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07:30 Monday 7 November 2089
In a remote building in the East End of London, a group of figures sat chatting around a large table. At least it looked like a large table, but it was actually six smaller tables pushed together, for this was no company boardroom. The room had never seen a company budget ratified, a merger planned, or an export contract signed; it had, however, seen fashion shoots and music videos created. But that was a long time ago. The most activity it had seen in recent years was the occasional homeless person squatting for a few days. It certainly wasn’t the type of venue that you would associate with the conversation that was about to follow. The outside world was hidden by blackout curtains, and all smartphones and comms devices had had their batteries removed and been placed inside a lead lined box, to be returned once the meeting was over. The box was kept under armed guard. The participants had taken great care to ensure that their movements had been unseen, taking various methods of public transport – something that they would never normally do – in order to ensure that the meeting remained a secret.
Back in the room, there was a buzz of anticipation as they waited for the man who had called this extraordinary and illicit meeting. At 07:30 he walked in and looked at the eight men and women, who immediately stood up.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming at such short notice. Please sit down, there’s no need to stand on ceremony here. He sat down at the head of the table and the other attendees sat down again. He cleared his throat before speaking.
“As you all know, the FS virus was released into the wild about ten years ago. As far as I can tell it has been a success. Recarn past life memories have been completely suppressed. There will be no more Recarns. Everybody will be aware only of the one life that they are living. That was our mission, to return to a world where life is sacrosanct, a world where life has importance and is the most important thing. A life where you can’t stash away money or tools of influence to use in a future life. A world where Recarns out there have no advantage over normal people. I suppose we could say that phase one has been completed. But we still need to bring down the Illuminati, power needs to be returned to the people. To ordinary people. To people like you.”
A blonde-haired woman, of stereotypical Scandinavian appearance and dressed in a T-shirt with a large image of Bugs Bunny eating a carrot printed on the front, raised her hand.
“But haven’t all the Recarns been stripped of their PLMs?”
“Yes, Wendy. As far as we know. But the FS virus is a virus. It’s a disease. And we know from experience that there are always some people resistant to a disease. They have some genetic component that prevents them from falling prey to a particular disease. I think it’s safe to say that there will be individuals out there who have retained their past memories. There will be Recarns.”
Wendy acknowledged this likelihood.
“But they will be so small in number that surely they won’t be a threat?”
“Perhaps not. But, on the other hand, it depends who they are. How do we know that the Simon Jones, Jake Griffiths, Thomas McCall, Marcus Gallagher, Liam Hillary soul isn’t out there somewhere plotting his or her return? Ethan Armstrong is still the head of the Illuminati. He may or may not remember his past lives, he may or may not remember the act of creating the Illuminati, but he sure as hell knows that, right now, he’s in charge of the most powerful organisation of the planet. We’ve done nothing. We’ve solved nothing. The Illuminati still run the show.”
Wendy’s husband Philip wanted to know what they could do about it.
“So what should we do?”
The meeting chairman stood up again and walked slowly round the table, trying to gauge how the others would react to what he was about to say.
“The only solution that I can see is to get rid of Recarns altogether.”
A murmur spread around the room like a whispered Mexican wave. Zafar, who was sitting to the right of Wendy, stood up.
“Are you serious?”
“How do we know that this PLM erasure is permanent? We don’t. Their PLMs could come back at any time.”
Zhang Yuhan, the head of One Life Asia cut in.
“You do realise that you’re talking about genocide.”
“I’m talking about self-preservation, Yuhan. I’m talking about a return to sanity.”
Yuhan wasn’t about to be fobbed off.
“No. You’re talking about genocide. Pure and simple. You would kill anybody who is a Recarn. Some of our most valued members are Recarns. Indeed, you are a Recarn.”
The room, which had been awash with murmurings, now fell silent. The smartly-dressed Chinese IT billionaire looked around the table at his colleagues, knowing that he had uttered the unutterable.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know. Yes. He’s a Recarn. How do you think he knows so much about them?”
It was true. Douglas was a Recarn but he hated being one. Recarnism was a curse. He had wished for all his lives that he could have this curse lifted. He wanted to appreciate his ONE life without the burden of the memories – both good and bad – of all his previous lives. It was like being a vampire who couldn’t die but walked the Earth watching his family grow up and die, whilst he carried on living. Zhang Yuhan was a little nervous about what he was about to say, but he said it anyway.
“So you’re suggesting that we kill you too.”
Silence.
“You want us to authorise the assassination, the murder, of the reason this organisation exists. And, on top of that, you want us to sanction genocide.”
Nobody said a word.
“Say something.”
Douglas took a deep breath.
“There’s no other way.”
“There has to be another way.”
“We released the FS Virus just over ten years ago. How long should we wait for the Illuminati to crumble? Another ten years? Another twenty years? Fifty years? A hundred years? If you think that by removing PLM from Recarns we’re solving anything, then you’re wrong.”
“Have you always thought like this?”
“I had my doubts about the FS virus solving all our problems, yes, but it was my duty to give it a try. But nothing has changed. The ONP still governs most of the world’s population. People still live in fear of their own governments, of their own families in many cases. We’ve all had operatives betrayed by their own children, children who have been indoctrinated by their governments, children who have never known anything other than ONP rule. Yes, there’s a democratic process but it means zilch. Nada. Nothing. The ONP will always win. When’s the last time the ONP lost an election? They’ve NEVER lost an election. The FS virus isn’t a cure. We must do something and we must do it now.”
A distinguished looking Argentinian entrepreneur stood up.
“So, you want us to sign off on a programme of genocide. That’s quite a request, Señor Douglas. You wish us to authorise the assassination of our illustrious leader, take control of the One Life resistance movement, and rid the planet of anyone who has ever possessed past life memories. Quite a package.”
“I wish there was another solution, but I don’t see any other way.”
“I think you’re correct, Señor. There is no other way.”
The Argentinian was well respected among those at the meeting, as Douglas well knew. With Señor Santino Felipe Garcia on board, hopefully, others would follow. Garcia turned to his colleagues.
“Señor Douglas talks sense. We cannot continue as we are. It will be a painful process, yes. It will make us feel – how you say – like shit, yes. But we will only kill the bodies of Recarns. Their souls will not cease to exist. We know this for a fact, do we not?”
His audience nodded their heads in agreement as one, including Wendy, her husband Philip, and Zafar.
“Can we inflict ONP rule on our children? Our children’s children? No, we can’t. We will be doing this for our descendants. If we do nothing, we condone the Illuminati regime. We must act and we must act now.”
Douglas wasn’t surprised by the support of the leader of One Life South America. He had spent many an evening in the company of Garcia, debating whether they should continue along the path that he was suggesting. If he had suggested such drastic measures unilaterally the plan could have come to nothing, but he knew that with the Argentinian on his side the strategy, although distasteful, stood more chance of being accepted.
After forty-five minutes of debate, the suggestion was put to a vote. The few doubting voices had been turned around and the vote was unanimous. Recarns must die and, unfortunately, so must Douglas.