The Apostates

by Lars Teeney

  All three agreed and set off for the infirmary in the depths of the battleship, down many sets of steep, metal stairs.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  THE MOUNTAINTOP

  John always managed to get wrapped up in the satin sheets each night. In the morning, he’d have to untangle himself to get out of bed. John often wondered if the tossing and turning had to do with his state of mind and the amount of stress he was under.

  John’s days were filled to the brim. There were many matters that needed tending to. The stress had him waking up every few hours, sweating. He thought that it might be a good idea to visit his personal physician. But, more important matters came first—events needed to be planned and people needed their orders.

  He sat upright and reached for a brass bowl on the nightstand next to his massive bed. He picked up a small applicator and popped it into his shoulder—it was a caffeine supplement, with the same delivery system as the drug ‘Base’. John got to his feet and looked in the mirror. He studied his face and body, turning from side to side. He had a wiry frame that looked slightly emaciated. There was defined muscle in his frame, but the years could not be hidden. His overall aesthetic was that of a corpse that was too energetic to die. John’s head wasn’t bald, but his hair had thinned out so that his hairstyle was a cheap imitation of a younger version of himself. John was gifted with hair in the eyebrow department, he had wild brow hair that he did not trim, to overcompensate for his baldness.

  John’s face was weathered and chiseled, but also frail looking. He had a noticeable lack of lips, his pursed, knife wound of a mouth had been a trademark throughout his political career. People often said it made him look determined to get the job done. John did not possess the gift of oratory. He had always relied on his cowboy charm and his ‘down home’ way of speaking during his political career. But, that was all in the past. No more elections, no more having to worry about courting votes. Over his lifetime, he had spent more time fretting over elections than anything else, and he has had a long life.

  John walked toward the bathroom, but first he needed to enter a decontamination chamber. At his age and with the amount of organ transplants he had received it was a daily requirement. After being sealed in the chamber and dosed thoroughly by decontamination agents, he gave himself a medication cocktail injection to boost his immune system and to help keep his body from rejecting transplanted organs. He then shaved, took a shower, and then put on the suit that had been laid out by house staff the previous night. He dressed in an unassuming, neutral gray suit. While nice, it did not advertise his affluence, at this point he had lost track of his net worth. After all, it had been a long time since he had to worry about such trivial things such as bookkeeping.

  John had never found it fashionable to flash his wealth. He had always been frugal; a trait he had probably picked up from his father who lived through the Great Depression. John’s father had taught him many valuable lessons, in business and politics. He was taught about doing what’s best for his country against the “ignorance” of the masses. John knew that you would need to be unpopular and sometimes hated by the people in order to get the job done. That was the way things were done in the Twentieth and Twenty-first centuries. These days’ tactics were so much more simplified. Public opinion, polls, elections, political parties—all of that was history. Simplicity was beautiful to John.

  He proceeded out of his quarters and entered a marble covered foyer. On the far end was a massive blast door that opened for him, revealing a second elevator door that slide open. Inside the mirror covered elevator sat a steward dressed like a Twentieth-century lift attendant. There was really only one floor that John visited in the Tower of the One, so nothing needed to be said, as it was the daily ritual to go to the ground floor.

  The ground floor was reached and the doors slide open. John stepped out into the adjoining colonial period mansion that served heads of state in previous centuries as the Presidential residence. The Regime had found it necessary to retain certain symbols of power from the Old World. It served as continuity. It gave people a tangible link to their past no matter how tainted that past was considered to be by the current Regime.

  The White House had been left intact, except for the back walls, which had been torn down and adjoined to the Tower of the One. The White House served as a glorified porch and entrance to the Tower, but it was also a great place to receive guests, and to entertain in general. The state parties that had taken place there were legendary among the Regime’s inner circle. The Schrubb family had occupied the White House since the early Twenty-first century. Through various Constitutional amendments, they were able to install a political dynasty that would stand the test of time. The stratagem started with extending term limits to ten-year periods and then they struck down the ban on consecutive term limits. As time went by they even managed to make the Presidency an office that was appointed by Congress instead of an elected office. By the time that reform was put into play the Executive branch was mulling a move to permanently dissolve Congress and suspend the Constitution.

  They attempted the strategy a few times and were defeated through political means, but eventually the Executive branch pulled off the coup. Since that time John W. Schrubb has forgotten how many terms he had served as President over his one hundred and fifty year lifetime. It mattered little to him, the only thing that did was preserving the Pax Megiddo…at least until the return of the Lord. John wasn’t like the other fanatics in the Regime. He knew the Second Coming would not happen in his lifetime, not without a little push from humanity. John knew that nothing happened without a little elbow grease.

  This year would be an important one. It was the year of the Pilgrimage, which happened once every ten years. There was much planning and logistics to pour over. This Pilgrimage was different: the sports stadiums of the Old World had been converted to the cathedrals of the New World. Citizens of New Megiddo were required to travel to their regional stadium for the religious festival. On the day of the Born Again Gathering something miraculous happened, the spiritual leader of New Megiddo, The Reverend Wilhelm would appear in flesh, and all the stadiums would be blessed with the presence of the Reverend simultaneously. John smiled to himself just thinking about it.

  John had walked to the kitchen entrance where a small serving table supported breakfast items presented in a buffet style. He picked up a sausage link and gnawed on it as he walked through the corridors. A pair of staffers met him in a hallway and walked behind him like a pair of bodyguards. As the trio moved through the various chambers they passed pre-war artifacts and paintings, tributes to the presidents of the Old World. They reached the receiving room, which was filled with a crowd of people. The Twins John knew. They were his children: Kate and Keir Schrubb.

  His children were an integral part in the day-to-day operations of the government of New Megiddo. Kate Schrubb was Minister of State Security for the M.O.S.S. branch of government. There’s was the Ministry that oversaw [Virtue-net] monitoring. They were responsible for packaging and distributing the propaganda that the Reverend Wilhelm and the President deemed necessary for the flock to consume. They broadcast the Regime’s voice to the people, directly to their minds. It was a very important job for any authoritarian power to keep idle minds busy. The sheer amount of work that went into generating new and fresh propaganda was a full-time job for an agency that never slept.

  Keir, on the other hand, was a military man, he had little interest in politics. From a young age, he loved to play with his toy soldiers and playing ‘shooter’ video games. Keir joined the Regime military when he was sixteen but was given an officer’s commission straight away. After all, he was the President’s son. It was expected. The system that the ruling class of the Regime operated by was far from a meritocracy. These ideas never occurred to Keir. In his mind, he had always been destined for greatness. The Reverend himself had divinely decreed it when Keir had been baptized. To Keir, it was not a question of if but when he would d
ismantle the resistance through his martial prowess. The one barrier to his success was his sister and her monopoly on Regime intelligence. John was aware of this debilitating rivalry.

  Kate and Keir weren’t identical twins, but they certainly looked to be from the same brood. Both had blonde hair and light colored eyes, but Kate’s hair was near-platinum. Her eyes were an icy blue. Keir’s hair was closer to a brown color and he had eyes that were green and yellow. They were both in their mid-thirties. John had started a family extremely late in life, well beyond the life expectancy of a commoner. Their mother had died from an illness when they were young. Both the siblings were of similar height, but their body types differed. Kate was fit and healthy. She was obsessed with exercise and monitoring what she consumed. Keir was a different story. He had no time to think about fitness. Although he had a naturally high metabolism and had been slender most of his life, he had developed a gut in his thirties. Keir spent much of his time carousing with his generals and officers. He was part of an old boy network that played hard and left the hard work to the grunts. Keir had also developed a chronic cough from smoking cigars and drinking bourbon. Despite this, he certainly possessed a degree of tactical and strategic know-how.

  John W. Schrubb approached his children that were standing among their respective entourages on opposite sides of the room. “Hello, hello. Good to see everyone. Thank you for coming. It always warms my heart to have everyone here!” John exclaimed sentimentally.

  “Of course, father. We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kate responded while she took a sip of tea from a mug.

  “So good to see that your health is holding up, dad. It’s amazing how well you are doing at your age,” Keir observed, though disingenuously.

  John embraced each of his children. “Everyone, as you all know this is a special year. It’s time to prepare for the Pilgrimage and the Born Again Gathering. This is such a special time. All the citizens of New Megiddo will rejoice and give thanks to God and our government,” John said emotionally. In his old age, he had become much more sentimental and had been known to break into tears on occasion. In the last couple of decades, his sentimentality had become especially pervasive. The Born Again Gathering or B.A.G. was, for the common folk, a time of round-ups, forced marches, mass indoctrination and religious reaffirmation. It was a time to declare faith in God and obedience and loyalty to New Megiddo. The Pilgrimage and B.A.G. was only surpassed by the Hajj in scope and logistics, in terms of religious events.

  “How goes the preparation for our most sacred event?” John asked.

  Kate answered before her brother could get a word out, “Father the Ministry of State Security is keeping a vigilant eye out for any threats to the security of the B.A.G. Furthermore, we have narrowed down possible areas where the Apostates are operating into the West Coast of New Megiddo. We have them on the run—”

  Keir interrupted his sister’s progress report, “Yes, father, things progress with the defense of our great country. I have been working closely with Wynham Industries—” Keir stopped mid-sentence and gestured to a man dressed in a pinstriped suit and brown overcoat, smoking a cigarette. The man he was referring to was Graham Wynham, head of Wynham Industries a state-sanctioned, arms manufacturer.

  “We have been working with Graham to modernize our military equipment and to upgrade the [Virtue-net],” Keir finished.

  Graham Wynham stepped forward and nodded. The Wynham family and the Schrubb family had been close for a very long time. They had come up together during the late Twentieth and early Twenty-first centuries. A business dynasty and political dynasty that worked well en-tandem. They colluded together to change the nature of the government and economy. The Schrubb family started the wars that expanded markets and contracts for Wynham Industries and in return it lobbied and bribed every branch of government. And those who they couldn’t buy were destroyed politically by pseudo-grassroots organizations and political action committees. It was the perfect symbiotic relationship to subtly transform the country. Add a religious movement that steadily gained power and you had a perfect storm.

  “John—looking good as always, sir. What is your secret?” Graham flattered.

  “It’s all in the mind, my good friend. As long as you fancy yourself a young man, why, you’ll be young forever,” John answered while holding his arms out.

  “Father, will you be attending the B.A.G. in person? Maybe consider making a speech this year,” Keir suggested.

  “Oh, nonsense. I’ve never been one for the spotlight. Besides, I wouldn’t want to distract from the Reverend. He is what the people need to focus on, that and his message,” John said.

  John rubbed his chin and continued, “I do love to hear that man speak. He is so inspirational. A true man of god!”

  “Yes, father, he is an example to us all,” Kate added.

  “Thank you for the progress reports, everyone. However, I am truly concerned about the state of our country on the eve of this B.A.G. The fact that we’ve had to put down two major revolts in the last year is troubling to me. The infidels make ground each day. They threaten to tear down what we have worked so hard for. I refuse to see it fall before our Lord returns to preside over Judgment Day. We cannot fail in our duties; we cannot fail our Lord or the Reverend. I am concerned indeed,” John fretted, paused for a moment and looked over the room, “On a lighter note, I am off to the clinic to continue my wellness treatment. Thank you all for coming. I trust I will see you all again soon.” With that, John left the hall with his entourage.

  The room eased up as the old man left. Keir turned to Graham and said, “Thank fucking Christ that is over with. The old man is so wrapped up in his righteous Jesus bullshit. The idea that he’s actually buying into his own propaganda is troubling.”

  “Lay off the old man. He needs to believe he’s doing something that matters,” Graham explained. Graham and Keir had been childhood friends. Growing up like brothers because their families were so close. The upper crust mingled with its own kind. This friendship had continued into adulthood and was quite convenient when it came to business as Keir was Minister of Defense Services and Graham was his arms supplier.

  “I don’t like it, Graham. At this rate, my father is going to fucking outlive me. I should have been president by now,” Keir lamented.

  “Relax, brother. Your dad is only a figurehead. You hold real power because you command the military. What are you worried about?” Graham asked rhetorically.

  “You don’t understand, Graham. People need to know my name. They need to know what I am capable of. There’s an entire world out there ripe for conquest, and yet we just hide behind our fortress walls. What a waste.” Keir was getting red in the face as he spoke.

  “All in good time, Keir. The domestic security situation is far from stable. In order to look outwards we have to secure New Megiddo. Now, your time is coming but not right now,” Graham explained with a degree of authority.

  “Maybe you’re right. But, my father isn’t my only problem. That sister of mine—far worse. At every turn, she works to undermine my position. I am almost certain that she is using her power to surveil me. I am constantly sweeping my facilities for bugs and employing countermeasures,” Keir kept spouting, barely containing his anger.

  “It is a valid concern—smart to cover your bases. But you should worry about the things you can do something about which are right in front of you. The biggest threat to your power is the Apostates. They grow bolder and their influence expandst,” Graham shrewdly suggested, taking a drag off his spent cigarette and then crushing it in the empty ashtray.

  “Damn it Graham, why do you have to be so good at talking sense into me? You should be working for me at the ministry!” Keir exclaimed.

  “No thanks, friend. I get my fill of the Schrubb family antics when I visit. No offense,” Graham responded sarcastically.

  “Big brother. I would like to have a word with you if you don’t mind.” Kate had moved across the room as she
called out.

  “Kate—Keir…if you beg my forgiveness I have business at the factory to tend to. Thanks for the hospitality.” Graham excused himself and left with his aides.

  “I love that man. He’s been such a loyal friend to the family—well, friend to you, in particular, but still, a true patriot and God-fearing man,” Kate said with a suggestive tone.

  “That is true, Kate. No one can question his loyalty to this family and to New Megiddo. It seems people can learn from the man,” he said as he stared at her with accusatory eyes.

  “A shining beacon, I’m sure. But it’s a sad reality that not everyone in this government is so squeaky clean. I have it on good authority that the Apostates have a mole in our ranks. At what level I do not know, but they know things that should be secure,” Kate stated.

  “Well Kate, I suppose that means you should audit your ministry and keep an eye on your people more closely,” Keir said with a half smile.

  “I can assure you that the mole is not in my ministry. I came to you with this information first, out of respect. To give you the chance to get your shit together and find the mole that has infiltrated your wing, brother. Because I can assure you if you don’t find the mole soon L.O.V.E. will step in and do it for you.” Kate was stone-faced as she spoke.

  “Kate. My branch is rock solid. End of story. You seem to forget that I run the armed forces. They are loyal to me alone. You're a bureaucrat that runs an den of thieves and liars. I could level your headquarters with but an order. So just think about that before you go poking around in my affairs, sister,” Keir angrily spouted. He would have struck a lesser individual, but he was talking to the Spymaster-General of New Megiddo.

  “Okay, brother, if that is how you would like to play this. Just remember I came to you first.” With that, Kate turned away from her brother and left the building.