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09:24 Friday 7 April 2090
It had taken just six months for the New World Order to become sufficiently weak for Garcia to set Phase Two in motion. The One Life onslaught had been relentless and widespread, catching the Illuminati unprepared. Complacency was perhaps a greater enemy than the resistance movement could ever hope to be, and the greatest ally of One Life. It had been silently gnawing at the defensive capability of the Illuminati from within, the repelling of One Life attacks a daily chore, an annoying fly that simply needs to be swatted away each day. The thought of a coordinated attack, of the scale that had commenced on Tuesday 21st, was simply dismissed as fanciful. The resistance didn’t have the resources or the manpower to do any real damage.
But One Life had been preparing for just that moment for the last forty-four years, ever since the New World Order had been installed. There were fully trained sleeper agents across the globe, on every continent, in every country, ready to marshal and command local units of volunteers. Weapons and heavy equipment had been stored in weapons-dumps in remote areas, unseen, thanks to VACS technology. The reconnaissance drones of the Organisation could often be seen in the skies above these storage facilities, but they simply passed overhead, oblivious to what was going on beneath them inside the protective cover of the invisible domes.
The Resistance had fought like the proverbial demons. The dogs of war had been unleashed. Buoyed by support from the common man and woman, they felt that they had right on their side; the world had suffered under the oppression of the Illuminati for long enough. But they – and the majority of the population – were also fuelled by hatred, hatred of all Recarns. Garcia, both tech and media savvy, had whipped the non-Recarn community into a frenzy, a frenzy that showed no signs of abating. Neighbours dragged suspected Recarn neighbours into the streets, flagging down One Life vehicles and begging those inside to rid them of the mutant scourge. It didn’t matter to them that they had lived peacefully with their neighbours for decades, that they had shared barbecues with them, that they had looked after each other’s children, that they had been there in times of need for each other. Now they only saw them as Recarns, not even as people but as mutants.
Ethan had called an emergency meeting of the Council of Thirteen. The men stood in the Great Hall, dressed not in their ceremonial ermine trimmed cloaks but in the clothes that they were wearing at the time that they were summoned. For the first time in its existence, the Great Hall hosted a motley bunch of men dressed in all manner of clothing, from the very casual (T-shirt and shorts) to the very formal (dinner jacket and bow-tie). One of the Councillors had been on his way to a fancy dress party and was dressed head to toe in a cowboy suit. He looked ludicrously out of place but nobody was laughing. Ethan went to rap his staff on the ground – an automatic gesture when in the Great Hall – but suddenly realised that neither he nor his Council of Thirteen had their ceremonial staffs with them. He clapped his hands loudly to gain the full attention of the other Council members.
“Gentlemen. We have been friends and colleagues for over three hundred years. We have fought side by side to establish our vision, our New World Order, upon this world in which we live. We have faced opposition before, but we have always continued to fight the good fight.
“Whilst we controlled the masses, we thrived. We had recently reached the summit of the mountain that we had chosen to climb. The world was ours. The people were ours.
“I look around here today and I wish that I could relate stories of past lives when we faced hurdles and overcame them, when we united as a force and fought off those who opposed us. I wish that we could share our memories, that we could use the experience of our past life histories to find a solution to the situation that we now face.
“I feel that those memories are still within me. It’s difficult to explain but I sense that they’re there. But try as I might I just can’t access them. It’s as if they are locked inside a steel vault, a vault that has no key and no way of being opened. I know that those memories are there but they are always out of reach.”
The assembled Councillors murmured in agreement. The Pindar cast his eye around the room before continuing.
“We are no longer who we were. The Illuminati – our heritage – is no longer what it was. The people have rebelled, led by this terrorist, this revolutionary, Garcia. Before, the resistance movement was manageable, its potency restricted by its insistence on adhering to ethics. But now we face a different animal. But Garcia has no conscience, Garcia doesn’t play by the rules, and Garcia knows no limits. Garcia will do whatever is necessary to overthrow us. And believe me, gentlemen, he will. Our losses are too great. We are being destroyed. I wish I could tell you otherwise. But I’d be lying. We had an army of millions behind us; Garcia has raised an army of billions. He has given non-Recarns hope and where there is hope there is belief. And where there is belief there is strength. And where there is strength there is victory.
“Again, I wish I could say otherwise to you but, for us, there is no hope. We are faced with an impossible task.”
Councillor Sinclair moved a couple of paces closer to his Pindar.
“Are you saying that we should give up? That the last three hundred years have been for nothing? We have finally achieved our objective, The Illuminati rules the world, and you want to give it all up?”
Ethan sighed.
“Charles, do you seriously believe we still rule the world? We’re taking heavy losses on all fronts. No, not heavy losses, insurmountable losses. Recarns are 5% of the world’s population and only a third of those have ever really supported us. We are being wiped out. Our infrastructure cannot survive. Garcia has an inexhaustible supply of men and women willing to give their lives to take control again.”
Sinclair sneered at the Pindar.
“Marcus wouldn’t have given up. Look what he did to Cavendish and the others when they stood up to him.”
The new Cavendish felt suddenly uncomfortable. He had no recollection of how his previous incarnation had met its end but had recently learned that he had been blown to bits at a golf driving range. If he still had his past life memories he would be able to have called upon numerous previous deaths to help him cope, but, devoid of these, he couldn’t remove the image that had been placed there from his mind.
At any other time, Ethan would have chided and disciplined Sinclair for his insubordination and lack of respect, but there seemed little point now.
“Yes. I agree. Marcus probably wouldn’t give up. But Marcus was a narcissistic psychopath who would never know when he was defeated.”
Cavendish, ignoring the story of his own demise, stuttered.
“But, but, but we’re not defeated.”
“Do you believe that, Cavendish? Do you really believe that? Our forces are being decimated. Our equipment is being destroyed. Our installations are being demolished. I hate to say it, but the resistance is better armed than us. We’ve tried to reverse engineer captured weapons and equipment. We’ve been successful in some cases, in others not so successful. Disruptor grenades and the VACS systems are a good example. Try as we might, there’s a missing ingredient that we haven’t been able to replicate. With the VACS system, they can hide anywhere any time. We have no such luxury. I’m sorry but it really is the end of the line for us.”
Sinclair walked hurriedly to the door.
“I’m not listening to any more of this bollocks. I’m not ready to give up.”
He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge.
“You’ve locked the door you crazy old fool.”
“Yes, I have. And I’m no fool. I know when I’m beaten. It hasn’t happened before – not even when Thomas McCall usurped me – but it’s happening now. There’s no point in fighting it. I’ll be reincarnated, of that I’m certain. I’ll just start afresh, a new life with no past life baggage. I’m quite looking forward to it actually. Maybe the Businessman had the right idea all these years.”
Ethan took a disruptor grenade from his pocket. Cavendish pointed at it.
“I thought you said that we hadn’t been able to create disruptor grenades.”
“We haven’t. This is one of theirs. Ironic, eh? I wouldn’t trust one of ours to do the job properly.”
The Pindar set the kill zone for a radius of twenty-five yards, sufficient to vaporise everyone and everything in the room, and placed it on the ground in the centre. The surrounding Councillors did nothing for a couple of seconds and then they all moved to the centre of the room, where they started shaking each other’s hands and saying goodbye. Sinclair was still at the door trying frantically to get out.
Ethan joined in the handshakes.
“We’ve had a good innings. I wish I could say ‘see you on the other side’ but you know as well as I do that that isn’t going to happen.”
Suddenly there was a bright flash and the Council of Thirteen ceased to exist, now just a pile of atoms floating in the air; the only evidence that the Great Room had been occupied was a severed hand, cleanly shorn from its owner, with the door-handle in a death grip.