Érica had wanted for nothing as a child and it was no surprise that, when she told her parents that she wanted to study English in England, they insisted that she should travel in the fastest and most luxurious manner available. And so here she was, in her own small but very comfortable room on the state-of-the-art Sky Runner spaceplane.
The two hour journey from Salvador to London passed very quickly. Like any adolescent for the last sixty or so years Érica was mesmerized by social networking and, like most of the developed planet, she had an account with the latest online social network, HoloMeet. This global application allowed its users to have face-to-face encounters and conversations with hologram projections of other members. If you didn’t have a HoloMeet account you were considered a technophobe and suffered the social stigma that accompanied the label. Even so, Érica guarded her true identity diligently; it was important that she shouldn’t show her hand too early. Nobody could know the intentions of the soul that inhabited the young Brazilian woman who was now on her way to reclaim her rightful position at the pinnacle of the Illuminati hierarchy. Not even her parents. She had no idea how they would have reacted had she told them that their daughter was actually the reincarnation of the Pindar, that she was the head of the global organisation that had provided them with such a financially rewarding lifestyle. She was, in fact, her parents’ boss. Perhaps surprisingly, Recarns nearly always developed a strong emotional bond with their parents and Érica was no different. She loved her parents and didn’t want to do anything that could hurt their feelings, so there was no way she could have divulged who she really was. It would have no doubt destroyed their relationship. They had been both excellent parents to her and excellent servants to the Illuminati. But now was the time to cut loose those emotional ties and reclaim her rightful position as head of The Order.
She felt secure that there would be no problem. She was sure that she had left the organisation in good hands when she had appointed Thomas McCall as her interim successor. Although she had limited access to what was going on within her organisation, what she had heard through a very elite grapevine wasn’t giving her cause for major concern. Thomas must now be approaching his eighties and in the twilight of his life. He must be ready for a rest, just as Nathan had been when he self-terminated and his soul took over Érica’s body.
The gentle chimes of the intercom interrupted her chain of thought.
“Would passengers please take their seats, flight SKR 147 will be landing at London Heathrow in five minutes. There is no need to use the safety belts as the G-Stabilizer system will compensate for the reduction in speed and you will experience a sensation no stronger than an elevator stopping. Thank you for flying with Sky Runner Airlines and we hope that you have enjoyed the last two hours in our company.”
Érica sat down in the armchair and relaxed as the space-plane descended rapidly and touched down on the tarmac of the dedicated Sky Runner runway, before taxiing to the Sky Runner terminal building.
The spaceplane had only fifty passengers, so it wasn’t long before Érica was at Immigration Control. She stood on the assigned mark on the floor whilst her DNA and fingerprints were automatically matched to the international traveller’s database, allowing her to enter the United Kingdom. After passing successfully through immigration control she went to the VIP arrivals lounge to wait for her baggage to be brought to her.
Once her baggage had been reunited with her, Érica was met by a company driver who would take her to her accommodation.
The apartment that her parents had rented for her was befitting someone of her social standing. It was spacious, lavishly decorated, and she had two maids that had been sent from Brazil – economy class of course – to attend to her every whim. A team of three security men meant that she was never alone. This was the main problem that Érica would have to overcome; getting past her own security guards. It would not be easy. She’d have to plan it like a military operation. However, if necessary, that could wait for a day or two. She had to see the three security men and make a judgement as to who she thought was the weakest link. She had spent various lives as a woman and knew pretty much every trick in the book when it came to dealing with the male of the species.
The next day, although she had staff to attend to her every whim, she allowed her cook to take the morning off, saying that she wanted to do a little cooking herself. Of course this was a lie – she hated cooking – but this would mean that there would be one less witness to her escape. She hunted through the kitchen cupboards and found the most difficult jar to open. Preparing the kitchen to look like she was in middle of preparing a meal, she sliced a few carrots and placed them on a small plate, alongside a very sharp Santoku knife. She spread various ingredients in dishes around the work-surface of the kitchen, leaving the knife easily accessible. The jar that she had chosen was a mayonnaise jar, whose lid was indeed impossible for her to remove by hand. She pulled her blouse open a little to show the beginnings of her cleavage and walked towards the front door of the apartment, knowing that there was a security guard by the name of Craig posted outside. She opened the door and saw Craig standing there, alert to react to the slightest threat.
“Craig? Could you help me please? I have a jar that I can’t open. I need the help of a big, strong man.”
“Sorry miss, I can’t leave my post. Not even for you.”
“I’ll bring it to you shall I? It’ll only take a few seconds.”
“If you could, miss. That’d be better.”
This wasn’t quite how she had imagined her plan going, but it was only a very small hitch. She had hoped to draw Craig into the kitchen, but it wasn’t obligatory to her escape plan. She checked her watch. Her unwitting accomplices should be at the front of the building now. Earlier, she had arranged for two private security men – men not employed by her father – to escort her from the apartment and take her to a destination of her choice in an SUV with dark tinted windows. The windows had to be dark enough that nobody could see inside the van. It had seemed a strangely specific request but the receptionist at the private security firm that Érica had called, had assured her that their employees would be very punctual and bring with them a luxury SUV exactly as she had requested.
Èrica, placed a pre-packed overnight bag just inside the entrance door and went back to the kitchen to fetch the offending jar. She returned to where Craig was waiting, the mayonnaise jar in her left hand and gripping the Sokotu knife with her right hand, hidden behind her back. She handed the jar to Craig and the security man did what anyone would have done – he held the jar tightly with one hand and attempted to loosen the lid with the other. His hands thus occupied in fighting the forces of physics, his grimace of effort suddenly changed to an expression of incredulity. Why had Érica drawn the blade of a knife across his throat, slicing into his windpipe? Why was he slumping to the floor, blood pumping from a fatal wound? He would never know the answer; not in this lifetime, anyway.
Érica took off the kitchen gloves that had served the dual purpose of corroborating the impression that she had been cooking and protected her from leaving fingerprints upon the knife, and tossed them inside the overnight bag. She scooped up the bag and left the room, closing the door lightly behind her, so as not to attract attention, before making her way down to the lobby, acting as if nothing had happened. The building concierge smiled at her and wished her a pleasant day as she walked casually out of the building, returning his smile. Her escorts were waiting for her outside the building, just as she planned, and she skipped effortlessly through the open side door and settled herself down on a sumptuously comfortable synthetic fur-lined seat. As the van pulled away into the morning traffic, Érica felt a pang of regret at having left her birth-parents in such a way, without so much as a by-your-leave, but her destiny was far too important to worry about social niceties.
Chapter 32
11:45 a.m. Saturday, 8th June, 2069
Érica had many contacts inside The Order. Indeed, why wou
ld she not have – she had been Pindar for nearly three centuries and holding that position for so long brought with it much loyalty. She had been forced by the laws of nature to take her enforced sabbaticals but had always been able to count upon her elite corps of bodyguards to ease her passage back to her rightful place at the head of the Illuminati. She made her way to the palatial building that housed the upper echelons of The Order and was met outside by her most trusted people, those who had the task of facilitating her access. She gave them the combination of passwords – three of her most trusted officers had each locked in their memories a distinct part of the password – and, once identified, she was free to enter the building. These duties performed by these bodyguards had been passed down from father to son for generations, and their allegiance was unquestionable. This is how she had reclaimed her throne for centuries, through a combination of fierce loyalty and fear.
Duty rosters had been changed and personnel had been rotated so that she would not meet any obstacles as she made her way to the Pindar’s office. Only those faithful to her cause manned the various checkpoints that were dotted along the corridors. She stopped occasionally to talk to people she recognised, much as a king or queen does when on a walkabout among her people. Everybody was pleased to see her and told her how much they were looking forward to her taking control of the organisation once again.
She felt secure in the knowledge that she had chosen well. Thomas had been an exemplary servant to the Organisation until the time came for her to leave Nathan’s weakening body. Once she had become aware of herself as a Recarn and aware of her previous existences, she had made it her business to keep track of what was going on whilst she was growing up. Impeccable sources had informed her how her pet projects had made many advances but there were still problems regarding the deceleration of the aging process and, although souls had been transferred into adult clones successfully, they had deteriorated rapidly and none had survived more than 87 days. Érica wasn’t too disappointed. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, scientific research seldom shows overnight success; she was certain that any problems would be resolved in the not too distant future and The Order would make billions of dollars, pounds, or whatever currency you like, from the sale of the service to wealthy clients.
The group arrived at the door of the Pindar’s office and an officer of the elite guard rapped on the door, which opened silently. Érica and half a dozen of her escort walked into the room where a figure was sitting with his back to the group. The clock on the wall struck midday. She could see a figure of a man sitting, facing away from her, staring at a painting of Adam Weishaupt. Érica spoke confidently, having been through this process many times before, using the same formal procedural language.
“Good afternoon Thomas McCann. I hereby give you notice, as stated previously in January 2051 that, as of now, I, Érica Maria Santos, formally known as Nathan Robert Smith, assume the office of Pindar of the organisation known as the Illuminati, also known as the Order of New Perfectibilists, also known as The Order. As from this day forth I shall exercise my power fairly and justly and will always put the benefit of The Order above that of myself.”
The figure rose from his seat and turned to face Érica.
“Do you now? Well, I’m sorry but I beg to differ.”
Érica was shocked. She looked at the very healthy and very young man that stood before her; instead of an elderly and sophisticated black man she was looking at a white man with golden hair, blue eyes and a disturbing amount of arrogance. Marcus smiled.
“Cat got your tongue, has it?”
“How can this be? Who are you? Where’s Thomas?”
“Thomas? Oh he’s dead my dear. Passed away two years ago. Almost to the day, actually.”
“How did you become Acting Pindar? There are protocols to address the event of an Acting Pindar dying whilst in office, and none of them include promoting somebody that I do not know of.”
“Ah, Érica. Or maybe I should call you Nathan. No, you look more like an Érica. You are a very pretty little thing, aren’t you? I wouldn’t mind spending some recreational time getting to know you properly.”
Marcus took time to ogle Érica before continuing.
“But I digress. And I’ve been very rude. I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Marcus Gallagher.”
“I can’t say I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Gallagher, but I’m back now and I’m going to take my rightful position as Pindar.”
“I can’t let you do that young lady.”
“You have no right to stop me from doing so. Guards, arrest this imposter.”
The guards stayed still, making no attempt to follow her orders.
“I don’t think they heard you Érica. Try again.”
Érica repeated the order, and the guards stood still, one of them allowing himself a little smirk. Marcus’s tone was mocking.
“Nope, they definitely didn’t hear you. Or perhaps they don’t want to arrest me.”
“These are the Elite Guard. They are loyal to me!”
“Doesn’t look like it, does it? Guards.”
Two guards stepped forward and gripped Érica’s arms tightly. She shouted again.
“They were loyal to me. They’ve always been loyal to me.”
“Loyalty can be bought, Érica. And I have offered them the next best thing to immortality. I have promised them that their souls – at a time of their choosing – will be transferred into a young healthy clone so that they can continue their lives in the luxury that they will be accustomed to. Strange to say, they jumped at the chance. It’s really a pleasant feeling knowing that, upon dying, you can keep your standard of living and all the things that you’ve accumulated during your life, instead of being reincarnated into a random body that could be born into some hellhole on the other side of the world. Contrary to popular belief you can take it with you.”
“But my sources told me that the cloning process hadn’t been perfected, yet.”
“Yes. Sorry about that. I told them to tell you that. It’s called disinformation. But the cloning process is a great success. I mean, look at me. Am I not a beautiful specimen?”
Marcus pirouetted once, to give Érica the full view of his body. He glared at Érica.
“Yes Érica. I’m a clone. It was a great idea you had, this project to transfer our souls, to decide where they would end up after our bodies wore out. An even better idea to transfer our souls into clones, so we don’t have to hang around twenty years or so to mature, like you just had to. This whole process took only twenty minutes or so. Maybe less. When this clone body wears out – or when I feel like a change – I can simply exchange it for a new one. No waiting.”
“So… what are you going to do? If you’re going to kill me, then just get it over with.”
“Kill you? Why should I want to do that? If I kill you, you’ll be back here in twenty years or so, like an annoying mosquito. No, Érica. I’m not going to kill you, per se. We both know that you’d reincarnate and I simply cannot be bothered to go through this rigmarole every couple of decades. Érica, you’re going to stay here, with us for a while, a very long while. For ever actually”
Chapter 33
2:40 p.m. Saturday, 8th June, 2069
Érica was about to see the fruits of her ambition first hand, although she had always imagined it would be from a different vantage point. She was being wheeled along the corridor, strapped to the very same trolley that had delivered countless other men and women to their death, including the anonymous first victim who had provided the first baby to undergo experimentation, the advertising executive Ami Durand and Professor Ingram.
She had been the instigator of research into soul transference and clone creation but had never envisaged that it would be her undoing. In all her incarnations she had never misjudged anybody as badly as she had misjudged Thomas. How could she have been so stupid?
The sliding doors of the laboratory opened just before the trolley was about to hit them. �
�rica looked around her and saw the transference equipment, which had undergone a small modification only two hours earlier. Marcus was already in the room, standing tall, looking forward to dealing with the threat that Érica thought she had brought with her.
“Good afternoon Érica. Let me introduce you to our wonderful apparatus here. This beast directs the soul from a dead person into a new recipient body. Your original idea of course, and for that I thank you. Now, this recipient can be a human or, it can be like me, a clone. You did realise that didn’t you, Érica? I’m not just any old clone who took control of the organisation. No, no, no… I’m Ruth, the plantation slave who was raped in front of her daughter. I’m Simon, the ten year old murderer and suicide, I’m Jake, the member of the team that helped bring about the Revelation. I’m Thomas, the man who you put in charge of the Organisation whilst you were busy growing up in Brazil. And now… Well, as you can see, I’m Marcus – a.k.a. your worst nightmare.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, my dear. Normally, we would take a soul and direct it to a new host. Then the new host wakes up, and hey presto! Everybody’s happy. But you, Érica, you will not be entering a new host. Your soul will only make half the journey because instead of a receiver chamber, a sealed capsule has been attached. Your soul will be spending eternity locked inside that capsule, in a secure vault, where you can do no harm. I believe that this will be the perfect example of what romantics like to call ‘a fate worse than death’. You’ll be my very own genie in a bottle.”
REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES Page 19