by Terry James
The series of video quick-cuts continued, while the narrator's voice became less caustic.
"Those you see here were relatives of those Jew criminals who went underground, after detonating the nuclear devices which destroyed Damascus and Cairo, and long before that, New York."
The narrator's tone again became hateful. "More of their relatives will be rounded up and burned, until those responsible are caught or come forward to accept responsibility for their heinous crimes against civilized man!"
The screen darkened and the room was in total silence for several seconds. Jacob's heart pounded in his ears, and in his throat; perspiration soaked through his shirt at the chest and underarms, and ran uncomfortably down his belly and sides. What next? Was their teasing torture finished?
The screen lighted slowly, becoming an expanse of dark and darker shadows, interspersed with varying intensities of light. Momentarily the scene became distinguishable; the figure of a man sat in a huge, high-backed chair, dominating the screen. The face could not be discerned, although the totality of the figure, which drew closer, was somehow familiar. When the camera zoomed in on the sitting figure's head, which was cloaked in harsh shadows, the image spoke.
"You are not here, at this place, at this time, without purpose. Your destiny is tied, unalterably, to the Jew. You cannot escape your responsibility. The time is now to pay the debt owed."
The deep voice, vaguely familiar yet alien, reverberated as if in a metal drum; the lower part of the face became illuminated enough to see the pale lips move. Shivers of chill shot upward into the back of Jacob's neck and spread throughout the nerves running ovaled over his scalp. A voice of demons, directly from the hell of Naxos, informing the condemned that INterface, that TRINITY, that the controllers, were on to his deception. Aware that he was a Jew, that he was not John I. Carver, but Jacob Zen, murderer of history's most beloved product, Herrlich Krimhler. Telling him they had known all along that Jacob Zen did not die in the helicopter explosion and fire, known all along that Sector Coordinator 550 had been replaced by the number one enemy of INterface.
But why wait so long to close the jaws of the trap? Why now? Here? What price would they exact from him for his treachery? But they could not. He, Jacob Zen, controlled his own time and method of dying. Again, like before when his nerves began to fray, the thought calmed him.
"You cannot escape notice of TRINITY. Your every activity is known and felt by the great Cosmic Mind, whether for the good of INterface, or to the detriment."
Sliding doors parted on both sides of the screen, and one Controller walked from each opening in military fashion. Jacob's hand went involuntarily to the thick detonator on the belt of explosives. His index finger gingerly feeling for the button that would obliterate himself and the INterface policemen.
"You will stand and submit to the officers, who will discharge their duty."
The controllers advanced and stood beside the chair where he sat, cold sweat drenching his body. An uncontrollable twitch began in his left cheek, drawing that side of his face, he imagined, into an easily observable mask of fear. He was afraid, the will to survive fighting its way to the forefront of his emotions. But not terrified, still in control, still capable of pushing the button. It would all be over in an instant. A quick burst of pain, then oblivion. His fingertip rested firmly against the button.
His nerves settled while he stood from the chair still facing the screen, not allowing his eyes to turn in the direction of the controllers, but able to see them with his peripheral vision. When they moved toward him, tried to touch him, he would do it! If only the dark figure on the screen could be there to feel his lethal hatred!
"You have proven through your actions to be worthy of the reward you will now receive, Sector Coordinator Five, Five, Zero."
Sector Coordinator! Why would INterface address him as Sector Coordinator? If they knew, would they not call the name, Jacob Zen? Maybe they didn't know that he was Zen. Maybe they simply had observed him in his secret Bible readings, in his clandestine note taking. Perhaps he talked in his Trachetrol-troubled sleep. Maybe...
"Shortly, you will be brought for initiation into INterface Council, where you shall be installed as Quadrant Overseer."
Feeling drained from his body; his knees started to buckle. A hot flood of realization that he had escaped the hand of the INterface executioners filled him with emotion. Something akin to gratitude replaced hatred. He had not been sentenced to death, but was being rewarded for performing well on behalf of INterface!
"Well done, good and faithful servant. Welcome into the kingdom," the voice said tenderly, before the image of the robed man faded from the screen, which then went black.
"I'm Controller Six, Six, Six, Seven, Zero, Two, sir. We're here to help you prepare for the initiation. We will assist in getting your affairs in order here, before your move."
Jacob looked blankly into the black-uniformed officer's eyes, able after what seemed to him an eternity to answer. "Thank you."
He sat in the chair again, weak from the sudden change the direction of his emotions had taken.
"If you will get together your personal items as soon as possible, sir. You have been replaced at your Sector Coordinator post. You will leave at twenty-four hundred hours for Jerusalem."
The city had changed little since he was first here as a boy of 13. The one large exception being that the Mosque of Omar, sitting atop Mount Moriah with its golden dome glinting under an unusually bright sky, now shared the plot of holy real estate with an even more beautiful structure. The new Davidic temple. The building of limestone and granite, ornately scrolled and guarded at its front by traditional columnar statuary, was a part of the first peace settlement.
The Arabs had agreed to officially recognize Israel's right to exist and let the nation live in peace and security, guaranteed by NATO's armed might. In exchange, Israel, unbelievably, in the eyes of most geopolitical experts, disbanded its military complex and agreed to co-exist with the Palestinian state created for the Arabs of the region. The crown jewel of the peace agreement, as the Israeli Prime Minister said at the time, was the Muslim acquiescence on the question of Jewish access to the holy sites of Mount Moriah. The Arab agreement to allow the temple's construction brought about great pressure to make peace, so that even the hard-line anti-Arab elements within Israel saw the wisdom and the desirability of putting aside their hatreds.
For reasons no one could pinpoint, new troubles for the Jews began shortly after the signing of that peace accord. Not from the Arabs, but from anti-Semitic factions within the Unified European States. Rumblings which grew into U.E.S. policy, first insisting that all people of Jewish descent register so that the U.E.S. could keep track of their movements (for the purpose of assuring the Jews' safety, they said).
The troubles grew until there were instituted huge impounds where Jews were kept, for their own good, of course. Accused of being militants "warring against a peaceful Earth," by one member of U.E.S. Council, persecutions increased, becoming full-blown genocide, now, under INterface rule. Righteous genocide, in the name of God and His blueprint for the salvation of the planet. References to Adolf Hitler, to the Third Reich, to Auschwitz, Dachau, Belsen, The Final Solution, were expunged from historical records through computer ingenuity, when all books not sanctioned by INterface were eliminated, and the accepted books were re-filed in the INRU system after careful editing. A new birth had taken place; all else had died with the Great Dissolution when millions of disbelievers were ejected from the New Age earth preparing to quickly evolve into its originally intended perfection. This magnificent temple had become, instead of a blessing to the Jew, a curse almost beyond believability. All edicts, the decisions and theories of the masters relating to all matters religious and racial, came from here. The Jew was the epicenter of all that was evil. That evil symbolically emanated from this building, therefore, the cleansing must begin here.
Jacob's stomach crawled with contempt while he wal
ked the cavernous, echoing corridors of the temple, recalling how the INterface shock-troops had stormed into this once holy place, slaughtering the rabbis and others while they were offering the daily sacrifice to their God. How INterface Response Units throughout the system had displayed the gore, while the blood of the Jewish priesthood flowed across altars meant for animal blood: "When ye, therefore, shall see the abomination of desolation, spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place...
"... Who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is worshiped, so that he, as God, sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God...
"...And woe unto those who are with child, and to those who nurse children in those days...
"...For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no, nor ever shall be..."
The words from Marchek's old Bible coursed through his mind. He did not remember the exact verses and chapters, only the words that seemed to fit together, although disparate when he had read them. Jacob's mind filled with dread while sounds of footsteps thundered off the polished granite walls. The gratitude of Master Manya, of INterface. A reward for a job well done. "When ye, therefore, shall see the abomination of desolation... stand in the holy place..."
The huge temple, a shadowy mausoleum, devoid of life; dank and suffocating. Like a visit to one's own tomb before death, contrasted with sunny, glorious remembrances of a youth they could not program out. The controllers and Jacob stopped before two large, brass doors, studded in sculptured-relief with gold, silver and various precious stones. The doors, each more than 15 feet tall, opened noiselessly, wide enough for the three men to walk between them. Lights radiating from prism-design sculptures within the vast chamber dazzled the eye with beautiful flashes of colors, while music, religious in presentation, dominated the senses, setting in motion, simultaneously, feelings of euphoria and apprehension. The urge to shout ecstatically, triumphantly — to weep dismally for what was a personal victory that could not be claimed. He stood at the heart of the monster which had gobbled up all he had ever, could ever, hold dear.
Suddenly alone, he turned 360 degrees where he stood at the center of the black marble-floored room, surveying the glistening walls of jewels, made fantastically effulgent by the light given off by the prism-sculptures. His body lurched slightly through no movement of his own, and to keep from falling he instinctively corrected his stance on the floor, which, he now realized, was descending slowly. A circular platform, carrying him to a silent stop on the floor of the room below.
Lighting was poor in this chamber — that there was any light at all becoming apparent only after several seconds of letting his eyes adjust. Again he turned slowly where he stood, taking in his new surroundings while his heartbeat accelerated with the passing seconds. A sense of nakedness, of impending judgment, crashed with each pulse against his cranium. Had he removed the belt of explosives prematurely?
Shadows ranging from light gray to black hugged the distant sides of the room at points 10 feet apart, disrupting the plane of the dark purple walls. Robed figures, their heads covered with hoods. Motionless specters, their faces black, beckoning holes of judgment. Stone monuments lifelessly witnessing yet another victory for INterface.
Blinding light! Everything washed out before his eyes! Then he could see again when the radiance dimmed to a level slightly greater than when he entered the chamber. Before him stood a platform, its outline gleaming in the still scant illumination. A pyramid, which looked to have been chiseled from a single, gargantuan crystal. At its apex sat a human form, which, like the gray stone figures against the purple walls, was shadowy and cloaked in a hooded robe. Master Manya! INterface personified!
The hooded head moved. Shifted its faceless hole within the hood downward toward him. Again the feeling of nakedness, of having been stripped of his ability to keep his thoughts constrained within his own skull. "Sector Coordinator Five, Five, Zero..."
The voice was the same as that on the INRU, computerized in tone, and staccato in delivery. It seemed to come directly from within the facial void. "Yours is a most glorious opportunity..."
The voice grew in volume; the room seemed to move, closing toward Jacob. The hooded figures! They had come to life and were moving toward him from where they had stood along the walls! They closed until they formed a tight circle around him and the crystal pyramid.
"To serve INterface is to serve your brothers and sisters. To serve TRINITY is to serve God. You have done both with devotion, Five, Five, Zero. And so you shall be rewarded."
Moaning sounds, the sounds of human beings in extreme discomfort, filled the darkened room, rising in volume until the room seemed an echo chamber, as if the cries came from within a gigantic metal barrel. Simultaneously, the crystal throne filled with light, dim at first, becoming brighter while the volume of the moanings increased until the radiance forced Jacob to look away.
"Your reward shall include the honor of helping rid us of our enemies."
The light dimmed, the center of the pyramid beneath the figure becoming an indistinguishable blur, which slowly focused into a holographic image of perhaps 50 people huddled together, on their faces expressions of barely controlled terror. Any moment their collective calm would melt before INterface justice; they would erupt into mass panic, and the violence would begin. The small children would eject from the mob; the weaker adults would be trampled in the vicious churning of the death-trap.
"At the same time, it will serve as your initiation into INterface Overseer Council..."
The holographic image was more three-dimensional, more life-like than any he had seen. Like he, himself, could step into the crowd of doomed people, whose sickly eyes, sunken deeply within dark sockets, glistened with fear. Mouths gaping, some with fear-paralysis, others from pain caused by the crush of bodies.
"...an act that few citizens have had, or shall ever have the opportunity to perform on behalf of INterface Universal!"
The voice rose in pitch. For the first time, it sounded of emotion that was fanatically prideful. The hooded figures surrounding Jacob and the pyramid emitted soft chanting words he could not understand, while the faces of the holographic image became clearer. Each face was now a real person rather than mere blurs of human flesh, presented vividly at little more than arm's length from Jacob's own shocked gaze.
"Your voice signal will order these despicable enemies of INterface eradicated. They shall be purged from our midst with the righteous flame of INterface Universal's indignation!"
Jacob felt the heated rush of blood bathe his brain and cause his face skin to tingle, then burn. He felt the descending liquids' warmth wash the length of his body, each portion of his flesh enduring the sting in its turn. The first time he had felt really alive since he gouged life from the Sector Coordinator. But the living was only for the pain, not for life; he was, in his tormented spirit, within the hologram — doomed. He knew in that excruciating instant that he would do the unthinkable. He would give the order to murder these innocents. He would do it for the sake of staying alive, himself. To live so he could fight the beast from within its diseased brain. So a by-gone world might return. So humankind might work and play and love again.
No!! Self took over somewhere between Facility 500 and his arrival at the temple. Probably upon removal of the belt of explosives, when he lost the right to select the time and method of his death. Burning these pitiful creatures, choosing to stay alive, drawing precious breath for as long as the masters allowed.
Dark eyes from the holographic hell--eyes with helpless looks, like the many thousands of expressions he had seen since INterface justice was instituted, drew him, told him through their wordless hopelessness that this was the future. His own end, eventually, ultimately. Eyes tugging at his humanity. Familiar eyes, setting off feelings he thought seared over by his burning hatred for INterface.
He knew those eyes, reaching to him from the image within th
e pyramid, and he wept bitterly. Karen's eyes!
Chapter 18
All flesh blurred except that of Karen's lovely face, its olive smooth, unalloyed beauty within the holographic horror at the center of the pyramid. He could reach in, take her hand and draw her to himself. They could walk away together into another place, another time. With Karen... at last!
"Eliminator Three stands ready to receive your order. INterface awaits your command to bring retribution upon our enemies!"
Her expression, fearful but not panicked. Calmly prepared for INterface's decision about her fate. For his decision. The marvelous brown eyes he had so often looked into during their most intimate times trusting, loving him.
"Sector Coordinator Five, Five, Zero, Eliminator Three is standing by for your command," the voice said with more force from beneath the hood.
The hologram began to weaken, obscuring Karen's features, then causing the image to degenerate into an indistinguishable, pink-hued blob within the crystal pyramid. Although he felt chilled, sweat rolled from his hairline downward over his gaunt face. Was it Karen he had seen moments earlier? Really Karen? Were the monsters forcing him to snuff out the only light there was for him? The hope of seeing Karen again. Or was it some perverse synapse to neuron short-circuiting malfunction of his Trachetrol-damaged brain, cruelly tricking him into believing the face had been Karen's?
Refusing to give the order would not save this stranger, who happened to look like Karen somewhat. To refuse would make no difference to the poor people in that pre-death huddle. To refuse would mean his fight against the masters was ended. This woman his unreliable vision gathered for his drug-soaked thought processes was not Karen Mossberg. Even if she were Karen, she could not be helped by his refusal to do what they demanded. If he said “no,” someone else would do it; he would, himself, die with them, or by some other even more grisly method.