Angels of Apocalypse, Part I: Alignment

by J. J. Harkin

  “Oh! Sorry, I…” she began to explain.

  “Do not be sorry on my account,” he said slowly. “I can see you are losing someone close to you, someone who has hitherto meant a great deal.”

  “Yes. His name is Den. We were happy for a long time, but lately he’s been distant.”

  Mosi was a man who never missed an opportunity. “Very literally distant. And you have no idea why he would flee to such a far away place without explanation?”

  “No, I really don’t,” she said honestly. “Daddy evidently has his theories, though, as I suppose you heard.”

  In answer Mosi stretched his arms, slyly activating another holographic program. Immediately delicate vines bearing gorgeous white flowers began to trellis upward around the table and chair legs, crisscrossing the pavement to engulf the windscreen behind them. In moments they were walled into their own private garden of writhing greenery, and silence fell. Again they relaxed back into their chairs.

  “It is such a gloomy thing when we realize that not everyone can share our hopes for the future,” began Mosi, looking upward, “but nothing can be done about it. The best relationships will always stand the test of time.” Digital butterflies were now descending upon them, one coming to rest in dewy brilliance upon the ring finger of Maria. It stretched it’s perfect wings, opening and closing them slowly, the quintessential holographic ornament for her hand.

  “This is beautiful!” she found herself exclaiming. “I can just barely feel the butterfly on my finger!”

  “Yes,” replied Mosi, glad to see he had distracted her from thoughts of Den. “Some minimal sensations, and nearly any sound, can be paired with the holograms.” He paused, hesitating momentarily. “Your father’s scientists don’t miss a trick, do they?”

  Maria had not been prepared for this. “My father?” she asked slowly. “Do you know my father?”

  “Yes,” stated Mosi plainly. “He is my primary financial backer. These holograms are the product of his investitures.”

  Maria did not know what to say, but stared into Mosi’s bulbous eye for reassurance. “You know him well, then?”

  “Yes,” Mosi reiterated. “Actually, I only just concluded a visit with Talman before coming to see you here. I take it he has never mentioned any of this to you?”

  “No,” muttered Maria, “no, he didn’t.” She was surprised a stranger could suddenly prove to be so closely connected. Was it true? Were all the men in her life so reticent to tell her what they were really up to? A troubled look crossed her face. “Does he know I’m here? I mean, did you mention it to him?”

  “I mentioned nothing,” Mosi assured her.

  But Maria suddenly found herself jumping up, and Mosi responded by tuning their private garden from view. He stood as well, expectantly. “My God!” announced Maria, wide-eyed. “I’d nearly forgotten the time!”

  “Your performance?” he asked. It would be sunset soon, and time for Maria to put on her daily show.

  “Exactly. Your tall tales concerning my father will have to wait until another time, Mosi.” She looked around hurriedly, turning this way and that. “Come on!”

  Before he knew it Maria was leading Mosi away from their dining area. She had seen an especially picturesque spot on the way in, which she thought might serve perfectly. Nimbly she scrambled off the pavement, across jagged rock formations skirting the violent sea. Mosi was having a terrible time trying to follow her on his wizened legs, but had no intention of giving up so easily.

  “Here,” Maria called out to him, “this will do.” She was digging in her purse for something. As Mosi finally caught up with her, she pulled loose three small cameras with stubby tripod legs. “Position these around me in an arc,” said Maria, handing them to him. “Don’t worry whether they’re pointing precisely at me or not, as they’ll adjust that from the other end. Just make sure they’ve got me vaguely framed with the sea behind me. Try them somewhere here, so the sun’s not in the shot.” She was pointing to a flat patch of rock nearby.

  Obediently Mosi began setting the cameras down in front of her, with the sun at his back. He thought he should probably try to keep them a fair distance apart before her, as this would give her producers back in the US a broader threefold shot to work with. Maria was disrobing hurriedly, leaving on only the shining blue wig. Mosi stood with difficulty, to back away a pace or two.

  “Voice command:” barked Maria, “Connect MediaHub: Ident: Archangeline.”

  “Good afternoon, Maria,” expressed a commodious voice. “All ready?” Maria nodded, drawing herself up to address the unseen audience. “And three!” continued the producer. “Two! One!”

  Music spilled mercifully from the cameras, finally fulfilling the innermost yearnings of Mosi. Within seconds Maria’s spell held him fast. A tingling sensation had stolen over Mosi, and he sat immobile yet alert, frozen in his contemplation of Maria. Never had he seen true beauty before; he knew that now. A woman like a shining seaside watchtower blazed before him, revealing all within sight to be more truly naked than she. At the quickening of the music Maria seemed to leave him entirely, her stand-in an ascended master. Her farseeing gaze was distant as she moved slowly, so distant she might be glimpsing another universe. Then at last the eyes of Maria pierced the defenseless little man directly. He did not even realize he was doing it. Raising his hands involuntarily, Mosi activated the holographics engine to augment Maria’s dance.

  Her lips were moving, her head inclined, her tilted gaze raking the audience, wherever they might be. “Shiva. Archangeline. Maria. Ariadne,” she began slowly, chanting the litany of names like a mantra.

  Just off-camera, Mosi was working quickly. He had activated the trellising vines program, and was already adding a rain of ribbons and soft pearls. “I must have this woman,” he thought. “She is the keystone to the very arch of God.”

  Though Maria’s eyes widened at first, she received Mosi’s additions with alacrity, knowing this would be one of her more memorable performances. She must allow herself to be inspired. “Varga. Persephone. Varda. Naiomi,” she continued. The pace of the music doubled and tripled, yet her body undulated with unsurpassed fluidity.

  Mosi had not finished with his additions. He was adding an auric glow to the vision. A sparkling rainbow was circling Maria’s head like a crown. The craggy cliff had been transfigured utterly, a glowing gem of light and movement.

  Maria raised her arms, hailing the sunset. “Archus! Lenora! Endor! Anavadya!” Swiftly her image shifted as the pulse of the music suddenly found rest, and Mosi’s holograms fled outward for a moment, revealing a humbled Maria on her knees, eyes heavenward. Looking around, Mosi noticed a crowd had gathered. Perhaps thirty paces behind him, every servant and guard they had brought with them to Abadan now stood watching dumbly, gawking at the performance.

  But Maria had not broken the connection with her audience yet. “Peace upon you. Truth beneath you. Test behind you,” she said. Then she lowered her forehead to the ground, ending the transmission.

  And the response of all creation was stillness. Even the crashing of the waves seemed to halt for a moment. Presently her audience looked around, as if coming back to life, wondering at how quickly the four minutes had passed. Mosi let the last holograms fade, further revealing the bare form of Maria. He jumped up to help her dress.

  “Thank you, Mosi,” she said gratefully. “I’ve got it, though.” It was true; she was clothed in a trice. Maria turned to Mosi as they gathered her things. “I loved your holograms! It was so inspired the way you layered them with the music.” She spoke excitedly as they began to walk. “Are you an artist?”

  Mosi was not sure what she meant, but was certain what his answer should be. “Of course,” he said, “though I must admit most of the beauty you just beheld was spun by your father’s faithful employees back in Hollywood. It’s been a long time since I’ve painted, though I was trained as a child.”

  “A visual artist, then,” said Maria, giving him an
appraising look. “I wonder what my fans will think of our work together.”

  “Unfortunately, Maria,” offered Mosi apologetically, “they tell me the images don’t come across on camera. I regret that only your audience here was able to see them.”

  “Curious. But what a shame.”

  “I assure you, Maria,” said Mosi, as he helped her back down onto the smooth pavement, “there was nothing lacking in any aspect of your performance. It will be long remembered, with or without my additions.” Though she said nothing more, Maria agreed. She had found their coperformance exhilarating, and was wondering how the little man might surprise her next.

  Seeming to sense her exact temperament, Mosi redefined their journey yet again. “Have you not seen the French chateau?” he offered hopefully. He was pointing up a nearby stair, to the closest of several modern manor homes that suddenly topped a nearby hill. Perhaps previously Maria had been so focused on her performance that she had missed noticing them. “Come up,” he said. “There is so much to see.”

  As Maria could not bring herself to deny him, the pair ventured up the long, slack stair which introduced the door of the chateau. Though apparently newly built, the house seemed arrayed in perfect nineteenth century French style, right down to the smallest of details. It was actually the island caretaker’s hovel, revamped by a decadent holographic facade of matching floor plan; but she need not know that, and Mosi was of no mind to tell her. That evening the two of them watched the sea for hours out a seemingly elegant bay window, which was actually the caretaker’s open garage door, savoring cheap wine Mosi had spiced up with tasty artificial effects, beamed directly into their tongues. He was starting to feel confident in his mastery of the software, growing proud of the efficiency he had achieved in quickly fabricating seamless new realities. It was a good thing she could not see the pill dissolving in her drink.

  “So what do you want to be when you grow up?” It was the only question he could think of.

  “Are you serious?” laughed Maria. “I’m twenty-nine!”

  “I know,” he replied.

  “So how much growing up could I possibly have left to do at such an age?”

  “We never stop growing – not any of us,” said Mosi, with something approaching a winning smile. “Cheers!” He lifted his glass, and they made a toast. It had been a completely meaningless statement, but he was only trying to keep her focused on drinking anyway. If only Talman’s men had already fully developed their holographic technologies! If that were so, he could have simply told her what to do, how to do it, what to remember, and even force her to enjoy the entire exchange.

  “You’re so full of shit, Mosi!” laughed Maria, her half-full drink getting the best of her, as she tossed back another lazy gulp.

  “Am I? But do call me Dajjal.”

  She stared at him sideways. “Umm, no. That’s creepy as all hell.”

  “It’s what your father wants me to do.”

  “You serious?” she slurred, squinting askance at him.

  “Yes, though not in so many words. If I understand correctly, he wants me to terrify the world until every Semite, Christian, and Muslim comes crawling out of the woodwork to get what’s coming to ’em. Point is Talman doesn’t want me to confirm or deny anything if I start getting called Dajjal.”

  Maria drained her glass. The conversation was beginning to sober her up, though not nearly as much as it ought to have done. “My father,” she began, “wants you…” She turned to face him squarely. “…to pretend to be the Antichrist? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Sorry, but yeah. He just lectured me about it the other day,” admitted Mosi. “Listen, I don’t want him to get mad at me, so just try to go with the name change, if ever it comes up.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine, what?”

  “Fine, Dajjal.”

  “Thank you, Maria,” he said to her gently, “but don’t let me goad you to stay up any later than you normally would. Are you ready for your room?”

  “Yes, I think so. It’s probably time,” Maria said, standing.

  So they stood, and Dajjal led her up what looked like a gorgeous glass staircase, to a deluxe suite which was actually the little shack’s attic in disguise. As Dajjal closed the door behind her, Maria flopped heavily into bed. Really it was nothing but a tattered old mattress, though she could not tell. It had been an interesting meeting, but she was tired. Her thoughts, she believed, were beginning to congeal in her head, presumably due to the lovely wine Mosi always held in readiness. So Maria hurried to set her phone to sleep mode, checking that the alarm was set for an appropriate hour, and noting that the sight-lines from the little gadget to her bed remained unobstructed. The wind whistled and howled, and the sea crashed, dancing in eerie chorus outside, but soon she was asleep.

  Dajjal had not gone far. In fact he had been waiting silently at the foot of the attic stairs for some time, watching Maria’s digital avatar eventually draw toward motionlessness. To pass the time he had turned the visibility of the holograms down to fifty percent, within his perception alone, enabling him to better see his true surroundings. The caretaker’s dwelling was disgustingly real, the type of place he had often taken shelter in, but Mosi wanted to have a look around anyway. “A glimpse into the home of another is often a glimpse into the mind of another,” he thought.

  The place was strewn with common household litter, but also held trinkets and knickknacks enough to impress any serious hoarder. One specific item adorning a nearby wall had attracted Dajjal’s attention: a lurid mask of the devil. The mask leered at him knowingly, as if clearly espying his current predicament. Those cameras which Maria had used during her performance; might women of her station regularly sleep with one of them trained upon herself? Who knew? Dajjal was not sure what the practices of women might be in this day and age, having had little enough experience with them during his own youth.

  His hands reached up to take the mask. It’s smooth ceramic elegance was cool to the touch, and covered well the mangled deformity of his face, as he carefully tied its matching ribbons at the back of his head. Certainly she would not know him now, no matter what happened. No camera would be able to penetrate this mask, for it was no hologram.

  Dajjal could not see through the mask properly due to the odd placement of his seeing eye, but it did not matter. He turned the opacity of the holograms he was seeing back up to full saturation, again fully revealing to his mind the brilliant projections of the French-style chateau he had constructed for Maria. Dajjal could walk with his eye closed and still find her now, as a satellite signal fed his optic nerves directly. He need only make for the glimmering image above which represented Maria. Yes, she had not moved for quite a while now. It was time.

  Though Dajjal could not see himself as he passed a real mirror in the hall, gaining the stairs to look upward toward Maria’s roost again, he might have been impressed to glimpse the terrifyingly white, horned face he had selected. He looked a hungry animal, pacing before the cage of its victim. Dajjal reached out to activate a last holographic protocol as he crept up the stairs to the attic door. Her eyes would see nothing if she were to awaken unexpectedly now, for the operating system would effectively wipe his image from her perception. He was invisible to all but the eyes of a camera, and even then he had the mask to rely upon.

  Feebly the twisted vandal unlatched the door concealing his prey. Maria was finally asleep, defenseless, imprisoned by the power of the narcotics. Dajjal turned to the feast before him, praising every god he had ever heard of, while doing this best to push thoughts of Talman from his mind. Soon he would be the true master, he thought. Talman would respect him better when Maria had become his slave, most beautiful in all the world. Loud and bitter the devil laughed as he laid his hands upon her. A new mother was born there that night, and the stars watched reluctantly, until the long shadows of dawn found their form.

  Maria awakened the next morning feeling a bit groggy and sore, but unwisely
attributed this to exertion and jetlag. The posh sunlit suite reminded her forcibly that she had been swept up in what seemed to be the financial whirlwind of Mosi’s influence. Or was it her father’s influence? There would be time to consider such things on the plane. She jumped up, switched off the alarm, and gathered her spare things.

  Maria wasted no time at breakfast, for there was much to do. Before she had finished more than a few bites, she pecked her new friend on his rough cheek, and hurried to meet the helicopter. “Goodbye Mosi – er – Dajjal!” she called back, waving to the strange little man as they achieved flight. “Whatever your name is,” she laughed out loud, “I’ll see you soon!”

  She frowned to see how painfully bent he looked. From this height he looked rather like a hunchback – a jarring realization. After a final wave the chopper veered out to sea. “It’s a good thing he’s got money and power,” muttered Maria to herself, still foolishly presuming that she was the one in control, “or stomaching the rest might prove impossible.” Her self-confidence required such comfortable suppositions, though she had also been won over by his intellect. No one had ever given her so much to think about in one dose. This was all too true, even beyond all that she knew.

  Ajay did not see her to the airstrip, but parted with her at the curbside before the family compound. “Be wise and clear-sighted, young lady,” he advised.

  “I will, Uncle,” she said, her mind already adrift in the South Pacific.