The Apostates (3 page)

“Lay off the old man. He needs to believe he’s doing
something that matters,” Graham explained. Graham and Keir had been childhood
friends. Growing up like brothers because their families were so close. The upper
crust mingled with its own kind. This friendship had continued into adulthood
and was quite convenient when it came to business as Keir was Minister of
Defense Services and Graham was his arms supplier.

“I don’t like it, Graham. At this rate, my father is going to fucking outlive me. I should have been president by now,” Keir lamented.

“Relax, brother. Your dad is only a
figurehead. You hold real power because you command the military. What are you
worried about?” Graham asked rhetorically.

“You don’t understand, Graham. People need
to know my name. They need to know what I am capable of. There’s an entire
world out there ripe for conquest, and yet we just hide behind
our fortress walls. What a waste.” Keir was getting red in the face as he
spoke.

“All in good time, Keir. The domestic
security situation is far from stable. In order to look outwards we have to secure New Megiddo. Now, your time is coming but not right now,” Graham explained with a degree of authority.

“Maybe you’re right. But, my father isn’t my only problem. That sister of mine—far worse. At every turn, she works to undermine my position. I am almost certain that she is using her power to surveil me. I am constantly sweeping my facilities for bugs and employing countermeasures,” Keir kept spouting, barely containing his anger.

“It is a valid concern—smart to
cover your bases. But you should worry about the things you can do something
about which are right in front of you. The biggest threat to your power is the Apostates. They grow bolder and their influence expandst,” Graham shrewdly suggested, taking a drag off his spent
cigarette and then crushing it in the empty ashtray.

“Damn it Graham, why do you have to be so
good at talking sense into me? You should be working for me at the
ministry!” Keir exclaimed.

“No thanks, friend. I get my fill of the Schrubb family antics when I visit. No offense,” Graham responded sarcastically.

“Big brother. I would like to have a word
with you if you don’t mind.” Kate had moved across the room as she called out.

“Kate—Keir…if you beg my forgiveness I
have business at the factory to tend to. Thanks for the hospitality.” Graham
excused himself and left with his aides.

“I love that man. He’s been such a loyal friend to the family—well, friend to you, in particular, but still, a true patriot and God-fearing man,” Kate said with a suggestive tone.

“That is true, Kate. No one can question
his loyalty to this family and to New Megiddo. It seems people can learn from
the man,” he said as he stared at her with accusatory eyes.

“A shining beacon, I’m sure. But it’s a
sad reality that not everyone in this government is so squeaky clean. I have it
on good authority that the Apostates have a mole in our ranks. At what level I
do not know, but they know things that should be secure,” Kate stated.

“Well Kate, I suppose that means you
should audit your ministry and keep an eye on your people more closely,” Keir
said with a half smile.

“I can assure you that the mole is not in my ministry. I came to you with this information first, out of respect. To give you the chance to get your shit together and find the mole that has infiltrated your wing, brother. Because I can assure you if you don’t find the mole soon L.O.V.E. will step in and do it for you.” Kate was stone-faced as she spoke.

“Kate. My branch is rock solid. End of story. You seem to forget that I run the armed forces. They are loyal to me alone. You're a bureaucrat that runs an den of thieves and liars. I could level your headquarters with but an order. So just think about that before you go poking around in my affairs, sister,” Keir angrily spouted. He would have struck a lesser individual, but he was talking to the Spymaster-General of New Megiddo.

“Okay, brother, if that is how you would like to play this. Just remember I came to you first.” With that, Kate turned away from her brother and left the building.

Keir stood for a minute, sipping on
whiskey replaying the interaction in his head trying to parse what exactly he
just did. He thought about the worst-case scenario. He asked himself if he had
just burnt a bridge or if he started a battle, and if it’s a battle he could
actually win. After a couple minutes of internal analysis, he finished his drink,
set the glass on an end table and left the White House, en route to his branch
headquarters.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Kate walked out into the night air toward her waiting motorcade. A large, black painted, armored vehicle was
parked, and the attendant opened a heavy steel-plated door that swung
upwards to reveal the rear passenger compartment. Inside was a
man seated in darkness. She took her place beside him and the door was slid shut.

“Welcome back Ms. Schrubb,” the figure
said monotonously.

“Hello, Rodrigo. Good to see you again. Boy, I tell you my family can be quite the wild ride. Not that you’d have any interest, of course,” Kate remarked jokingly.

“Your familiar affairs are your own, Ms. Schrubb,”
Rodrigo said unemotionally.

“That’s right—Inquisitor Rodrigo,
all business all the time,” Kate responded dryly.

Inquisitor Rodrigo wore a standard L.O.V.E uniform, but with the addition of rank indicators. The uniform was grayish-blue in color. He wore a matching military style-barrette with the L.O.V.E. sigil blazoned on the side. He carried a baton-like cane with a lion head knob that was rumored to have added functionality. In many circles within the Regime, he was known as a bogeyman. The rumors may have been true, but weren’t corroborated because his service record was sealed. Some officials in the Regime had claimed to know details of Rodrigo’s past, but it was hearsay. One thing that none could dispute was that his organization was responsible for putting down two revolts through covert action alone. Rodrigo’s skull harbored many secrets.

With Rodrigo at the helm of L.O.V.E., the organization developed a reputation that rivaled of the Cold War era K.G.B. in ruthlessness and brutality. Prior to Rodrigo the organization was amateurish, relying on street thug tactics to get things done. In the early days L.O.V.E. had no discipline and vision—now it was a professional, state-sponsored, terrorist group.

Kate wondered what Rodrigo did with his
time when he wasn’t working but then cut the thought short because it was
disturbing to think on. He was her most capable operative and she trusted him
the most out of anyone within the Regime, but probably because he was so robotic in demeanor.

“Ms. Schrubb, I have news from the West,”
Rodrigo announced dryly.

“Yes, what is it, Rodrigo?” Kate asked.

“We received an encrypted communiqué from our source in the resistance. The intelligence turned out to be patrol routes they use. One of our Ranger teams who were tracking the patrol acted unilaterally and attempted to ambush it. They were wiped out to a man. Undoubtedly the resistance has caught wind of our intentions and will most likely flip tactics and tighten security,” Rodrigo reported calmly.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why did they
engage?” Kate shouted.

“Not to worry, Ms. Schrubb. I have taken
corrective actions to make sure it does not happen again. There is a silver
lining here. This incident confirms that the Apostate’s base of operations is
somewhere in the region of the California Great Lake. It is only a matter of
time,” Rodrigo said forebodingly.

“Inquisitor, I know you have not failed me
yet. You are one of my most trusted confidants. But, I cannot stress the time
sensitive nature for bringing these Apostates down. It has to be L.O.V.E. to do
it,” Kate emphasized.

“Ms. Schrubb, I am also fully aware of the
rivalry between you and your brother. I know there is a competition brewing
between your two wings and the prize is the Apostates,” Rodrigo said, almost
cracking an asymmetrical smile.

“Rodrigo. I—“ Kate was cut off
mid-sentence.

“Fortunately I share your need for
immediacy in this matter, and even better…I work for you,” Rodrigo added, this
time smiling.

“Fair enough. As long as we are on the
same page,” Kate snapped.

“There is another matter. I was listening
to the conversation with your brother about the mole that you dreamed up to try
to scare him,” Rodrigo announced.

Kate stared at him with a perplexed look
on her face then barked, “You have the White House bugged? I didn’t order that.”

“I know, but I felt it was necessary. Apologies for not running it by you,” Rodrigo turned his head to look out the window of the armored vehicle as it whisked by nameless slums, then he continued, “About your imaginary mole, I’m afraid it’s real, and in the inner circle.” This time, Rodrigo was genuinely smiling.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The darkness began to give way to faint, blurry light. The chaos of the universe was subsiding, Formless apparitions passed by with soft whispers. She felt their presence, but they were out of reach, some unintelligible barrier blocked the forms. How long had she drifted through these ethereal planes? Was she still herself? Had she become something else? Merged with Creation and the universe? She had no memory of how she wound up here or even who she was, or more appropriately, what she was. Lifetimes and eons seemed to pass and yet no time passed at all. The entirety of human history had come and gone and never existed while she had pierced the abyss. She was at the beginning and end of time all at once. Was this death or birth, or non-existence?

The one thing she did remember was that face, the last face she looked at, in a different plane, and a different time. Light and sound began to coalesce around her, she could hear sounds that resembled words being spoken, but everything was scrambled. She could make out a light like that at the entrance of a tunnel, or that of the birth canal.

She was drawn to the light—it was
magnetic and she could not resist it. If it was her Creator calling her to the
realm that spawned her, she was glad because the limbo in which she currently
inhabited felt like an eternal prison. She willed herself to move through the
abyssal space to the anomaly. She could feel tangible logic emanating from the
light. It felt right—the only thing that made sense in this realm.

“Greta!” a voice reached out to her from
within the light. She
was numb here, and yet she felt the sensations of all creation coursing through
her at once. She missed pain and the certainty of existence. This abstraction
was too cold and senseless. She yearned for something more ordered and less
chaotic.

“Administer the adrenaline, and if that doesn’t work hard reset her neural implant. It just may jolt her back to cautiousness,” a voice commanded. She began to comprehend words and the
meaning of sentences. Slowly, reason and logic crept back into her mind.

“Hard resetting the neural implant now.
Will this cause any damage to her brain?” a man’s voice asked?

“It shouldn’t. The neural implant should just restart its biological processes and if there is brain activity then it will begin to interface as normal, and should kick-start consciousness,” a woman’s voice answered.

Greta could begin to feel the sensation of movement in her limbs. She approached the light that became brighter and stronger as she traveled through the space. Finally, she reached the crest of the opening and grasped at anything she could cling to.

“She’s beginning to come around!” the man’s voice exclaimed.

Greta opened her eyes and peered straight
up. She could make out blurred figures but could not discern detail. She let
out a gasp like she had been drowning and tasted air again.

“Greta! Greta, can you understand what I am
saying? Do you remember me?” a man standing over her
asked excitedly.

Greta began to remember who she was and what she had done to herself. She recalled that she had committed suicide. The thought made her hate herself. She remembered the last face she laid eyes upon before she slipped away. She remembered his voice, and the face that accompanied it. Greta shot looks around her rapidly, and locked onto one of the three faces hovering over her. She examined his facial structure and those eyes—eyes she knew well.

“You!” she yelled hysterically. As she gasped for
air she continued to speak, “You aren’t here! You were dead! I died! We
both...shouldn’t be here...” she trailed off—shock and exhaustion ruled her.

“Greta! We’re alive! We brought you here—we made the arrangements...to get you away from the Regime!” the man attempted to explain. He seemed to realize that it was fruitless in her current state of mind and so he trailed off while squeezing her hand.

“You have to let her rest first. She’s in shock,” a woman stated.

“Marco...I...What is happening here...”
Greta tried to speak, became faint, and her body went limp.

“We need to get her on life support. We should also interface with her neural implant to
monitor traffic. Verify that she is masked from the [Virtue-net]. We can’t risk
any pings to the outside,” the woman instructed.

As they punctured Greta’s arm for an
I.V. she slipped in and out of consciousness. She felt the sensation of
being lifted off of one bed and put on an adjacent gurney. That was the
last sensation she felt as darkness crept in.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The air in the mess hall was musty and
stale. The Apostates had done the best they could to refurbish the ship and
remove the stench of a hundred years of neglect.
The room was featureless—no art to speak of. The walls were painted white and
studded with rivets at the seams where sheet metal overlapped. Support
beams crisscrossed the space. Tables that filled the room that had the
appearance of industrial minimalism—no frills. The seats were fixed in
place and attached to the tables via metal lattices that were bolted to the
floor.

The mess hall was filled with people and
was bustling with activity. Some people were gathering food from the serving
counter and were sitting down to eat, others were finishing up and clearing
trays. Ravine sat at the head of a long table with a small group.

“What the hell am I supposed to tell her?
Even if she regains her wits, this shit will probably drive her insane,” Ravine exclaimed with a distraught tone. He looked down at his food
and picked at it with a fork.

“Don’t fret too much. We’ll let her rest up and get used to the idea of being alive. By then she’ll have accepted the both of you are here to stay,” Blaze-Scorch offered the consolation while glancing over Greta’s medical record.

“I appreciate your thought, but I doubt it’s going to be that simple, Blaze,” Ravine lamented as he stared at the bulkhead.

“Well, it’s been nearly eighteen hours since we first reanimated her from stasis. Maybe you should talk to her?” Aqua-Deluge was chewing on a piece of bread while speaking so that her words were slightly muffled. She washed the bread down with a sip of tea from a tin cup.

“No, too soon. Hey, Blaze, you were a physician before you were reborn, how does the process work anyway?” Ravine inquired. He took the first bite of his meal, which by now was room temperature.

“So, as you know the Regime installs microscopic neural implants in all of us as infants. The implant’s primary function is to connect the user’s brain to the [Virtue-net], and transmit data back and forth. However, they have a secondary function. The Regime can monitor vital signs and bodily functions through the implants. What’s more, they can even increase and decrease optimal body functions slightly— remotely. So, our contact in the Regime was able to smuggle data schematics and hardware source code for the implants. We used this source code to disconnect Greta’s implant from the [Virtue-net] and then we induced a coma-like state after we stabilized her condition. It gave the appearance that she was deceased—then we retrieved her body later,” Blaze explained while cleaning the last food morsels from her plate.

Blaze-Scorch wore her hair dyed bright red, and was dressed in a form-fitted corset-like cuirass with a fishnet shirt worn over the top of it. The whole ensemble accentuated her frame, which was athletic and well endowed. Blaze had thorny rose tattoos hugging her shoulders and upper arms that were visible under the fishnet shirt. Her aesthetic was reminiscent of a World War Two era pin-up model.Ravine thought about how Blaze had helped numerous wounded personnel over the course of her service with the Apostates. Her latest success was saving Lore-Fiction’s life by removing his eye. The surgery was quick and dirty. He would have died if Blaze had not had medical experience.

“Thanks for helping Greta,” Ravine offered.

“Yes, thank our Regime contact. He was the one who gave us the information needed to perform the operation,” Blaze answered, “Let’s head to the infirmary and give Greta some answers.”

Blaze-Scorch, Aqua-Deluge and Ravine-Gulch
got up from the mess hall table, cleared their trays and exited the room.
Ravine was visibly tense as the group wound through the rusted steel, grated
floors inside the corridor. They came upon a hatchway. Blaze turned the creaky
latch and oponed the door with a squeek that suggested a hundred years of
lubricant neglect.

They were in the infirmary now. Odd
medical supplies and drugs were locked in protective cabinets—aged medical
machinery lines the far wall. The immediate room had three beds within and only
one was occupied. There were two adjoining room, an isolation chamber and
another patient bedroom. Lore-Fiction occupied the adjoining room, recovering
from the loss of his eye.

Greta occupied the main room and was the
only patient there. Other Apostate members had assembled in the room as well. Hades-Perdition
leaned on the counter awaiting their arrival.

“Glad you all could make it. I just wanted to let you know that our Regime contact is going to reach us via an encrypted channel on the [Apostate-net]—we all will be linked in. He has some things to explain to Greta—who probably wants some answers. Our contact will remain anonymous as usual,” Hades-Perdition explained, “I am receiving the incoming message, I’ll
broadcast it wide.”

The group was linked together within a virtual space in the mind. Retinal H.U.D.s activated, and video and
audio feeds were established. Everyone viewed a visually obscured and voice
modulated figure.

“Greetings, everyone. Let me just say first and foremost that I am sorry that your patrol was ambushed by L.O.V.E. Rangers, and that Lore-Fiction was wounded. I strive to gather as much Regime intelligence to pass your way as possible, but L.O.V.E. is a shadow government in its own right. This I can tell you: they have surmised that your operating base is in the Great Lake region. L.O.V.E. will concentrate its efforts there until they find you. This complicates things and forces us to speed up the timeline quite a bit,” the figure announced, sounding like a cigarette smoker who had received a tracheotomy.

“Now then, on to Greta’s...orientation.
Greta, you can call me ‘Sam’,” the figure said.

“Fuck you, and get out of my head. Why
didn’t you let me die?” Greta asked hostilely. Her face was red with fury.

“Greta, that would be a waste. You have a
role yet to play in this drama whether you like it or not. I am sorry it is
this way, but if you knew the stakes,” the voice attempted to persuade.

“How can you do this against my
will—and you bring me back to this coward?” Greta shot an icy look Ravine’s way.

“Ravine committed the same crime you did:
he took his own life. But, now he serves a greater good, just as you will. You
see, everyone in this outfit is a former criminal, thief, drug addict, murderer
or terrorist. They all have had past lives that marked them. Everyone here
would have died in some fashion or another. All your lives were over. I stepped
in and deemed it necessary for everyone to get a second chance to live again—to be born again. And to atone for past sins, by service in this group
of...Apostates.” ‘Sam’ struck a more serious tone,

“Even if this
is how it occurred, what the fuck do you think I have to offer to some para-military
group of terrorist, whack-jobs? I’m no soldier,” Greta protested, sitting up in
her hospital bed.

“Greta—well, first let me be clear
about something. You are no longer known as Greta. You are now only known as
Gale-Whirlwind,” the voice commanded.

“Who do you think—” Greta
was overruled mid-sentence.

“Listen to me. You have been born again,
but not in the religious sense. You see, your old lives have ended of
your own accord. Because you all made that choice you ceded yourselves to my
service. I resurrected you. I made alterations to the Regime implants. Just as
the Regime used it to suppress your potential to keep you docile for easy control, I
have used it to remove those latent blocks to unleash your hidden potential.
The neural implants have been programmed with advanced weapons, tactical
combat, and martial knowledge—you possess whether you realize it or not,” ‘Sam’ exclaimed.

Greta, now Gale-Whirlwind, was silent but
rubbed her temple and contemplated what he just told them. She broke her
silence, “You can’t just take my name away like that!”

“Gale, everyone here has given up their
previous identities. Hades-Perdition used to be a L.O.V.E.R. They tried to
kill him. He can’t go back. Aqua-Deluge was a prostitute who was “killed” by
one of her johns. Blaze-Scorch was a gifted physician, who was selling medical
supplies on the black market and harvesting organs. Lore-Fiction was a rapist,
whom one of his victims came back for revenge. Myself, I am probably the
biggest criminal among us, but I can’t go into that now. The point is there is
no turning back. Even if I wanted to just let you walk out of here to be free,
you are legally dead to the Regime, and you possess hacked implants. There is no other option but the Apostates.”As ‘Sam’ paused in his
lecture the room was silent.

Gale-Whirlwind noticed expressions of discomfort on the faces of the Apostate members, like they were reliving unpleasant memories from their past lives. She stared at a wall,
still seething, but unable to muster any retort of value.

“Why these stupid
code names? Just compounds of synonyms—doesn’t really make sense,” Greta
observed.

“That is precisely the point. They mean
nothing...but the Regime will believe it means something if they ever hear
them. You are all nothing now, except instruments to achieve an end,” the
robotic voice answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Your collective purpose now is for
removal and renewal. Let me tell you a story about the government of New
Megiddo. Once upon a time it was a democratic government that presided over the
United States of America. If you have ever done ‘Database’ like
Ravine here you’d have seen newscasts from the Old World. Through fear of
terrorist attacks, endless war, and tearing down the barrier of church and
state, the old democracy was subverted. The Schrubb administration retained
power through various maneuvers. Schrubb became the de facto dictator. Hell,
that old bag of bones is still alive, at the expense of the masses,” ‘Sam’
recounted, then paused. The room digested what he had to say.