The Final Correction

by Alec Birri

  Zara shook her head to encourage its jet-black locks to her shoulders and then looked at the psychologist through eyes just as dark.

  ‘NPD.’

  James gulped. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Narcissistic Personality Disorder.’

  James had to look away. ‘Yes, I know what it is. Why do you mention it?’

  ‘It’s what I have – I thought I’d save you the trouble of having to make a diagnosis.’

  James regained his self-control – along with a sense of yet another patient taking him for a ride. ‘Well, that’s certainly something I would expect a narcissist to say – arrogance is one of the symptoms.’ He thinned his lips before attempting to re-establish the doctor-patient relationship. ‘However, your very admission means it’s unlikely to be NPD. Genuine sufferers believe themselves to be perfect in every way, so if you did have the disorder, the last thing you would do is admit it.’

  Zara appeared to ponder the words. ‘Is it me or is it warm in here?’ She then fanned her face with one hand while pulling down a zip on her top with the other.

  James glanced at Zara’s cleavage before leaning forward and looking her in the eye. ‘Exploiting the weaknesses of others is another trait.’

  Zara chuckled, stood up and walked back to the balcony. Her gait didn’t seem as sophisticated this time. James’ attention didn’t go straight to her bottom either, and when it did, it was more out of ‘why?’ rather than ‘wow!’. He realised why when she turned back to face him – her looks had faded again. Nothing like the tomboy of before but no longer the stunner either. Something must have gone wrong with the robot’s programming. James couldn’t think of any other reason why the prison’s AI would send a case that wasn’t just a challenge psychologically, but at fault physically too.

  ‘What are the other symptoms of NPD?’

  James assumed the glitch would be spotted sooner or later so decided to play along. ‘Envy. An inability to express empathy. A need to be admired. A sense of self-importance and entitlement that can be so strong, the subject places themselves above all others.’

  ‘How high?’

  ‘Well, in extreme circumstances, sufferers – if that’s the right word – have been known to believe themselves to be Jesus or even God.’

  Zara pondered that too. ‘Yes.’ She wandered back to the couch. ‘You’re right, Doctor. I don’t have NPD.’ She smiled.

  ‘I’m God.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alex surveyed the masses in front of her. She craned to see the extent, but light from a setting sun caused her view through the bulletproof glass to distort. The official count was just under one million, and she could well believe it – nothing but people all the way to the horizon.

  To deafening but disciplined applause, the Caliph declared his state an empire and sat down. A steady stream of superlatives from other world leaders then began, but in common with many nations, the UK had chosen not to send its prime minister but a cross-party representative instead. It was hoped Alex’s international reputation as a dedicated champion of minority causes would strike the right balance between acknowledging and disapproving of the Caliphate. Or at least that was the official line. Alex knew full well the Tories were hoping to kill two birds with one stone – a speech that would not only insult the Caliph but also damage Alex’s reputation enough to convince those at home to vote the right way on election day.

  ‘And it is with these words that I welcome the world’s newest democracy and hope that our two great empires can exist separately in a mutual understanding of world peace.’ The Caliph seemed pleased enough with the American ambassador’s closing line – it was all the next speaker could do not to vomit at it. Alex met Sunita’s smile and eased her wheelchair onto the dais. A cluster of microphones then set themselves to a suitable level, and Britain’s contribution to the proceedings began with the sound of oxygen being drawn through a pipe.

  ‘One hundred years ago, and on this very day, a man stood on this spot and made a promise. He promised the people that, as their saviour, he would not only make Germany great again, but lead the nation into a new world where prosperity and opportunity would be the same for all. That man’s name was…’ She took a breath. ‘Adolf Hitler.’

  In addition to the Nuremberg rally’s attendance, it was estimated around half the planet’s population were watching in one form or another and like many, one of them couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Tarquin flicked through his copy of the speech and then tossed it to one side when he realised it bore no relation to what Alex was saying. He stood up.

  ‘I can’t believe it. She’s just compared the Caliph to Hitler.’

  Savage watered one of his plants while encouraging the Prime Minister to sit. ‘I think we should listen to the whole speech before passing judgement, Tarquin.’

  Alex continued. ‘But that utopia came at a price – the lives of those deemed not to be equal: Jews, Roma, homosexuals, the impaired and the many others judged unworthy of prosperity and opportunity.’ She took another two breaths. ‘The result? Over eleven million of the world’s most vulnerable citizens brutally murdered.’

  Tarquin couldn’t hide his delight. ‘It just gets better. Talk about driving the last nail – there’s no way the Greens can win the election now. The newspapers will have a field day.’

  Alex went on. ‘Sadly, by the time the world woke up to the monster’s evil, and the Second World War had put an end to the madness of Hitler’s perfect society, another seventy million lay dead.’

  Alex ran out of breath again and wrapped her lips around the supply’s mouthpiece while surveying those nearest to her. Her fellow speakers appeared embarrassed more than upset, but some in the crowd were agitated. The way in which security robots moved amongst them changed.

  ‘So, here we are – celebrating the birth of a new equal society. A society that prides itself on achieving perfection not through bullets, bombs or beheadings, but by corrections. Corrections that don’t just make the mentally ill sane or free the physically challenged to lead healthy lives. No. This society has done something Hitler could only dream about – the murder of not millions but billions of people.’

  Scuffles broke out and some in the crowd fell to the floor. Those not clutching their stomachs were kept in line by Aguards wielding batons.

  Tarquin’s delight morphed into ecstatic disbelief. ‘Alex, what on earth has come over you?’ He turned to Savage. ‘She’s comparing your treatment to the Holocaust!’

  A couple of eggs struck the security screen, but Alex remained calm. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. No one has been stoned, decapitated, shot, blown up or even gassed, but the evidence is everywhere one looks.’ She pointed. ‘A million victims are right here in front of me. The free-thinking, independent-living, freedom-loving individuals you all once were are no more – just zombies now. A sea of the living dead, programmed like all robots, to be slaves. Slaves to a master with ambitions no different to Hitler’s – world domination.’

  The crowd surged and the faces of those at the front pressed against the security screen. Their distorted flesh couldn’t hide the anger – or the abdominal pain they must have been in. Alex’s fellow guests demonstrated similar concerns. One of them collared Sunita, and the exchange resulted in a gesture designed to end Alex’s diatribe – Sunita swiped a hand back and forth across her throat. Bizarrely, the Caliph seemed amused by the unrest – he was grinning. Alex was looking forward to seeing it wiped from his face.

  The noise of civil unrest and the odd chair bouncing off the screen was intimidating, but Alex worked through it. ‘But what of the rest of the world? What of those who have yet to be brainwashed into this perfect society of masters and slaves? What of the Chinese, Russians and Americans? Are they going to sit idly by while the world gives birth to a fourth superpower? No. Of course not. It’s only a matter o
f time before, once again, the Earth is plunged into a new madness and one that we all knew would one day come to pass – the madness of a nuclear war.’

  Tarquin reached for the television’s remote, but Savage stopped him. ‘She hasn’t finished.’

  ‘And? Much as I enjoy seeing a political rival humiliate herself, I have better things to do, and with less than a week to the election I’d better start greasing a few palms. It won’t just be me who’s breathing a sigh of relief after that performance.’

  ‘You would do well to listen – and watch, Tarquin.’

  Alex hadn’t finished. ‘And the cause of this madness? The cause of a condition that only one section of society is afflicted with? A section of society whose perpetual mental sickness has caused the insanity of all wars?’ She paused for effect. ‘Men.’

  Tarquin shook his head. ‘Same old Alex Salib – any excuse to vent her frustrations at the opposite sex. Someone had better drag her off that stage before she not only gets lynched but embarrasses my government enough to have to start from a new low in the world.’

  Her last word stunned the crowd into silence. Quiet enough for Alex’s medical needs to be heard rushing through their pipe. She released the mouthpiece. ‘It has to stop. It must stop.’ Alex addressed the Caliph directly. ‘Men must be stopped, and now.’

  The sun was about to disappear below the horizon when it emitted a ray of light that extended all the way to the dais. It passed over the heads of the crowd and was so bright, even those with their backs to it turned to see where it was coming from. The sun then appeared to rise back above the horizon before becoming larger and brighter. What was happening soon became apparent.

  The initial response was a confusion of chatter, but that gave way to the crowd dropping to their knees – in the far distance to begin with and then spreading out and towards the dais like a wave of falling dominoes. Alex didn’t take her eyes from the Caliph, and she was pleased to not only see the grin gone but the hand he had raised against the light drop to the floor along with the rest of his body. Other Muslims amongst the official guests were doing the same; especially once the light had come close enough to see the figure it formed. The non-believers present were impressed too. Most stood open-mouthed as they shielded their eyes – even Sunita appeared stunned by what she was witnessing.

  The light merged with Alex until they became one and the same.

  ‘It’s a trick. It has to be.’ Tarquin looked at Savage and got resignation in return. ‘You knew that was going to happen.’

  ‘Well, I must admit to a certain intrigue as to how she was going to do it, but once again, one can only admire Ms Salib’s powers of persuasion. Quite remarkable considering she’s never had the treatment.’

  Tarquin attempted to merge with Savage, but the Acarer blocked it. Tarquin grabbed his stomach and his Aaide assisted him into a chair.

  Savage took pity on his friend. ‘How about a glass of Glenmorangie? It’s the only difference between this place and prison, so we may as well make the most of it.’

  Tarquin nursed his belly. ‘We?’

  Savage gestured at the television, which continued to transmit the drama of seeing an emperor’s coronation hijacked by what would appear to be God’s first appearance on Earth. ‘Didn’t you hear what Alex said? Forget thieves, murderers, and the twisted thoughts of sex offenders, how long before just being the wrong sex puts one in jail?’

  The camera focussed on Alex’s face. Her features had been transformed into those of a young girl. She smiled, and Tarquin took offence to it. ‘Forget the final nail in her coffin. If you had something to do with this, then that will be it. Treason is one thing but aiding and abetting war quite another.’

  The Acarer handed each of the men a glass of whisky. ‘War?’ said Savage. ‘You know perfectly well the treatment is designed to encourage the exact opposite.’

  ‘Half the world brainwashed into living in peace can only upset the half that hasn’t been.’ Tarquin indicated the screen. ‘How the Americans and others are likely to respond was the only sensible thing Alex said.’

  Savage took a sip of his whisky and closed his eyes. ‘That will require pressing a button, and my latest fears notwithstanding, AI won’t allow it.’ He opened his eyes again and stared at the television. Even some of the non-believers had chosen to kneel before Alex.

  Tarquin regarded it all with disdain. ‘What latest fears?’

  If Alex’s ethereal show wasn’t impressive enough, it elevated into a spectacular when giant “angels” appeared. The way their androgynous forms grew out of nothing was unsettling – threatening as much as it was captivating.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Savage released the brakes on his wheelchair and approached the television. ‘Much as I like to think five billion worshippers can’t possibly be wrong, God has got nothing to do with the smoke and mirrors we and the rest of the world are witnessing.’ He studied the theatrics. ‘No AI I’ve produced can do that.’ He turned to his offspring. ‘Can it?’ The Acarer didn’t answer.

  ‘Are you saying Alex has control of some super AI?’ said Tarquin.

  Savage responded in a manner the Prime Minister hadn’t seen before. ‘Either that or some super AI has control of her.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  James waited for the prison’s AI to do something. It didn’t.

  He picked up his notepad and pen. ‘Okay, Zara. What makes you think you might be God?’

  ‘The fact that I can do anything I want.’

  ‘We’re in the Interworld. Anyone can do anything.’

  ‘Okay.’ She pointed. ‘Make that cup and saucer rise above the table.’

  James ignored the attempt to control the session. ‘Tell me a bit about yourself first. Where are you from?’

  ‘It’s just a cup and saucer.’

  ‘I’m guessing the Middle East. Whereabouts exactly?’

  ‘Go on – a couple of inches will do.’

  James put down the pad to pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘Zara. We both know you’re only here for my benefit, so if your attendance is to mean anything, then it would help if you at least tried to respond as if you were a genuine patient. Levitation is impossible in the real world.’

  She leaned towards him. ‘I know, but humour me anyway.’ She cocked her head towards the crockery.

  James sighed before making the items not just hover, but shatter, reform, shatter again, become a mouse, a clock, and then a toy helicopter that then flew to his patient. By the time it had alighted in Zara’s lap, it was a rose. She was about to take the flower when it became a bird. The canary flew off in the direction of the balcony.

  Zara stood up and clapped her hands. ‘I love it!’ She turned back to James. ‘I love how easy it is for a woman to manipulate a man!’

  ‘Okay, Zara. You win. I’ve considered my diagnosis – you’re a narcissist. I’ll write you a prescription.’ James got up from his desk and walked to the door. ‘Although, in your case, it will be for reprogramming, and not the red pill – good day.’

  ‘But you haven’t seen what I can do yet.’

  ‘Zara, you could make this chateau a potting shed, take us to the moon or turn President Kalten into the Dalai Lama for all I care, but as I can do the same, what would it prove? In the Interworld everyone is God.’

  Zara grinned. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’ She moved behind the desk and sat. James was offered the couch.

  He was in no mood to be fooled again. ‘What do you want now, Zara? My diagnosis elevating to full-on NPD? You’ve already demonstrated arrogance and manipulation. I’m sure envy and a perpetual need for praise are lurking in there somewhere.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I was only teasing. Have a seat – we’ve a lot to talk about.’

  James checked his watch. ‘I’m sorry, Zara, but I’m afraid y
our time is up.’ It wasn’t, but anything to get her to leave. ‘And my wife will be back soon.’ He looked at his watch again and mumbled, ‘I wonder where she is?’

  ‘Outside the front door.’ Zara was looking in the direction of the city’s skyline.

  The comment first confused, then concerned James. He ran to the balcony. Tracy was standing outside the chateau’s entrance all right, but she had her back to the door. Her right foot was extended as if about to take a step. James then realised she wasn’t moving. No one in the street below was. Not even the cars. There was no sound either. ‘What’s going on?’ James was about to go and find out when he found himself having to dodge something yellow. It was a canary – still, as if frozen in mid-flight.

  Zara joined James and plucked the bird from the air. The canary sprang into life and, rather than fly away, seemed content to twitter away in the palm of her hand.

  ‘What needs to be done will take a while, so I’ve taken the precaution of putting everything and everyone outside of this room into a closed-loop existence.’

  ‘But nothing is moving – you’ve frozen time!’

  ‘No. It just seems like it – the loop’s duration is less than one-thousandth of a second.’

  James looked back down. ‘But what about my wife? Our baby? Our son? Are they okay?’ The canary was offered to James as if to reassure him. He allowed the bird to hop into his hand and just had time to confirm its health when it morphed back into a cup and saucer. He placed both on the parapet. ‘I’d better bring them in.’ James made for the room’s exit, but the door slammed shut. He heard it lock. James tried the handle anyway before attempting to pass through like a ghost – he couldn’t. He stepped back and slammed a shoulder against the door, putting his full weight behind it. Still nothing. Hoping to force it off its hinges, he gave the door a couple of kicks, but they were just as futile. He turned to his jailer. ‘Let me out.’