by J. J. Harkin
“Now I understand that we Arabs have long been divided by conflict. We do not agree on everything; this is a fact. One of the greatest terrors of my life has been the necessity to kill even my own Arab brothers in Afghanistan, due to their foolish obedience to the Americans. This day I ask their forgiveness.” He gave a little bow. “I know they were threatened. I know they too were suffering. The past is irrevocable, but the future is not beyond hope! Therefore, listen to what I have come to suggest today.”
“We must forgive one another to turn the page! We must work together! I tell you truly: We have only ever been dominated by the West due to our inability to work together. This has always been our greatest flaw, and ever our enemies have taken advantage of it. But no more. It has come to my attention that Iraq is without a king! Is this true?!” His question was not rhetorical, and the crowd had no qualms about responding. The podium shook with the resounding “Yes!” which rocked the square.
“Then I ask you this: Who better to serve as your figurehead than myself?” Mosi did not pause for a response this time. “I have eluded the Americans, to return freely to the very site of their long-extinct victory over the statue of Saddam! And they have had nothing to say about it! They hide now behind distant borders, trembling as they should!”
“I am not like them, my friends! Where the Americans came to impose their beliefs upon the Iraqi people, I will do the opposite. To all those who feel they have been mistreated by the religions of the world, I say to you: Come here! I will give you safe harbor. To the many Christians who have come to understand the error of their ways, I say this: Come here! We will show you the true power of forgiveness. This will be your opportunity to help repair the damage done by the evil of your previous allegiances. To every Arab tribe and nation, I say to you: Join us! Iraq will become a symbol to all the world that we Arabs are no strangers to brotherly love, civility, and blessed peace, for here we will set our differences aside!”
Mosi did not allow the applause to spiral out of control before continuing on. “We are all Arabs here, and the best way to accommodate such diversity is through an organized, secular government. I know this has not been the tradition. I know this is largely frowned upon, but I ask you: How else are we to assure equal treatment of the interests of so many different factions? How are we to avoid judging one another unfairly if the government takes so strong a religious stance? I would also ask the leaders of our neighboring Arab states not to fear my tendency in this. I am not here to force a change to any other government. All I am asking for is mutual acceptance and open-handed benevolence in the hereafter. If any nation contains factions which have proven less than willing to conform, I say this: Send them here! They will be provided for in Iraq. Let there be no more killing, or injustice, or anger. Let us be united in our aims: self-governance, acceptance of difference, and advancement of the Arab agenda!”
“We live in fabled years, good people. We are about to see a final end to the terrorism of the Westerners, a day of victory for our people, and the long-awaited zenith of the Arab world! Let any who dispute my governance heap their complaints at the foot of the Darkspire! I am Mosi Mukasa, and I have spoken!”
With this last statement the crowd lost all control, as Mosi raised his hands toward heaven. Artificial thunder rolled as holographic rain fell upon the crowd, and then the rejoicing began. It was an instantaneous and indisputable victory. He had brought them rain, and now he would bring them peace. He was their leader, their champion, their hope, and their dream – literally.
Talman spent the rest of the day positively brimming with pride, for he never could have guessed Mosi would take so readily to mass-manipulation and statecraft. By that evening Talman had made him watch the performance so many times that Mosi was actually beginning to feel exhausted with the success. It had been a good speech, but the holographic rain had not even registered on camera. Yet Talman remained immensely satisfied nonetheless, and the two men fell deep into discussion. The chill elegance of the Darkspire surrounded them, but the sitting room just off Mosi’s personal quarters was cozy enough.
He was especially thankful that snacking had not been prohibited. “Why can’t I see the rain on camera?” asked Mosi, between handfuls of sweets and sips of wine.
“Simple. The rain doesn’t exist, so a camera cannot record it. The visions are being beamed directly into the brains of the audience members, all of whom can verify that they saw the same thing. Yet none of this exists in the real world where it can be filmed.”
“Doesn’t that present a major problem, though?” asked Mosi doubtfully.
“No, not really. You’ve seen the holograms for yourself. They are completely convincing, are they not? People always believe their own experience before they surrender to technology, though such rules only apply to those occasions when they are aware of its presence. You do have a point, though. It will be necessary for us to closely control the sale and use of cameras, computers, and other communication devices, as they might be used to question the validity of your miracles. I have already begun working on how we will restrict the use of such devices. Until that effort is complete, however, we’ll have to continue to rely on my ability to copiously bribe television and newspaper editors all across the Middle East. I wired five million to the Jerusalem Post just this morning, actually.”
“But how does this all work? I mean, I felt the taste of that rain on my tongue!”
Talman nodded. “Satellites, my friend. I control several which hover in geosynchronous orbit over the Middle East. There are numerous instruments on the ground, of course, but the images themselves are beamed into our brains from high above. My men have honed the field of biological scanning to such precision that every cell of every living being in the region can be accurately plotted and stored to a ceaselessly updated database. That information is then shuffled between the satellites to beam convincing three-dimensional experiences directly into the brains of everyone in the area, unless we should choose to make someone exempt.”
“And we can make any kind of hologram we want?” Mosi was drifting toward fascination.
“Anything that can be programmed into a computer can now be projected seamlessly into the mind of the viewer. There is no fighting this, but there is the exception we referred to involving cameras. This is why, before your speech, I warned you not to mention the rain, for no home viewer would he able to see it. Rather, we made sure your speech was convincing in and of itself, leaving the holographic rain as the icing on the cake.”
“More like the last nail in the Westerners’ coffin,” agreed Mosi. “It was the perfect illusion!”
“Yes. Perfect,” said Talman. “But are you now beginning to guess how I so neatly dispatched the maidservant last night?” As Mosi had absolutely no idea, he waited for Talman to continue. “The illusions find their way into the minds of subjects through highly organized beams of electromagnetic energy, fired at the specific synapses of the brain which organize perception. When I commented during the testing process that it only takes one tenth of an amp of electricity to stop a human heart, my men set to work at once, and soon found a simple way to alter the technology slightly for this extended purpose.”
“So you can kill whoever you want? Just like that?”
“Just like that. As I told you this morning, none but the operators of the system can see the command icons which float so obviously in midair before us. The satellites are sending different images into our brains than they would to the average person. You and I, and those we wisely select, alone can see the invisible desktop which grants us these powers. With it we can summon the holograms at will, defining their behavior and duration as we like. We can even kill any member of the viewing audience that we desire, or hide ourselves from the sight of others. To them we may seem to work our magic via mystical hand movements, yet these are nothing but a byproduct of our use of the desktop, as we set various holographic functions in motion.”
“Wow,” said Mosi, utterly a
mazed.
“Ah, but there’s more. Beyond all that, a battery of experts is now looking specifically into the possibility that the satellites might even be able to direct the exact actions, speech, and feelings of people below. It is not a much greater leap from where we already stand.”
“So you think you could seriously control peoples’ behavior directly? You could make them your slaves?”
“Certainly,” Talman confirmed. “If we can tell them rain is falling when it isn’t, then why can’t we tell them they want to wash my car, or even kill a foreign dignitary, when doing such a thing would normally be of no interest to them? How are they to know the difference when the commands come from within their own heads? I will admit this is my pet project. Thus far, most of the test subjects have died of severe internal bleeding, but I truly believe that we will soon hone this technology to the point of direct human control.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Yet true,” said Talman firmly. “None have proved unsusceptible to this technology. You and I will be among the few who ever really understand what is about to happen.”
“I am honored by your trust in me, Talman.”
“You have earned this honor, Dajjal. You deserve every bit of it.”
A soft tone interrupted them at that moment, and Talman paused, looking around. A hologram that looked something like a video screen was expanding from a point just over his shoulder. Talman grabbed the image quickly, and set it floating in the air before himself, so that he might face it like a terminal. The screen bore the image of a small man dressed all in white, looking around vaguely as he waited to be answered. Though the words on the screen appeared reversed from where he was sitting, Mosi sounded out the onscreen prompt easily: “Incoming Call: Sémeion Shosheqets: Accept?”
“Listen,” hissed Talman. “This is the man I told you about – the one in Israel. It is only prudent that I introduce the two of you, but you must do your best to say as little as possible.” Mosi nodded, but Talman hurried on, speaking faster still. “Make no mention of holograms, satellites, or any other secret, for he does not enjoy your privileged status. Understand?” Again Mosi nodded, as Talman quickly added: “Follow my lead.” Then he reached out to highlight one of several holographic buttons just beneath the prompt – this one reading “Yes” – and the words disappeared as the caller seemed to glimpse Talman for the first time.
“Sémeion!” heralded Talman boisterously. “There you are at last!” His mood had turned jovial on a dime, so that Mosi was amazed by his emotional control. “And how might your little construction project be going?”
“Excellent, Talman! Truly excellent,” replied Sémeion. “We are ahead of schedule, in fact.”
“Ah, yes. I knew you’d make quick work of it, Sémeion,” laughed Talman, “but what else should I expect of the Messiah?!”
Sémeion seemed somewhat switched-off by this comment, but he recovered quickly. “That name is certainly being thrown around a lot, Talman, though not by me…”
“Ah, but what do you expect? People know true power when they see it, don’t they?” Talman’s reassuring tone was quite inviting. “Anyway… When do you expect all will be complete?”
“Within the week,” said Sémeion. “I was just calling to let you know that Athaliah and Akan have arrived from the provinces bearing good news. The last of the governors have affirmed my leadership; I am now the sole ruler of Israel.”
“Of course! But your timing is fantastic as ever, Sémeion. You’ll never guess where I am right now.” As the other seemed to contemplate, Talman reached to the corner of the screen before him, and gave it a swift tug. Then, holding the edge of the hologram between his fingers as though it were a sheet of paper, he peeled back what appeared to be another copy of the screen, and handed it to Mosi.
“Well, you’re right, Talman,” said Sémeion curiously. “I’ll probably never guess. Where are you?”
Mosi positioned the illusory image of Sémeion in the air before himself as Talman introduced him. “I am not far away, Sémeion,” he said. “I am in Iraq, and this is Mosi Mukasa.” Mosi dipped his head in acknowledgement as Talman patched him into the videoconference. “Did you see the news today?” finished Talman.
Sémeion seemed surprised, yet almost relieved. “Yes, of course.” He sighed as he nodded back to Mosi in greeting. “Thank goodness, Talman. Yes, I was going to ask you what you thought it all might mean, but it looks like you’re already on the case. Good to meet you, King Mukasa.”
“Good to meet you as well, Prime Minister Shosheqets,” replied Mosi.
“Yes, yes,” Talman agreed. “I am already on the case, as you say. Better still, Sémeion, it seems King Mukasa is willing to consider a close alliance.”
Sémeion’s face brightened further at the news. “Brilliant!” he said. “An ally so near would be welcome indeed! The Americans deserve as much for abandoning the Middle East. What would I do without you, Talman?”
“Who can say?”
“Then I take it you will both be available to join us for the New Temple’s dedication next week?”
Talman frowned, giving the perfect impression of regret. “Alas, no, Sémeion. We have the entire Arab Alliance to organize, of which we hope you’ll be a part. With Iraq in a shambles like this I’m afraid to say it will be some time before either of us make it out your way. But do expect the arrival of my dedication gift within the next few days. Think you can handle things on your own for a while?”
“I’ll make do, I’m sure,” nodded Sémeion. “Just promise you’ll watch the coverage on television at least.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “Honestly, Talman, I’ve never seen the people so excited. And the Temple is beautiful beyond any of its predecessors.”
“I am glad to hear it, Sémeion,” said Talman, clearing his throat, “but I hope you’ll allow me to call you back a bit later. There is much we have yet to discuss, of course, but King Mukasa and I have seen more than enough action for one day.”
At this Sémeion bowed his head. “Very well, Talman. Quite understandable. I’ll be expecting your call.”
“Good,” said Talman, with a final nod of acknowledgement. Then the screens before the two men were shrinking rapidly, and they were gone.
“And what the hell was all that?” asked Mosi, thoroughly confused.
Mirth seemed to be building within Talman. “He thinks he’s the Messiah, Mosi. Or at least that’s the general direction I’ve got him moving in. Still I sense his reticence strongly, but I’ll get him there in the end.”
“How?”
“Ha!” laughed Talman. “Well, I’ve got him using the holograms too – same as you. Only difference is he has no idea they’re holograms. I’ve started him out with fairly basic capabilities, which can only be triggered by voice command. That way he can’t see the mechanism behind the mirage, and has to rely solely on me to gain further power.”
“You are ingenious as ever, Talman.”
“Why thank you, Dajjal.”
“And I’ll say it again: I am greatly honored by your trust in me. You might have left me in ignorance as well, Talman, yet you chose to let me in, and for that I am eternally indebted.”
“You are welcome as always, my friend,” smiled Talman. “But I have not asked you much about your health. You seem to have gained some weight, and that is well, but how is your pain situation?”
At this point Mosi raised his hand to a mysterious little wire which surreptitiously fell from his turban to the beltline of his robes. “I am doing well,” he said. “The pain is no longer a nuisance which inhibits my life. You were absolutely right about the doctor in Tehran – he was a genius to have worked this contraption out.”
“Then, before we go our separate ways, remind me to show you how to plug it into the little black box on your nightstand. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you…” Talman assured him, pulling aside his own robe slightly to reveal a similar wire.
“You too?!”
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“Absolutely,” said Talman. “The Nerve Jack technology has grown in popularity by leaps and bounds since its introduction, so that nearly all of my wealthiest servants now have one. But might I interest you in some entertainment? There are so many images you haven’t yet seen, and I wondered if we might get started.”
“Sure.”
With that Talman made a quick gesture, highlighting an icon only he could see. Instantly a new spell took hold of them. Three virtuous, unclad women seemed to be rising up through the floor, writhing in obscene time to a song which pulsed melodiously through the minds of the two men. The foremost dancer approached Mosi, her arms outstretched. Her finger came to rest upon his lips, which tingled. He could feel her! She was not real – he knew it – but that could not inhibit his perfect reception of the illusion. Surely, this must be why people had always told him that ignorance is bliss.
Long Walk, Short Pier
“Get moving, queer!” Back and forth the man was jostled, as the mob pulled him from his car.
“Lookin’ for a little fun, are ya?” said the ringleader, now throwing aside all pretense that he was actually who his internet postings had claimed he was. He jumped out of the passenger seat to join the mob. “We’ll show ya some fun!”
“I’m not looking for anything! This was your ide…”
A murderous kick to the groin was the only answer returned him, and then he was dragged, twitching in his own vomit, down the pier. At its end a wickedly grinning man waited next to a sizeable stack of cinder blocks, holding a chain and a padlock. If only the police would come.
“Do it, Tommy!” shouted a vicious-looking woman, gnashing her teeth as though determined to spit them into the face of the victim.