Shiva

by Simon Sloane

  “So, here we are,” Jyran said. He launched a software that put an electronic ellipse around his face. Then he adjusted the microphone and began to speak in a deep voice that reverberated from the curved walls. “Those who want to live, let them fight. Those who do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live.”

  Hugo shrank back at the transmuted voice. It sounded exactly like the sheik—right down to the Arabic accent. Jyran’s image on the screen had transformed as well. Now he wore an embroidered thobe and a beard. His forehead had acquired the first set of wrinkles. Even his nose had gained an inch.

  “The disguise is perfect,” Hugo said. “But what is it for?”

  Jyran remained silent when the avatar collapsed. His face regained its twenty-year-old flawlessness, and his voice rose back to baritone level. “You understand Shiva’s weakness, don’t you?”

  Hugo shrugged. “Are you talking about in-built flaws due to its part-human nature—vanity perhaps? Or maybe arrogance?”

  Jyran gave him a full-throated laugh. “None of those, Hugo! But tell me, what was your first impression when Yogi took you up to the thirty-sixth floor?”

  “You mean my first thought about Shiva?”

  Jyran nodded.

  “It’s damn small!” Hugo responded. And then it hit him.

  It had taken two missiles from the ATF helicopter to annihilate Hugo’s AI in Dubai. But just a pocketful of C4 would be sufficient to obliterate each installation of Shiva.

  “You’re right,” Jyran said. “It’s easy to physically destroy the AI. If you do that, Shiva would be gone forever. And Sorokan would be gone too.”

  “Hence the vast amount of copies,” Hugo said. “Suddenly, Shiva’s size becomes an advantage. Every cylinder is easy to conceal. And only a single working instance would be sufficient for Shiva to survive… as well as Sorokan.”

  Jyran grinned. “See what the secret circle is for? It’s not so useless after all.”

  Of course! The function of the 108 was to safeguard Shiva’s hidden backups. “But why are you telling me this?” Hugo wondered if Jyran was about to dispose of him.

  The scion didn’t say a word, but his expression revealed his disappointment. Again Hugo remembered Shiva’s final words: I’m not your father.

  He admired what Jyran had done to protect Sorokan’s legacy, to keep his spirit alive, to fulfil his father’s ambition. He had even tried to keep up with transhumanism research, waiting to seize the moment when humanity could take the next step in its evolution, just as Sorokan would have wanted it.

  Then four words deflated Jyran in front of Hugo. The anguish on his cheeks revealed how much the heir had been wounded. All his efforts had been in vain.

  “So, before we listen to my father’s will,” Jyran said matter of factly, “there’s something you should see.” He snapped his fingers.

  Hugo heard a whirring sound from the wall that stood opposite the deities. Slowly, a curtain drew aside.

  “What’s that?” Hugo asked when three paintings appeared on the white plaster.

  He had to look twice and read the captions below the works of art.

  CHARLES DARWIN (1809–1882).

  FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE (1844–1900).

  ADOLF HITLER (1889–1945).

  Hugo’s mind raced as he put the pieces together.

  Chapter 94

  Notre Dame

  Saturday, 10:00am CET (1:30pm Indian time)

  Jean-Marc Tanguy rarely enjoyed canvassing voters. He hated the mind-numbing routine of shaking hands, kissing babies and regurgitating empty phrases. “We’ll take care of that when I’m president,” he repeated for about the fiftieth time when a grey-haired woman complained about her poorly heated apartment. The old lady was living on Île de Saint Louis, for heaven’s sake! Even a five-hundred-square-foot studio unit sold for a couple of million Euros on the fashionable island in the midst of the river.

  Churchgoers are the worst kind of voters, Tanguy thought as they streamed out of Notre Dame after Saturday morning mass. Soon layers of staff would shield him from their petty qualms. He would have left an hour earlier, but a TV crew had ambushed him. After a moment of consideration, he agreed that Notre Dame Cathedral was a good photo opportunity. Tanguy gave them an interview about the political situation as well as his duties as the cultural patron of its two iconic bell towers.

  “I’m the candidate of the prayer book as well as the MacBook,” he told the journalist, who held the microphone amidst a throng of elderly voters. “Only I can reconcile the traditional values of France with her need to innovate.” Charenton’s rustic hay wagon ad had to be countered with something more substantial.

  “We’re hearing stories from your supporters on social media,” claimed the brunette from Les Actualités. “They say that food supplies are running low and that the government is trying to hush up the crisis. Some of them even posted photos of empty silos and idle slaughterhouses. So, tell us, is the country about to starve?”

  Tanguy maintained his poker face. He knew he might look like a conspiracy theorist if he officially endorsed the claim. On the other hand, an outright denial might dampen his followers’ enthusiasm. “This is a free country,” he said. “Everyone has the right to express their opinion regardless of whether it conforms to mainstream media stories.”

  “So, your only way to win is to stoke a panic?” the TV lady asked. “Why aren’t you distancing yourself from such crazy rumours?”

  “I’d rather talk about the issues than rumours,” he shot back, interrupted briefly by tepid applause from the voters in front of Notre Dame. “It’s clear that France has fallen behind under the Charenton administration. On the world markets, we’ve lost ground to Germany and Britain, not to mention the US and China.”

  “What’s your view of Syngenetiq?” the reporter asked. “Isn’t their breakthrough DNA discovery proof of our country’s strength in the biotech sector?”

  Tanguy remembered the mysterious call from Yogi Kapoor. He hadn’t heard from the Indian since, but something about his words touched a nerve. “I’d encourage you to keep a close eye on this story,” Tanguy said cryptically. “Wasn’t it convenient for the incumbent that the Syngenetiq announcement was made just a day before the election? Surely, it can’t be verified properly before the polls close.”

  “Is it true that you called the slaughtered president a ‘crippled cockroach,’ sir?”

  Tanguy groaned. How could the hack have found out about his post-coital conversation with Zoë? Had they bugged his secret apartment? “I never said that,” he replied with a shaky voice. “I’ve always held the president in high esteem—very much in contrast to his would-be successor.”

  Tanguy hoped he didn’t sound defensive, but he needed to recover from the low blow. Then he nodded to one of his bodyguards. The interview was over.

  “You’re down forty-five to fifty-five in the polls!” the woman from Les Actualités shouted as he walked away. “How can you possibly turn that around within twenty-four hours?”

  Tanguy flashed the confident smile that he had nearly lost during the past few days. “I’m focused on winning the election, not the polls. The people will speak tomorrow, and their voices will be heard around the world.”

  Chapter 95

  Testament

  Saturday, 10:15am CET (1:45pm Indian time)

  Never before had Hugo seen an octogenarian of such radiance. Although wrinkled, Sorokan’s walnut-coloured face glowed with the energy of a young man. His grey hair wasn’t receding anywhere, and his voice was crystal clear.

  Jyran sat back in his chair with clenched fists as his father spoke.

  Hugo closed his eyes in order not to be affected by Sorokan’s penetrating gaze. His booming voice filled the Room of the Three Gods.

  “Our choice is clear,” the Hitler admirer declared in his final video message. “Either we build a paradise for the few, or we’ll share a living hell with the many.”

&nb
sp; A graph flashed next to Sorokan’s head. Global calorie demand was rising exponentially, driven by unfettered population growth and the shifting diets of wealthier Asians. They consumed more meat as they rose to middle-class status, which required a lot more additional grain to feed all the pigs, cows and sheep. On the other hand, food supply only grew incrementally.

  “Billions will starve,” Sorokan said as he pointed to the widening gap between the two curves. “Nature will realign the size of the human population with our planet’s limitations. And India will be at the epicenter of starvation. But, as predicted by the Fuehrer almost a hundred years ago, the Aryan race will prove the most resilient—from Northern India all the way to Northern Europe.”

  Considering his experience in the slums, Hugo found the billionaire’s words almost prophetic. Rather than being confined to Hitler’s idealisation of Nordic blondes, ārya actually was a Sanskrit word that stood for ‘honourable’ or ‘noble’. The original Aryans were Indo-Iranians that had conquered India more than three thousand years ago. Their descendants included his three captors that had shown the ruthlessness that was required in an apocalyptic crisis. However, even that wouldn’t rescue them from the Armageddon to be unleashed during the next few hours.

  “So, this is what will happen,” Sorokan continued. “Reduced agricultural output will adjust the population to a more sustainable level. Then the elite of humanity shall evolve into a superior race, enjoying perennial health and unprecedented longevity. Under no circumstances must we take the second step ahead of the first. Earth would simply burst at the seams.”

  Jyran looked at Hugo. “Do you understand what Shiva is doing? Now you know why I could never share this with anyone but you.”

  Hugo nodded. At last he understood the burden weighing on Jyran’s shoulders.

  “While the way forward may sound cruel,” Sorokan continued, “there’s no alternative. My beloved children, soon you’ll understand why I didn’t want to soil your conscience with what needs to be done to secure your future. Henceforth, I shall act alone in the execution of my legacy.”

  “When did you see this for the first time?” Hugo asked, but Jyran merely looked away in shame while his father was speaking.

  “I have taken measures to repopulate the planet with more than ten thousand of the finest human beings—all of them of pure Aryan origin such as you, my beloved children. Once they become aware of their status and responsibility, they shall usher in a new era. It will be free from corruption, vice and greed. All I want is a better world for you, my beloved children, and your descendants. May our kin forever prosper!”

  The screen went black, and Jyran turned to Hugo again. “That’s it,” he said.

  Hugo’s mouth had opened and closed several times during the video. Sorokan’s testament encapsulated the ideas of the three men he adored.

  Darwin’s mantra was to adapt or perish.

  Nietzsche had predicted a superhuman race.

  And Hitler had eliminated all those non-Aryans he had deemed unworthy.

  To Sorokan the three men were as divine as Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. They were the godfathers of his vision. If they had failed to execute their ideas in their own time, it was only because they lacked Sorokan’s technology.

  Hugo checked his watch. Shiva’s relentless march was approaching its apex. Seven hours remained to stop the most devastating genocide the world had ever seen.

  Who could help him now? Hugo shuddered at the thought of only ten thousand survivours. Who were they? How had Sorokan selected them?

  Hugo felt as if he had been struck by a brick on the head when he thought of the one person whom Sorokan had failed to mention.

  My beloved children ….

  The company founder’s words echoed in Hugo’s mind as he rushed toward the chamber’s hidden door. He didn’t even bother to thank Jyran for sharing his father’s secret. There was not a sliver of time to waste.

  Hugo pushed the button to unlock the gate that shielded the Room of the Three Gods from the austere corridor on the thirty-fifth floor.

  “Not so fast!”

  The high-pitched voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

  Chapter 96

  Consummate

  Saturday, 10:30am CET (2:00pm Indian time)

  Hugo was shocked when Yogi pulled his Beretta from the inner pocket of his suit and pointed it at Hugo’s forehead. Using his superior body weight, he pushed Hugo back into the chamber before the hidden door locked from the inside.

  “Now I have you, Hugo.”

  “Yogi!” Jyran exclaimed in shock, raising his arms. “What are you doing?”

  Yogi laughed. “You probably thought I didn’t know this room exists.” He glanced at the ceiling, scanning the chamber for CCTV cameras.

  The only camera in the Room of the Three Gods was pointed at Jyran, who had jumped from the leather chair behind the monitors. “Go ahead and kill me!” Hugo said. “We’re all going to die anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” Yogi asked, pointing the Beretta at Jyran. The sacked CEO panted as if he could barely restrain himself from shooting the man who had fired him.

  “I mean Shiva. Seven hours from now,” Hugo pointed to the clock on the wall behind Yogi, “Shiva will reach singularity and will become more intelligent than all humans combined. It will be the end of our species. But for Shiva it will be only the beginning of its quest to control the entire universe.”

  Yogi cocked the hammer. “You’re wrong, Hugo,” he said with a euphoric smile. “A few of us are going to survive—one hundred and eight to be exact. Or,” he glanced at Jyran, “one hundred and seven.”

  “No!” Hugo screamed, but he couldn’t stop Yogi from pulling the trigger. He shuddered from the echo of the bang in the small chamber.

  Jyran collapsed into the chair, his brain splashed onto the monitors behind him.

  Yogi caressed the barrel of his gun. “I cemented Sorokan’s legacy when I transferred his mind into Shiva. When I placed the electrodes on his head, he told me that I was the son he always wanted. Not this one!” He pointed at Jyran’s corpse.

  “The world hangs in the balance,” Hugo pleaded, wondering why Yogi still obeyed his old master. “Just forget Jyran! We must stop this madness!”

  Yogi slowly circled the Beretta around Hugo’s chest and then jerked his head at the three portraits on the wall. “Nietzsche was right. And so was Darwin. Hell, even Hitler was right! The message is always the same: humanity needs to transform. We must become a more advanced species, or we’ll perish. Sorokan knew it.”

  Hugo took a deep breath. Something about Yogi’s words hit him, but he couldn’t say what it was. So, the bastard was one of the 108 that Sorokan had selected to repopulate the Earth. Maybe even Jyran hadn’t known that Yogi was clued in.

  “You can be among the chosen ones, Hugo,” Yogi said as if he had just picked up on Hugo’s thoughts. “Push Jyran’s body from the chair. Take his place. Work with me.”

  Hugo wondered if it was a test. He couldn’t imagine Yogi letting him live. The fracture between the two men was too deep after what had happened.

  “I understand why you killed Jyran,” Hugo said, remembering how the heir had dismissed Yogi after two decades of service. “Becoming CEO … it wasn’t my idea.”

  Yogi laughed. “Ha! I didn’t shoot him for that. I couldn’t care less about the job.”

  “Really?” Hugo couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t Yogi bragged about his commitment to his work, his nightly board meetings and all that?

  “It’s about Maya. That’s why Jyran had to die. He broke his word.”

  Hugo could have slapped himself for his stupidity. Maya ignited such passions into men that life and death didn’t seem to matter anymore. Diana had told him that Jyran had promised Maya’s hand to Yogi before he found out about Yogi’s failure with Shiva.

  “Jyran wouldn’t even allow me to consummate the marriage,” Yogi said. “You should have read the betrothal contract Jyran made me
sign—it’s all in there!”

  “What?” Hugo wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. He couldn’t imagine how such a marriage would be possible. Or was it Maya who had asked for it?

  “Jyran wanted to keep his sister for himself,” Yogi said, his cheeks glowing with rage. “Didn’t you notice how experienced she was in bed, the innocent virgin?”

  Hugo ground his teeth. It was incredible. If Yogi was telling the truth, the Borgias had nothing on the Singhs! He scolded himself for having fallen for Maya too. Her hypnotic gaze must have twisted his mind, making him lose his senses.

  “So?” Yogi asked, apparently ticked off by Hugo’s dithering.

  Hugo tried to refocus on Shiva after the shocking insight into the siblings’ perverted relationship. “Lower your gun, Yogi!” he said in what he knew was more than a bluffing manoeuvre. “You’re never going to shoot me.”

  Yogi laughed. “What makes you so sure?” He gestured at Jyran’s splattered brains.

  Hugo realised the heir’s murder had nothing to do with Shiva. Instead, Jyran would always have remained an obstacle to Yogi’s conquest of Maya. Still, there had to be a way for Hugo to protect her from the depraved man. “Shiva doesn’t talk to you,” Hugo said. “Do you really think you can lead the 108 without access to Shiva? By now you will know that I’m the only man who can give you that.”

  Yogi smiled. “See, Hugo? That’s your mistake. You’re always making false assumptions. In fact, you’re much less important than you think you are.”

  Hugo felt the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean?”

  Yogi’s perverted smile spread across his face. “Everyone thinks you’re such a genius, but I have the measure of you. Just look around! You’ll find the answer in this room.”

  Hugo swallowed. It was true. Jyran’s avatar software was sufficient for Yogi to impersonate the sheik. They wouldn’t even notice that he had taken Jyran’s place. Soon Yogi would speak to them with the same face and the same voice they were used to.