodies. The wounded sharing the same floor. Children in their parents’ arms. And the amount of blood on the floor.
You’ve trained for this.
With her back to the stairwell exit, her Guardian at her side, her heart racing, blood pumping, she kneels downs and pulls the bag strap over her head, placing the satchel on the ground. An old woman, multiple contusions, short breaths, unconscious, alone. Here goes.
Marianne opens the satchel and boots up the portal, placing the scanner down beside her knee. She loads a canister of nanotech inside her jet injector and loads two Atom Chips into a handheld implanting device. Ready.
People are starting to watch her now and take notice. She pushes the jet injector to the old woman’s neck and releases a dose of microscopic machines into her body, scurrying their way to a blood vessel or artery. Phew. She didn’t explode.
“Qué estás haciendo?” yells a person from the crowd.
This caught her off guard. She’d been thinking in English too long. Time to try out her Spanish.
“Qué?”
“What are you doing?”
She’s got it now. In perfect Spanish she replies, “This is the cure. Just watch.” She places the implanting device over the woman’s forehead and a second later the unit beeps. The unit automatically scans the chips and registers the user in the system before beeping twice. Repeat on the right hand.
The crowd is unconvinced and begin to rabble slightly. The topic of the Guardian is raised through the murmur and Marianne finds herself lost. She’d exhausted all she could do. It should work. She gives the old woman a gentle shake on her shoulder and a woman in the crowd protests, “Get your fucking hands off her!” Marianne falls backwards from her kneeling position and is defenceless, except for her Guardian, who up until now hasn’t been doing much of a job. Just before the crowd become a mob the old woman opens her eyes and breathes deep. The arthritic growths on her joints are visibly reducing and the colour is coming back to her skin and lips. The lacerations on her side have healed and to the astonishment of the spectators she sits up and smiles. The mob suddenly becomes more frenzied, and they rush Marianne to be next. Now the Guardian steps in. It stamps its foot down and the horde of flocking patients is thrown backwards. The people look up in shock. No one is more hurt than they already were, as far as anyone can tell, so no harm done she hopes.
“Just one at a time. The most wounded first. There’s enough for everybody.” The people started to form a line and one by one she heals them. In the adjacent room a surgeon working in what looks like a MASH unit is interrupted when a Guardian and follower take over the OR. The surgeon protests, so the Guardian throws the man through a wall. The patient is administered and registered; the atom chip taking a sum of the damage before an assessment and procedure is relayed back to the nanotech for administration. Moments later the damage is undone and host is free to leave. The surgeon is next.
Everyone takes the mark.
The Chief Surgeon. A short man broadcasting entitlement storms past the dead bodies and stands at the OR doorway, hands on hips and furrowed brow shifting his gaze from the surgeon to Marianne. Undeterred, she continues seeing to her patient. “I demand to know what’s going here! Who are you people?”
“We are from the Church of Light, here to heal the wounded and restore balance back to the world. Right now millions of tiny machines able to manipulate the human body at the molecular level are saving this man’s life. It’s the cure.” As she looks down the dying man in her arms is as if reborn and gets to his feet, healthier than he’s ever been. The Chief Surgeon is stunned but sceptical. Suspicious.
“We shall see.” He grabs the formerly dying man by the arm and starts to drag him away against his will. An invisible force wrenches the Chief Surgeon away, pinning him against the upper corner of the ceiling and wall. His small feet kick for dear life. The corridor falls silent, except for the gurgles of an air deprived little man. The Guardian walks up to him closely, raises his hand and thrusts his palm over the man head. His feet stop kicking and body flexes as his mind is aggressively invaded. After a few seconds the Guardian pulls his hand away and the Chief Surgeon slides down the wall, landing crumpled and catatonic. The Guardian walks up to Marianne and finally speaks.
“Give him the mark last.” The Guardian turns and exits the corridor via the stairs. No one is going to give the Guardian any excuse to return. A few people forego their treatment and run away. Doesn’t matter.
Everyone gets the mark.
CHAPTER IV
Titus
Consciousness fades in. Darkness turns to light. Sensation from fingers to toes return. Colour, focus, clarity. And sound.
“Titus! Titus! Titus, wake up! Titus, hey buddy, you’re awake!” Noah is happy to see their saviour alive.
“I don’t how to respond to that statement. Yes, you’re right?”
“Damn straight I am. Can you sit up?” Noah grabs Titus by the arms and quickly pulls him up to a seated position. The world spins for a second; could be the water still in his ears or the extreme exhaustion but he does best to hide his nausea. “How’s about that introduction now?”
Titus looks around and can see the Major, Glen and Raythe. All statuesque awaiting his response. The injured noncoms lie on a makeshift bed of jackets and loose office paper are also listening in. The three sailors however are nowhere to be seen.
“I arrived wit
h three others…”
“They took off once the water level dropped. You were still out cold. I think the whole thing was a bit much for them.”
“They left because I’m a fugitive.” Titus is having a quiet moment of self-realisation. The last two days haven’t allowed much time for reflection and processing. He is the property of the most powerful functioning organisation in the world, and he’s expensive. “My name is Titus.”
Noah shakes his hand with an unwavering smile. “I’m Noah. This is Major Winters, and corporals Glen and Raythe.” Noah is still staring at him with a fascination one might have with a successful test subject or recorded anomaly. “You’re from there aren’t you? Antarctica?”
“I am their creation, but I am not their agent.” Titus can hear the hundreds of questions thundering around everyone’s heads. The unsung words on the tips of their tongues. Titus filters the noise out to focus on his recovery. He has no answers that would leave them satiated. The gravity of their situation is too deep.
“How many are there of you?” Major Winters is direct but unsure.
“They have grown millions like me with similar abilities, but there is not one that is like me.” Titus is in no mood for an interrogation. He stands up tall, straight and strong, a good foot taller than the rest. He looks around the ransacked control room floor, inspecting his new environment. When he looks up he spots a hover plane flying towards them carrying a very large payload. Titus rushes forward to get a better view, dumbfounded by the technology. Noah stands at his side as they watch the plane whiz past.
Titus (The Anno Ruinam Book 1) Page 8