The Final Correction

by Alec Birri

  The robot inspected one of the cadavers in the same way it had the sheep. It then placed a finger against the child’s temple. ‘Another sedative overdose, but not long ago – the body’s temperature is 80.4 degrees Fahrenheit.’

  Faruk shone his torch across the family, but then realised a faint glow could be seen emanating from within each shroud. He peeled away part of the largest body’s covering – it was holding an iPad.

  Faruk prised the tablet from the cadaver’s hands. ‘A home movie. The whole family, by the look of it.’ Faruk scanned them again. Each was holding a similar device. ‘They must have known their time was at an end and wanted to die with their happiest memories.’

  Mo looked over Faruk’s shoulder. ‘It’s not a recording.’ Another of the village’s electricity generators coughed. ‘We’d better find some comms before all the power goes.’

  ‘What do you mean, “It’s not a recording”?’

  Mo didn’t respond to Faruk’s question and followed the robot outside. Faruk was about to return the tablet to the body’s hands when something on the screen made him stop. He brought it up to his face.

  It was clearly a joyous occasion. The entire family less the father, and Faruk assumed him to be the cameraman. Everyone was smiling, laughing, embracing – even the kitten was receiving its fair share of hugs. Faruk realised the event had taken place in the very same room he and his daughter were standing. It made the sight of their bodies more pitiful. He motioned for Isra to look but she shook her head as if afraid.

  ‘Put it back, Baba.’

  Her father was about to do as asked, when he caught sight of someone else in the video – someone who wasn’t now decomposing on the floor along with the rest of the family, and conspicuous by an absence of occasion. He waited for the woman to reappear and, when she did, Faruk realised it wasn’t a person at all – it was a robot. The contrast between its lifeless expression and the animated gestures of the human beings in the video could not have been starker.

  Faruk wondered where the family’s Aservant was now and was about to search for it when the cameraman zoomed in on the android’s face. It seemed to stare back at him. Not at the cameraman, but at Faruk. The robot’s emotionless features were unsettling, and Faruk closed his eyes. It was as if the tablet were a portal to another world and the robot was willing him to enter it – like Azrael would when it became Faruk’s time to die.

  Isra turned away from the device. ‘Put it back, Baba.’ She left the house.

  With some relief, Faruk returned the tablet to the body’s hands and redressed the shroud. He then asked Allah to forgive the family their sins and went outside.

  Light from Faruk’s torch landed on his daughter’s kneeling form and he lost his temper. ‘Isra! Get out of the dirt!’ He grabbed his daughter’s arm, but her superior strength soon had it wrestled away again.

  ‘You don’t understand. You never understand!’ Isra burst into tears and ran – straight into the arms of her companion robot.

  ‘They’re in Barzakh.’

  Faruk regarded Mo as if he’d taken leave of his senses. ‘Barzakh? The Interworld? Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Mo didn’t bother arguing and changed the subject. ‘We’ve found a signal – God will meet us on the far side of town just before sunrise.’

  Faruk was incredulous. ‘May Allah have mercy on your soul – is there no end to your blasphemy?’

  Mo ignored that too. He glanced in the direction he and the robot had just come from. ‘We can spend the night there. I suggest we make the most of it.’ He grinned. ‘Meeting our maker is going to be amazing!’

  Faruk was speechless. He prayed for Mo’s forgiveness, but stopped when the words sank in. Meeting our maker.

  Chapter Five

  Faruk had never expected to feel sorry for Mo. ‘Who did you speak to?’

  The young Glaswegian took a sleeping bag out of his pack. ‘The prince.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘I told you – be on the far side of town before sunrise.’

  The robot and Isra returned from checking the rest of the building. She handed her father a couple of figs. ‘Ula says the water’s safe to drink too, Baba. May I have one of my pills now, please?’

  He gave her the bottle. ‘Ula?’

  ‘We can’t keep calling her it all the time. Not when she’s being so helpful.’

  Her? She? Faruk scowled at the robot. It offered him a biscuit. He bit into it.

  Mo passed the sleeping bag to Faruk. ‘It’s just as frustrating for us, my brother. Everything will become clear once you’ve taken the pill and your mission is complete.’

  Ordinarily, Faruk would get angry, but he didn’t. He hadn’t taken much notice of the way Mo talked before but it appeared different now somehow. Maybe Faruk was becoming accustomed to his Scottish accent?

  ‘You do know what is meant by “meeting one’s maker”?’ said Faruk.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you’ll understand why my daughter and I will be travelling on our own tomorrow.’

  ‘How are you going to do that?’ said Mo.

  ‘There will be a vehicle somewhere. I doubt the owner will mind.’

  ‘But you don’t know where you’re going.’

  ‘The satnav made it plain enough and what happened to the Americans earlier tells me you’re right about the route being protected.’

  Mo exchanged looks with the robot, and it approached Faruk. ‘I’m afraid you must stay with us, brother – Allah has commanded it.’

  Faruk went to strike the android, but it anticipated the blow and grabbed Faruk’s wrist. Faruk tried punching with his other fist, but found himself a gasping heap on the floor instead. He was about to give “Ula” a mouthful when the robot’s expression reminded Faruk of the Aservant in the video. He couldn’t stand this gaze for long either. Isra assisted her father to his feet and sat him in a chair. He recovered his breath and attempted to do the same with his dignity.

  ‘As a devout Sunni Muslim I find it difficult to accept how a Westerner could possibly comprehend in a few months what it has taken my entire life to barely understand, but when I hear a machine blaspheming…’

  Mo turned his head to one side. ‘Even if your response might result in your death?’

  ‘Then I’ll have died fighting for the will of Allah and be rewarded in Heaven for it.’ Faruk put a hand to a sudden migraine.

  Mo knelt and offered Faruk a bottle of water. ‘But it is Allah’s will that we meet him, brother. If you try and stop that, then surely it is you who is guilty of blasphemy?’

  Faruk was about to deliver short shrift again when his eyesight blurred. He blinked a couple of times to retain his view of the younger man, but it didn’t seem to do any good. Faruk drank some more of the water. ‘Nonsense. You don’t know what you’re say—’

  The migraine eased just as a distant roar of the sea began. Faruk shook his head to rid himself of both annoyances, but that appeared to cause his blurred vision to distort – Mo grew taller. As did Isra. Faruk then realised they weren’t growing – they were floating. Floating about a foot above the floor. He put a hand out to his daughter, but only managed to touch the tips of her fingers before she began ascending out of reach. Faruk stood up to grab her, but a stomach cramp forced him to stay seated.

  He looked up – both Isra and Mo were rising towards a bright light in the centre of the ceiling. Faruk was sure if he stretched enough he would be able to reach his daughter, but the ceiling climbed away too.

  ‘No! Don’t leave me!’

  He reached as far above his head as he could, but it was too late – they were being taken by the light, and there was nothing Faruk could do. Soon, they were both too far away to see, and the light had become just another star in the night.

  Faruk l
ooked around. The walls of the building had vanished. So had the village. He was standing in the middle of the desert. The vastness of both it and the heavens made him shiver. He went to sit back in the chair, but that had also disappeared. He was alone. More alone than he had ever been. Nothing. No sound, no light – nothing. Just an expanse of cold, dark solitude. He fell to his knees and cried.

  ‘What? No prayers, Faruk?’

  Faruk’s head jerked back up but only to meet the eyes of the dead family’s Aservant. Faruk prayed like he had never prayed before.

  ‘Too late for that now – come with me.’

  Faruk’s prayers halted and he stared at the sand in front of him. The robot’s words had replaced the devout man’s fears with first, realisation, and then, acceptance. ‘I know who you are. Azrael – the Angel of Death.’ Faruk got to his feet, but still couldn’t look fate in the eye. ‘I am ready.’

  The angel walked, and Faruk trudged after it. He peered in the direction they were heading, but it was too dark to see. Being dead didn’t bother him. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Where do you think we’re going?’

  Faruk hesitated in case the answer itself would be judged, but the teachings had made it plain enough. ‘As Sarat – the bridge.’

  The angel said nothing, so Faruk assumed his passage to paradise had started well. He chanted the required supplication to ensure forgiveness and guidance on the crossing. He stopped midway through it.

  ‘Where’s my daughter? Why isn’t she here with me? If we’re all dead, then why aren’t Isra and Mo crossing the bridge too?’

  ‘They already have.’

  ‘But we died together.’

  ‘Their sins were easier to judge.’

  ‘Easier?’

  ‘Yes, one crossed to Heaven in moments while the other fell to Hell just as quickly. Your sins are more complex.’

  ‘More complex? But I’ve dedicated my entire life to the teachings of The Prophet – peace be upon him – and have carried out Allah’s will implicitly. That cannot be ignored.’

  ‘Cannot be ignored? I think the sin of arrogance just caused the bridge to grow a few more thorns for you to trip on.’

  Faruk cursed to himself.

  ‘And that expletive has resulted in the surface becoming yet more slippery.’

  Faruk bit his lip and went back to the supplication. He had soon interrupted it again.

  ‘What do you mean by “more complex”?’

  ‘Impatience won’t make the journey any easier either, Faruk, but let’s examine your record, shall we?’ The night sky filled with what looked to be the highs and lows of Faruk’s life. ‘Your first wife and child. Why did you leave them?’

  ‘To do God’s bidding, of course – fighting the Russians in Afghanistan.’

  ‘Why didn’t you return to them once the jihad was over and the Russians had been defeated?’

  Faruk was on safe ground answering that question. ‘The success meant a calling elsewhere – I fought Iranian infidels after that and all in God’s good name.’

  ‘Which got you captured, tortured and then released as part of a prisoner exchange. Why didn’t you return to your family then?’

  Faruk answered this question with the same confidence. ‘Because I was now a battlefield commander and with that status came more wives. God rewards believers with children, and the greater one’s belief, the more one is blessed with them.’

  The angel stopped walking. ‘You fought in Syria after that. What happened to the children there?’

  Faruk knew what his ethereal guide was alluding to and chose to look it in the eye. It didn’t bother him anymore. ‘They were Christians – Allah had already decided their fate.’

  ‘But was it necessary to behead them?’

  ‘A message had to be sent. God’s will must be done.’

  ‘But some were Muslims, and you knew that.’

  ‘They lived with the Christian infidels, and that is an abomination to God.’

  ‘Nevertheless, they died reciting the exact same prayers as you did just now and before crossing the path you’re about to take, so you can see the difficulty – Allah now has to judge a man who spent over sixty years putting God above all else and yet at the same time denied hundreds of others the very same opportunity.’

  Faruk was unmoved. ‘God knows everything I have done was in his name and for that alone my sins will be forgiven.’

  Azrael looked down and Faruk realised they were standing on the edge of a precipice. He leaned over it. The gloom below was impossible to penetrate.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘As Sarat.’

  ‘But there’s nothing here.’

  ‘Look again, Faruk.’

  A light appeared in the distance. It emanated with rays, one of which ran all the way to Faruk’s feet. He then realised it wasn’t a ray at all, but a silken thread – reflecting where he was expected to try and make for.

  ‘But that’s impossible!’

  ‘Impossible? Are you saying you lack both the purity and the faith to cross it?’

  Faruk glared at Azrael. ‘Why have you chosen to appear to me in the form of a machine?’

  ‘I haven’t.’ The light bathed the angel’s features. It wasn’t the dead family’s Aservant after all – it was Ula.

  ‘Ula is still a machine!’

  ‘Should you make it across, I wonder if you will find God just as disappointing?’

  Faruk turned back to the brightness. His faith was being tested – that’s all. Everything would become clear once he was on the other side. He restarted the supplication, focussed on his goal and took the first step towards it.

  The bridge was just as the teachings had said it would be – precarious and as slippery as ice underfoot. It even sagged with Faruk’s weight, and for a moment he thought he would tumble to his doom there and then, but the slope caused him to slide to a stop instead – against what he assumed to be one of many trip hazards to be faced along the way. Faruk expected his next step to be just as unsure but the thorn that pierced his foot both pained and reassured at the same time. He was about to take another when he heard a voice calling out to him.

  ‘Faruk! Run! Now!’

  The voice came from the light. It was too bright to see, but Faruk knew who it was. He took another step but only to trip over a root that would have sent a less faithful Muslim straight to Hell. He was wondering whether to do as Mo had asked when the significance of his voice sank in.

  ‘But that means…’ The realisation caused Faruk to look down. He could see it now – a second light. Not as bright as the first, but then the flames of damnation aren’t supposed to be.

  ‘Baba? Can you hear me?’

  Faruk closed his eyes. The teachings had said nothing of this. Nothing of a choice to be made on the bridge. He raised a fist to God. ‘Why? Why take an infidel over an innocent child? To punish me? Why punish my daughter for my sins?’ Tears streamed down his face.

  The silken thread sagged yet more until Faruk was close enough to hear the very screams of Hell, but in that instant, he no longer cared. Even when Satan himself appeared and blasted a breath of fire and brimstone straight into Faruk’s face, he was left unmoved. The Devil opened his mouth, put out a tongue and invited his latest soul to step onto it.

  Faruk’s footing was becoming less and less secure but that no longer mattered and nor did God’s judgement – Faruk would be judging himself. If his daughter had to face an eternity of unimaginable torment, then so would he. Staring down the throat of the monster, Faruk made his decision and stepped off the bridge.

  Hands grabbed him. ‘For the love of Allah, Faruk – get aboard!’

  ‘Baba, please – now!’

  Faruk was confused. He looked first at Isra and then,
Mo. They shouted at him again, but this time he couldn’t hear them. Faruk couldn’t hear anything – two screaming gas turbines drowned everything out. The surface of the beast’s tongue was strange too, and Faruk looked down to see why – it was made of metal. The air was acrid with the smell of burnt aviation fuel and Faruk had to turn away as spinning rotor blades blasted yet more hot engine exhaust into his face. He found himself squinting at the rising sun. A ray of light extended towards him.

  Faruk hesitated but then decided to board the Chinook along with the rest of them. The helicopter’s loading ramp closed, and it took to the air.

  Chapter Six

  A helmet and dark visor obscured most of the face, but the figure was a robot. The Chinook’s Acrewman checked Faruk’s seatbelt before holding out a stick of gum. Faruk shook his head, and the Acrewman moved on to the next passenger.

  Faruk smiled and took his daughter’s hand. She pulled it away.

  ‘Allahu Akbar!’ Mo had to shout above the noise to make the praise heard.

  Faruk wasn’t impressed. ‘You told me we would be meeting our maker.’

  ‘We have!’ Mo grinned and gestured towards the front of the helicopter. ‘Who do you think is flying this thing?’

  From where Faruk was sitting, an empty cockpit seat could be seen, its controls moving as though guided by an invisible hand. Straining his seatbelt, Faruk tried to catch a glimpse of the pilot in the other seat but couldn’t. He settled back in frustration before scanning the faces of those he could see.

  The helicopter was designed to be a troop carrier, but its passengers were in no fit state to enter battle. Bench seats lined either side of the cargo compartment, and who filled them made it clear the Chinook must have been diverted from an evacuation. The sight of dishevelled and demoralised civilians and not soldiers both relieved and unnerved Faruk.

  The helicopter was over capacity, forcing a few to sit on the floor, clutching at the belongings they’d been allowed to keep. Many were sick, some with signs of physical injury – bandages, splints and intravenous drips made it clear they were escaping something.