REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES

by Gregory N. Taylor

  “No side effects? Nothing detrimental to his health?”

  “No Sir.”

  “Good. In that case, let’s go to the clone storage facility. I want to choose my next body.”

  The doctor was shocked.

  “Do you think that’s wise, sir? I mean don’t you think that perhaps we should do more tests?”

  “Doctor, everything I say or do is wise. If we procrastinate much longer I’ll be dead and who knows where my soul will end up.”

  Understandably Thomas felt a little apprehension but this was overcome by the realisation that Nathan, whoever he now was, must be close to making his return. Thomas was seventy-seven years old so his nemesis must be approaching eighteen years of age. Even with the bio-suit he didn’t want to enter what could possibly be a physical confrontation with someone sixty years his junior.

  The clone storage facility looked like something from a science fiction movie. Row upon row of transparent pods containing frozen clone babies. Thomas could tell that making the correct choice of host clone would not be a simple task. It had to be a good physical specimen, naturally muscular. He hadn’t had a blond haired host for a while now, so he fancied a bit of a change. He went over to the selection panel and chose a number of candidates from the clone attribute database. He mulled over a few profiles and then called over the department manager.

  “This one. Marcus Gallagher 001. Prepare the product for soul transfer. It must be ready to be used on its twenty-fifth day.”

  The manager thought about pointing out that he should really be given the relevant documentation, but everybody knew of Professor Ingram’s fate, and so he said nothing except to agree.

  Chapter 28

  8 a.m. Thursday, 28th April, 2067

  Marcus Gallagher 001 was laying in the receiver compartment of the Transfer Unit, obediently awaiting his new soul. He was a good looking young man, just as Thomas had wanted; muscular with golden hair and piercing blue eyes. An unprepared bystander would never have believed that he was only twenty-five days old.

  Even though he was the Pindar, Thomas was obliged to strip naked, along with the clone. He was unable to do so alone, so the same team that had assembled his bio-suit was there, but this time to dismantle the suit. As is often the case, disassembling something is easier than assembling something, and five minutes later the severely weakened body of Thomas McCall was assisted into the donor capsule.

  The lid was closed, a touch control was enabled and the air was drawn out of the transparent casing of the donor capsule. It didn’t take long for Thomas to die, his body and organs had spent the last nine years being supported by the bio-suit and once that was gone his body just didn’t know how to cope. A technician gave progress reports during each phase of the process.

  “No signs of life from the Pindar, sir. Anticipating departure of the soul at any moment.”

  The twenty or so people in the room looked on anxiously. Even the less experienced among them had been present for over a dozen such transfers. However, this was the Pindar, the most powerful person in the whole Illuminati that they had just witnessed die. The technician called out again.

  “The soul has left the body and is heading towards the airlock.’

  He paused for a second.

  “It’s in the airlock, sealing donor pod now.”

  Thomas’s soul had nowhere to go now. Instinct was telling it to find another body but there was only one direction available to it. The soul passed silently from the airlock to the receiver capsule, where it found the peaceful body of Marcus Gallagher 001. It hovered above the clone for a few seconds and the technician quickly sealed the space between the airlock and the receiver pod. The soul, invisible to the naked eye but its presence confirmed by monitoring devices, dropped onto its recipient and enveloped his entire body before seeping through the pores of his body and heading into his brain.

  “Soul in located within in the clone. Injecting GHIH now.”

  The correct dosage of growth inhibitor hormone applied, all the team could do was wait.

  Two minutes later, the clone opened its eyes. The team leader breathed a sigh of relief.

  “OK. Let’s take the lid off the capsule guys. And let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

  The lid was removed and Marcus Gallagher 001 sat up. He looked around the room and saw one of the female laboratory assistants admiring his naked body. He winked at her.

  “Don’t just stand there looking girl. Find me some clothes. The Pindar has returned.”

  Chapter 29

  8 a.m. Tuesday, 15th March, 2068

  The mood in the great boardroom was frosty, to say the least. Some of the Council of Thirteen could see the commercial benefits of the cloning process and wanted to further increase the Illuminati’s already astronomical profits. Marcus did not.

  Cavendish stood up and rapped his ceremonial staff three times, hard on the ground, signifying that he was about to speak.

  “Can my Lord Pindar not see that there is an incredible opportunity here? You, yourself, were inhabiting a body that was – how shall I describe it – not fit for purpose. You now occupy the body of a fit and healthy young man, albeit that of a clone. Do you not feel that there are potentially millions of wealthy customers who would pay vast sums of money to avail themselves of this wonderful technology?”

  Cavendish again stamped the ground once with his staff to show that he had finished speaking for the moment. He sat down and arranged his magenta coloured robe around him, hiding his exquisitely tailored Armani suit.

  Marcus stood up and, just as Cavendish had done, rapped the floor three times with his golden staff.

  “Councillor Cavendish. I am perfectly aware of the revenue that could be gained from such a venture. However, my concern is that if we open this technology to a wider public audience we lose control of it. A competitor could not only take our business away from us but, by reverse engineering, could use the technology against us, perhaps creating an army of clones.”

  The thud of Marcus’s staff hitting the stone floor of the boardroom ended the Pindar’s response.

  Three more strikes on the floor, and Councillor Bruce began to speak.

  “My Lord Pindar, I understand your concern, but what if we limited the benefits of Clone Transfer to Recarns, such as ourselves. Surely the security risk would not exist then? Even if we limited access to the technology to registered members of our illustrious organisation, we could make millions – for the Organisation, of course.”

  There was scarcely a gap between the single strike of Councillor Bruce’s staff and the three strikes of Marcus’s.

  “Councillor Bruce. Whilst I understand your point of view, I cannot agree with it. You are thinking only from a financial point of view, you are not thinking of the good of the Organisation.”

  Councillor Bruce stood up again.

  “But my Lord Pindar…”

  He was cut off in mid-sentence by the roar of his Pindar.

  “PROTOCOL, COUNCILLOR BRUCE! PROTOCOL!”

  Councillor Bruce looked sheepish and apologised. Marcus continued.

  “The striking of staffs is not only a sign of respect to the rest of the chamber, but also serves to avoid interruptions, and vitriolic arguments. It is a centuries old tradition. Members of the Council of Thirteen would do well to remember that. You may speak now, Councillor Bruce.”

  The single thud of Marcus’s staff signaled that the floor was open to another speaker. Councillor Bruce struck the floor three times with his staff, slowly and deliberately.

  “My apologies, my Lord Pindar. Please forgive me. No disrespect was intended.”

  Marcus nodded his acceptance of the apology. Councillor Bruce continued.

  “We, the thirteen families, have invested much money in the research and execution of the projects that have led to your illustrious self now inhabiting the body of a fully formed, fully functional clone. We feel that we merit a return on our investment. Surely my Lord Pindar can see that
this isn’t only fair and just, but also the honourable path to take?”

  Councillor Bruce’s emerald coloured staff struck the floor to close his question.

  Marcus stood up, hammering his staff on the floor four times, in doing so informing that his next words should be considered a veto.

  “Investments made in the aforementioned projects were made for the good of the organisation, not for the good of the individual. Such investments – and I, myself, was a substantial investor – should be considered willing payment for the lifestyle that we, in this room, all share. I expect no reimbursement of monies donated and therefore neither should you. So, let the records show that I invoke my power of veto. You are all dismissed from this session.”

  The thirteen Councillors shuffled out of the room, but Marcus knew that those members of the Council who had shown concerns would not let the situation rest. He knew that they had invested a great deal of money in the Research and Development of Soul to Clone Transference. They did deserve more. But he was unwilling to accede to their demands. He privately acknowledged to himself these councillors were correct, that he was the only person to have benefitted from the new technology, but he was damned if he was going to relinquish control of its use. Yes, he would allow the creation of new clones but they would be chosen by him, based on loyalty and usefulness. He didn’t need the respect or agreement of these fools. He could do without them. He beckoned over his personal assistant

  “I want to know the location of everybody who was in this meeting, for the next forty-eight hours. At any time, day or night, I want to know where they are and what they’re doing.”

  ,

  Chapter 30

  7:30 p.m. Tuesday, 15th March, 2068

  New technology is generally perceived to be an example of progress. As years and decades go by computers have more processing power and are smaller. Televisions left cumbersome cathode-ray tubes and valves behind around seventy years ago, having passed through the development of flat-screen LED and Plasma models, on the way to the 360° 3D Overhead Projection models that became de rigueur in the 2050s, allowing the action to appear more like a theatre experience in one’s own home. Travelling by car was now a much safer process, thanks to self-drive cars and their 99.9% inability to crash.

  But sometimes new technology just will not do the job properly. Pulse gun technology had taken the personal weapon market by storm due to its flexibility of being able to stun instead of killing its target. Even a head shot wasn’t normally fatal, there being only a very small area on the surface of a human head where the stun setting could result in a fatality. A shooter had to be either very unlucky or an excellent marksman to kill anybody with a pulse gun set to stun.

  However, the new technology had its limitations and the loss of power over a long distance was one of them. It was almost impossible for a sniper to kill someone from a long distance using a pulse-gun; the strength of the electrical charge decreased exponentially as the distance increased and a kill shot could easily become a stun shot. Weapons scientists were working on a method of turbo-charging the pulse but had had no success to date.

  At home, sitting on a wicker chair in his conservatory, Councillor Bruce was just about to relax with a cup of camomile tea. It had been a stressful day and it had taken all his reserves of courage to confront Marcus Carver that morning. He wasn’t normally so forthright but he and his principle allies, Councillors Cavendish, Romanov, and Krupp, felt aggrieved that their opinion was being dismissed so off-handedly. He nibbled the rich tea finger biscuit that accompanied his evening cup of tea, and turned to his wife, Emma, to remark how a good cup of camomile tea always made him feel better after a bad day.

  Old technology burst through the window of the living room of his luxury apartment as two high caliber armour-piercing sniper’s bullets tore into Councillor Bruce’s skull. He had felt as safe as it were possible to feel safe, thanks to the bullet-resistant glass that had been installed in all the windows of the apartment but he hadn’t reckoned on his killer firing five high velocity shots in rapid succession. In the open air, with no protection, the sniper would have needed only the one shot to kill his target but this gunman was armed with a sniper’s rifle modified to fire five bullets rapidly into exactly the same spot as the first had landed; the first bullet acting as a marker for the subsequent bullets to follow, each bullet weakening the protective structure of the glass until it gave way and allowed the final bullet or two to continue on their trajectory until hitting the real target.

  Similarly, Councillors Cavendish, Romanov, and Krupp knew nothing of their deaths. The cull was clinical and perfectly executed.

  Cavendish had found it a little strange that he was the only customer at the golf driving range; it was normally quite busy on Tuesday nights. However, he ignored his initial misgivings, deciding that only the direst emergency could ever drag him away from an activity – no, a ritual - that he considered sacred. Even a confrontation with the Pindar didn’t come under that heading. Marcus was only ‘acting’ Pindar anyway. Nathan would soon be back (in whatever guise he now existed) and things could get back to normal. He looked at the target in the distance, altering his stance a little to give his body more balance. He flexed his legs to gain the perfect striking position, drawing his golf club behind him in preparation for the perfect drive. He had a good feeling about this one. The club swung in a beautiful arc and struck the golf ball cleanly, the impact setting off the high explosive that had been packed inside it. The Councillor was ripped apart, body parts littering the area around the tee.

  Romanov and Krupp hadn’t spoken up at the meeting, but were just as incensed at Marcus’s attitude as Bruce and Cavendish. They could not afford to have invested so much money into the two projects without receiving a healthy return. What did Marcus think he was doing? The Illuminati wasn’t supposed to be somebody’s personal plaything. It had been run for hundreds of years for the benefit all the thirteen families. This is how it should always be run. Sitting on the deck of Romanov’s luxury yacht, they considered what should be their next step.

  A slight humming in the distance caught their attention. They looked up and saw what appeared to be a small plane, flying at very high altitude. They were not unduly concerned. Drones were in common usage as delivery vehicles for many things bought online, or to monitor traffic, although Krupp did think it a little unusual to see one working after 6 p.m. He looked up again and saw a flash of blue light emanate from the drone.

  His last words were ‘what the fuck’ as a missile plunged into the engine room of the boat, leaving only splinters of wood and plastic bobbing up and down on the surface of the water.

  There was no need for these deaths to appear to be accidents. The whole point of the exercise wasn’t only to rid Marcus of dissidents on the Council of thirteen but to also send a message to anyone else who might be thinking of opposing him. He was not to be trifled with. Retribution would be swift and decisive.

  Chapter 31

  10:45 a.m. Thursday, 6th June, 2069

  Looking down from Flight SKR 147, the Sky Runner service from Salvador to London, Érica Santos could see her tropical home city disappearing in the distance. The forward thrust of the engines sent the space-plane hurtling towards orbit at Mach 5.4, but the passengers hardly noticed the force of the acceleration upon their bodies thanks to the G-Stabilizer technology that dampened the physical effects of the launch and allowed the passengers to relax as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. The view that Érica could see out of her window wasn’t a true image but a slowed down holographic image, for experiencing physically or even visually the true speed of the aircraft would likely cause severe nausea and probable vomiting; an effect that nobody would wish to suffer or see in such a confined space. The introduction of the holographic windows coupled with the G-Stabilizer system had solved that problem, turning what had been quite a harrowing passenger experience into a very pleasant two hour trip.

  All Sky Runner fligh
ts were first class. The technology had cost a lot of money to develop and to subsequently introduce into commercial service and costs had to be recouped somehow. The aircraft interior was more like a high end hotel, with passengers not being placed side by side in rows of seats, but instead having a small but comfortably functional room of their own, complete with en-suite bathroom facilities. To the casual observer, who could never imagine having the money to spend on such a frivolous luxury, flying by Sky Runner seemed the height of debauchery, an unnecessary extravagance, but the kind of people who could afford to travel in such a way didn’t see it as such, most of them being high-ranking members of the ruling party of their home countries and thus part of the network of the Illuminati.

  The Illuminati rewarded its partners (it considered the use of the term employee to be counter-productive and found that its staff reacted much more favourably when referred to as partners) very well indeed. At the levels below the Council of Thirteen Families, The Order was a meritocracy and everyone was encouraged to better themselves and advance through the ranks as far as possible. However, there wasn’t just a glass ceiling in place within the top tiers of the organizational hierarchy, it was more of a thick lead ceiling. Nobody outside of the thirteen ruling families or their respective ruling councils was aware of the true strategic ambitions of the upper echelon; they just knew that their alliance with the Illuminati provided them with a lifestyle that the average person could only ever dream about.

  It was the first time that the Pindar had been born into one of the more successful member families of his organisation, and he had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. So many times he had been reincarnated into normal working professional families which had provided him with just a comfortable life. He knew that his parents always did their best for him, providing him with the best education and conditions that they could afford – and he appreciated their efforts – but this was the first time that he hadn’t had to take a significant drop in quality of life at his rebirth. Ana Lucia and Roberto, Érica’s parents had had a meteoric rise through the Brazilian political system, Roberto rising from his position as judge to becoming the Minister of Justice for the entire country. This had been achieved by knowing the right people, and making judgments that were highly favourable to the objectives of the Illuminati; in return he had received extremely high financial compensation, compensation that some might consider to be bribes.