The Apostates (70 page)

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The large screen behind President John W. Schrubb flashed images that seemed to be the opening ceremonies of an event. Ravine judged the video feed to be displaying the opening of the Born Again Gathering. He walked slowly down the central aisle of the sanctuary-like chamber. President Schrubb urged him forward. Ravine stumbled, and caught himself on the end of a pew. By now Ravine’s eyes had adjusted to the movie theater-like conditions of the chamber.

“What is this place? What do you mean “welcome home”?” Ravine was confused, and battling the after-effects of the ‘Database’.

“This is my personal chapel. I built it:
long ago. Long before the Church Hierarchy was put into place. It would have
been passed down to my successor, had this experiment, I call New Megiddo,
lasted longer,” President Schrubb mused.

“What do you mean?” Ravine asked. President Schrubb waved a dismissive hand.

“Never mind that. What’s important is that you are here.” President Schrubb faced the masses of machinery and cables in front of the screen, and rubbed his chin, contemplating some matter. The hulking terminal’s processor made audible hums as it crunched numbers.

“You said “welcome home” before. What did
you mean by that?” Ravine demanded an answer. President Schrubb took a deep
breath from his small respirator unit, concealed under his suit. The tubes
delivered pure oxygen to his lungs. He seemed to be annoyed by Ravine’s
question.

“Good Lord! You don’t remember, do you?
Well, I do suppose you were young back then. You have a very special origin. I—
or rather the Church—how should I put it? We adopted you.” The President was too vague, and Ravine grew more impatient. A splitting headache plagued
him.

“What do you mean? Where did I come from?”
Ravine growled out the questions.

“Wow, you grew up to be quite demanding.
No matter. I have some time to spare. Maybe “adopt” is the wrong term to use.
We purchased you: from a stock that the Vatican keeps, for, how to put this
lightly—extra income,” President Schrubb said casually. Ravine had to take a
seat on the front pew, with the video feed on the massive screen flashing in
his eyes. Some form of recognition ceremony occurred on-screen, like that
of a graduation. He forced himself to stop focusing on the images, but they
were extremely distracting.

“You bought me? Like a slave?” Ravine grew angry. He did not want to believe what the President told him.

“No, nothing like that. More like a very important person that needed New Megiddo’s protection. You are special and have a very big part to play,” the President announced coyly.

“Special? How—what the fuck do you
mean?” Ravine snarled.

“Easy, no need for obscenities. The Catholic Church has lost influence in the Americas mostly due to my efforts, in spreading the Faith of New Megiddo. The Vatican maintains a fresh supply of “holy blood” on hand for some extra tidings on the side. It’s not an officially-recognized venture mind you. Needless to say: we acquired you from the Vatican for your special trait,” the President opened up a little more. He walked approached a liqeuer cabinet to pour himself a drink from a decanter filled with scotch. Everything he heard from the President seemed like sheer madness to Ravine.

“Fucking crazy, man. You know you got
swindled, right? I certainly ain’t no “holy blood”—I’ll tell you that.” Ravine
scoffed at the absurdity of the situation. To think that the Vatican was so
desperate for funds that they were human trafficking counterfeit descendants of
Christ sounded like the plot from one of those dose of ‘Database’ he did once,
encoded with fiction from the Twentieth Century.

“Perhaps. Perhaps, not: it matters little. All that matters is that you are here and what the people are led to believe. That is the nature of faith: it is the ultimate trust that one can give. One must suspend skepticism and critical thinking in order for faith to work. Because the Virtuous population has faith, I can instruct the Reverend here to announce that something is so, and the Virtuous take it on faith that it is true. You are the Son of Man—well maybe the great, to the forty-sixth power, Grandson of Man.” The President gestured to the gesticulated mass of fleshy membranes, steel plates, and cables that converged upon a central hub in front of the screen. Ravine surmised that this must be the Reverend Wilhelm Wainwright: a pulsating mass of techno-organic computing, being piped into the heads of the citizens of New Megiddo. He wondered if the Reverend had ever been a living, breathing man.

“Very noble. You do realize that the faith
that you rely upon is crumbling, that there are uprisings all over the country,
and that the Apostates are assaulting New Megiddo City, right? You destroyed
what the United States of America had been, and you’re proud of that?” Ravine
wanted to dig deeper into the man’s psyche.

“Destroyed it? My boy, I have lived a very
long time. If you had been alive at the dawn of the Twenty-first Century maybe
you would have understood. Look—are you familiar with the story of Constantine
the Great: the first Christian Roman Emperor?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve heard the name. What of it?”
Ravine was perturbed because this seemed to be a tangent with no significance
to the current situation.

“Constantine had fought and won a civil
war against other usurper emperors. He inherited a fractious, and unstable
empire that was made up of hundreds of different faiths, ethnicities, and
regional cultures. The Empire was vast and ungovernable, and he needed a
unifying force, to codify all the disparate people of his Empire into a
single-minded citizenry. Constantine was a shrewd politician and a practical
man who saw the utility in, the once slave religion: Christianity. He harnessed
Christianity’s unifying power to cement the peoples of his empire together.
Constantine made it the state religion of the Roman Empire and he established a
new capital, where the old had represented the old order,” President Schrubb
had the tone of a preacher in his voice, and his voice with filled with noted of inspiration when he recounted
the story.

“So, he bulldozed centuries of culture and
tradition to create a theocracy for himself. Great,” Ravine’s sarcasm bit into
the President.

“No! You missed the point completely!
Constantine took a dying empire, on the verge of collapse and breathed new
vitality into it. By ushering in the age of Christianity, he extended the life
of the empire, in the west by a century, but in the eastern half, the empire
lived for another thousand years! This is exactly what I did for New Megiddo: I
infused it with vitality and new life’s blood.” The President coughed because
he began to overexert himself, due to his passionate speech.

“Well, that may be the case with
Constantine, but you overlooked one major difference between the two of you,”
Ravine said.

“Oh, and what would that be?” The
President wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. The scotch had not helped his
frail system.

“Constantine’s system continued long after
his death: it was viable for his time period. Your system was a cult of
personality, that required you to micromanage it, and it will die when you do.
It only lasted this long because you keep yourself alive artificially.” Ravine
pointed out the fatal flaw.

“Yes...yes. You are correct. My brand of
Christianity was based on a particularly virulent, but ultimately finite strain,
built around the promise of the Return of the Lord to harvest the souls of the
righteous; to spirit them away to Heaven. It’s a death cult, with an expiration
date hard-coded in. Which is why I intend to make good on my promise. I foresaw
this when the concept of New Megiddo was born. I promised myself that my
administration would not be brought down in a popular uprising or coup. I would
not be dragged through the streets like some third-world dictator. New Megiddo
would pass into the annals of history on its own terms, and the Virtuous would
be rewarded for their loyalty with a quick end to their worldly suffering.” The
President had a sparkle of crazy in his eyes. He gazed upon the Reverend and
patted it lovingly with his hand. Ravine cocked his head, trying to process everything
he had learned.

“Ah! This is my favorite part of the Born
Again Gathering! The Reverend is almost on. He had always delivered the most
brilliant and inspiring sermons, in my youth. I found a way for him to always
be with me, throughout my long life.” The President looked like he was on the
verge of tears, as he stroked a fleshy protrusion on the side of the Reverend.
It quivered at the President’s touch.

“The Reverend isn’t a person after all,”
Ravine remarked.

“Well, I wouldn’t call him an artificial intelligence. He is still composed of his flesh, cultured from his dying body and used to create the biological material for his current form. The Reverend has enjoyed the best of both worlds: organic and digital. He has the power to now reach millions-upon-millions more souls than he ever did when he was a mere mortal. But, now here he is, the last of the Prophets, nearly god-like himself.” The President fetishized the Reverend in his current form. The thought turned Ravine’s stomach slightly. The Reverend’s human form appeared on the screen behind the President. It looked to be some three-dimensional projection, before all the Faithful within the stadium. He began to spout a passionate and sweaty sermon to the people in the audience, but Ravine was too distracted by his current situation to listen in on the Reverend’s words.

“Holy shit: you are deluded. The people only cling on to your Reverend’s words because existence under your Regime is so dismal. There’s not much joy or hope except for what you and the Reverend offer them.” Ravine’s headache subsided a bit, enough for him to get surly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be that way. Things didn’t work out as planned: losing the Holy War...It was supposed to be a one thousand year—that’s irrelevant now! Decadence and excess are what lead to the fracturing of American morals and values! Multiculturalism, and equal protection for degenerates and the corrupt allowing the creeping influence of false religions, I fortified this society from those tainted aspects. I gave the people a singular vision: one goal for the people to focus on, and one God to pray to. Now then, the time is nearly at hand: the Reverend is nearly finished with his sermon. It is time for you to play your part,” the President informed Ravine. He gestured toward a palm scanner atop the heaving mass of tissue and cables that was the Reverend.

“And what part would I have to play in
this farce?” Ravine was confused.

“When you were first delivered to me I used your D.N.A. to be the lock and key mechanism for the initiation of the Second Coming. It is the reason why you were able to access this chamber in the first place. None of the Church officials have ever set foot in this place. Of course, I had hedged my bets by purchasing others of the litter that you were spawned from, but they have passed on—but you have returned! That’s how I know it’s your destiny.” The President urged him forward to fulfill what was predetermined for him.

“I take it you also know that Graham
Wynham had done everything in his power for years to undermine your Regime? I
mean, the son of your closest friend and the family that helped you rise,
wanted to topple your Regime,” Ravine offered the barbed commentary and waited
for the President’s response.

“Yes, Graham Wynham: the whelp. It was a
generational thing, the problem with inherited wealth: the young lose their
respect for piety and frugality. My children paid for their hubris with their
lives. The same fate met Graham Wynham as well. But, he actually served a
function. He may have arranged your disappearance long ago, and your
recruitment into his little rebellion. But, the end result was all the same.
You have ended up here, the way I foresaw it. Now all there is left is for you
to do what you were born to do: offer up your divine touch...the Proxy Messiah,
to begin Armageddon!” President Schrubb was elated as he spoke, with both hands
in the air. Then he broke into a coughing fit.

“Fine, fine. I see that you are fixated on
this idea that I fulfill my destiny. I suppose there is only one choice for me
anyway. After all, my whole life has been a lie, manipulated by one after
another. I mean, shit, I “died” once already. I would like this to be done
with. Just allow me to pray the only way I know how to first.” Ravine made this
last request from the President. Schrubb glanced at him and then to the
Reverend in the screen.

“Yes. Get on with it—whatever you have to
do. But, make it quick the Reverend is nearly finished,” the President barked, and let his
annoyance be heard in his voice. His body was frail and having gone so long
without his longevity therapy had made him weak. He was eager to get the
business done with.

Ravine-Gulch bowed his head, and appeared to be in deep contemplation, which he did for several moments. At long last he raised his head and stood up slowly. He nodded his head at the President to signal that he was ready. The large screen in front of them depicted the Reverend, and judging by his red face and violent convulsions he was reaching the crescendo of his sermon; on the verge of announcing the return of the Lord’s minions to Rapture all the Virtuous souls from the world, and for the world to be consumed in fire.

“Okay. Here I go.” Ravine stepped over to the fleshy heap of metal and tumorous growths that were the Reverend. The President drew near, watching intently.

“Yes, just place your hand upon the
scanner—that is all you really must do. Hurry now, he’s about to announce the
Second Coming!” President John W. Schrubb instructed, with wild eyes.

“Great...but first. I must make a slight
alteration.” Ravine fingered the last ‘Database’ dose in a belt pouch. He
thought about the last of the drug-induced visions that he had experienced:
Graham Wynham’s gift and legacy to him. He smiled and plunged the ‘Database’
applicator into the chaotic abscess that was the form of the Reverend.