REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES (9 page)

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Authors: Gregory N. Taylor

Tags: #reincarnation, #paranormal, #science fiction, #dystopia, #cloning, #illuminati, #new world order, #human soul, #human experimentation, #sci fi horror

BOOK: REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES
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Thomas had done well within The
Order, as the Illuminati was known to its members, rising rapidly
to the rank of Prince-Prefect since he and his colleagues had
brought about The Revelation. Of course, he had had to make his way
through the ranks, as had the other members of Team Revelation,
but
his potential hadn’t gone unnoticed
and his professional career had been fast-tracked.
Pr
omotions had been frequent. He owned a beautiful house in
the country, a classic Aston Martin sports car for weekends and
this high-end executive model for all other times. The car he was
using to visit the Ruling Committee could self-park in any of the
city’s multi-storey car parks but for off-the-grid car parking,
such as at this erstwhile stately home in the Wiltshire
countryside, human intervention was still necessary; hence the
valet parking.

Thomas (he no longer liked
to be called Tom, as he thought that the full version of his first
name had more gravitas) was now Head of Religious Affairs for the
Illuminati.

The principle goal of the
Illuminati was to create a New World Order where they controlled
the world’s finances, governments and religion. They had a good
track record of manipulating global finances, and substantial
success in exercising control over various governments, but
religious power was far more difficult to achieve as it meant
destroying current religious beliefs, beliefs that had existed for
thousands of years. This is what had driven the current Pindar, the
leader of The Order, Nathan Smith, to divulge a secret that The
Order had known for generations – that reincarnation wasn’t simply
a fanciful idea but a scientific fact.

Nathan Smith, in one of his
previous incarnations (that of Adam Wieshaupt, the first lay
professor of canon law at the University of Ingolstadt) had created
the Order of Perfectibilists, on May 1
st
, 1776 in Bavaria. Shortly after, he changed the
name of his foundling organisation to the Illuminati as he felt The
Order of Perfectibilists sounded a little too bizarre for the
time.

Controlling the world
politically, although not an easy task, was with fewer
complications than controlling it spiritually; religion isn’t
restricted by geographical borders. Most religions can be found in
almost any country in the world, even if not publically
demonstrated. To damage the stronger religions required something
so powerful, so faith-challenging, that it would rock the very
foundations of that religious belief, creating a weakness which The
Order could exploit. It was with this in mind that Nathan decided
to include the world in the secret that only he and his
organization had known for centuries. If he proved to the world
that reincarnation was a reality, that the great mystery – what
happens when we die – was no longer a mystery, then how could the
major religions continue in their peddling of Heaven and Hell? It
would obviously not be an overnight transformation, but with
careful planning and execution it would be possible. Christianity,
Islam, Judaism etc. could be critically compromised. The ultimate
aim of the Illuminati, that the world should have one government
and one religion, could eventually be achieved. That had been
Nathan Smith’s dream and that is why he had created Team
Revelation.

Nathan Smith had taken a
special interest in Thomas. Thomas had sensed this interest, having
been fast-tracked through the system, but was at a loss as to why
he was now at Nathan’s private residence and the headquarters of
Illuminati. Had he done something wrong? Not that he knew of. It
surely couldn’t be another promotion; he’d climbed almost all the
rungs of the corporate ladder. He was 59 years old now and wasn’t
really expecting any more career advancement. The next phase of
life that he was openly anticipating was retirement, perhaps to his
holiday home on Bernardo Island, his private island just off the
coast of Rio de Janeiro or to his other island, Dhidhoo Island, in
the Maldives. The only other possibility that he could imagine was
that there was a new project that Nathan Smith wanted him to
run.

A security guard opened the
large oak door to the house and Thomas entered, walking as best he
could, considering the pain and discomfort that followed him
wherever he went. He positioned himself in the centre of a 2 metre
diameter white circle, spread his legs a little, taking the weight
upon his cane, and allowed his left arm to loosely hang by his
side. Once settled, he nodded to another security guard who pressed
a button on his wristwatch. A blue light bathed Thomas, checking
for weapons of any type and any communicable diseases. If any
weapons or contagious or infectious illness had been found during
this scan, the light would have transformed into a red force field,
preventing Thomas or anything he was carrying from leaving the
area. The light also performed a DNA security check, six miniscule
samples being drawn painlessly from random parts of the subject’s
body in order to avoid stolen body parts from a person being used
to allow imposters access to secure locations. Once it was
determined that Thomas wasn’t a security risk, the light housing
returned to the ceiling, retracting into a small pod located
directly above the centre of the circle.

The security guard knew who
Thomas was and that he was a very high-ranking member of The Order,
but everyone – even Nathan – had to undergo this
procedure.

“Thank you Mr. McCann sir.
Mr. Smith is expecting you. You know where to go?”

Thomas did indeed know the
way to Nathan’s office, as he had probably visited it about a
hundred times previously. The security officer’s enquiry was more
of a ritual than an offer of assistance. As he approached Nathan’s
office, another light – this time green – flashed six times in
quick succession and the door opened.

“Ah, Thomas. Come in. Come
in. Take a seat, please.”

Thomas did as he was bid,
letting his cane rest on his lap. The seats were very luxurious,
reflecting the
opulence
of the room in
which he was now sitting.

“Thank you Sir.”

“I imagine you’re wondering
why I asked you here today.”

“Yes Sir.”

“How old are you now
Thomas?”

Nathan knew the answer. The
personal details of everyone in the country were on government
databases, to which Nathan had complete freedom of
access.

“I’m fifty-nine,
sir.”

“Do you know how old I am,
Thomas?”

Thomas didn’t want to hazard
a guess. He too had considerable access to a myriad of personal
details databases, but even he wasn’t privy to Nathan Smith’s
details. He decided to be conservative with his guess. He didn’t
want to be too complimentary though; he didn’t want to look as if
he was fawning over the Pindar.

“Erm… Early seventies
perhaps?”

“I’m eighty-three, Thomas.
I’m eighty-three.”

“Yes, sir. I mean… you don’t
look it, sir.”

“Thank you. Though I know
you’re just blowing smoke up my arse. Thomas, I have a very
important task for you.”

“Sir?”

“I want you to listen very
carefully to what I’m about to say.

“Of course sir.”

“Good. Let’s cut to the
chase then. I’m eighty-three years old. Reincarnation is a
scientific fact but, alas, immortality isn’t. At least not in the
sense of occupying the same body, ad infinitum.”

Thomas was confused. Where
was the Pindar going with this conversation?

“This body will not last
forever. One day I will die. As a Recarn, I will obviously come
back in another body and, as you know, I have no choice as to what
body I’ll return to. One day we anticipate that we will be able to
direct our souls from one dead body to a specific new host, but
that day has not yet arrived. We’re working on it, but we haven’t
managed to find a way to do it yet. Thus, to use the vernacular,
where we end up is in the hands of the gods – not that they exist,
of course.”

Some would have been
surprised to hear religious imagery coming from Nathan’s mouth, but
Thomas knew that they were just words. ‘Soul’ was just a word to
define the life-force that was within all of us. It had no deep
religious significance nowadays. And ‘hands of the gods’, well,
that was simply an idiomatic expression. No more, no less. Such
expressions were ingrained in the language and people couldn’t be
expected to stop using them overnight.

“Obviously I won’t come back
as a fully-fledged adult. I’m not Doctor Who – more’s the pity - so
there will be a gap of twenty years or so when I’ll have to be away
from my desk, as it were. That’s where you come in.”

Thomas was starting to see
where this might be heading. He hoped he was correct.

“I need someone to take care
of things until I get back, Thomas. I need you to do this for me.
But, let me also say that although I may be old, I’m not foolish. I
have taken measures to ensure that my return isn’t
compromised.”

“This is indeed a great
honour, sir.”

“One that I hope you’ll
gladly accept, Thomas.”

“Of course I accept sir,
thank you sir.”

“I’ll prepare you for the
handover personally over the next month. Then I’ll self-terminate
and you will be in charge until I get back. You may go now. I’ll
see you bright and breezy on Monday morning. Goodbye
Thomas;”

Thomas knew that this wasn’t
really a request, but a command. In reality, he had no choice. He
also knew that the Pindar wasn’t bluffing when he said that steps
had been taken to ensure that his return as a twenty-year old would
be unhindered. He had no doubt that Nathan had gone through this
procedure on numerous occasions and yet was still in command of The
Order; as far as he was aware there had never been a successful
usurpation in the history of The Illuminati. As he waited outside
the building for the valet to return his car, he wondered if he
might be the first.

Chapter 9
3 p.m. Wednesday, 25th January,
2051

 

Two weeks later, Maurice Boone
was all but tearing his hair out. He and his wife, Karen, had been
ushered into a small ante-room at Central Hospital to discuss the
future of their youngest daughter, Caitlin, who had been admitted
with acute kidney failure. The National Health Service still
existed but was creaking severely under the strain of a century of
providing heavily
subsidised
treatment
. It still nominally provided this function
but
spiralling
costs had
taken
their toll. The Revelation had come at the right time for
the NHS senior administrators; with the knowledge that everyone
would be reincarnated, the pressure to save lives had been eased.
Doctor Brynjar Stefansson was, on the face of it, showing great
concern for the plight of the Boone Family, making all the right
noises, but behind the sympathetic facade he was a firm advocate of
the ONP health policy. Financial resources should now be dispensed
sparingly – the NHS could no longer treat every disease or injury
with the same priority as before. There just wasn’t the money
available to do so; the ONP, funded by the Illuminati, could have
saved the NHS but had no desire to do so.


Mr. and Mrs. Boone, I
do
sympathise
with your problem, I really do,
but the decision isn’t mine to take. NHS funds are at an all-time
low and we must all make tough decisions. Your daughter, Caitlin is
it?

“Yes. Caitlin. My beautiful,
innocent, six-year-old daughter.”

“Well, Mr. Boone. She is
still young. She has only lived among us for six years. She hasn’t
had many experiences that she’ll really remember. It would probably
be a blessing for her to start her life over again from scratch,
without this kidney problem which – if I may be frank – is already
killing her anyway.”

Maurice was
livid.

“She’s young, yes. But why
shouldn’t she have the right to live a full life? And, as for her
not having many experiences that she would remember, she’s had six
years of life with loving parents and a loving sister.”

Karen Boone wasn’t one to
stand by and say nothing, especially when it involved her
daughters. She wasn’t going to stay silent.

“And we’ve had six years of
wonderful life with our beautiful little girl. I don’t want to lose
her. I won’t lose her!”

Tears were streaming down
Karen’s face. Maurice couldn’t bear to see his wife crying like
this. He, himself, was struggling to hold back his own
tears.

“The guidelines are quite
clear Mr. and Mrs. Boone. The rules clearly state that kidney
treatment is reserved for those of fourteen years of age and above,
and those below sixty-years of age.”

The reasoning behind these age
restrictions was callous. Children who were almost at the point
that they could leave school were considered an investment. Their
schooling had been geared to creating adults who were useful to
society, who would be able to pay back the government through their
hard work. Perhaps they wouldn’t earn enough to pay the actual
financial debt but even those who didn’t become sought after
professionals in their field had a useful place in society. There
would always be a need for people to collect rubbish from homes and
businesses, for example. Somebody had to do the dirty jobs. These
had been automated as much as possible, but manual
labour
would always be necessary. A seriously ill
six-year-old child was too young to be considered an investment.
The government could write off the one year’s schooling that he or
she had already received, but the incentive to continue educating
someone so young, for so many years, without the certainty of a
return on the investment was considered unwise. The same reasoning
applied to those of pensionable age. The government was grateful
for the work that they had done during their years of employment,
but it was no longer seen as fiscally prudent to treat them for
life-threatening illnesses. Indeed, treatment for any illness when
over sixty years old was hard to come by. The line had officially
been drawn at sixty for both men and women but unofficially the
upper age limit for withdrawal of medical services had been falling
for some time; fifty-five year olds were now frequently being
refused costly medical treatment. After this age was reached,
pensioners were expected to suffer in silence until they died
naturally, until their disease finally overcame them and killed
them, or until they could take no more and visited one of the many
Self Termination Centres, committing assisted suicide, and thus
relieving their families of a financial burden and society of an
inconvenient embarrassment. The families of those who took this
step of self-termination received a tax-free windfall payment to
the value of one year of the eldest child’s salary. This caused a
lot of friction within families and many an elderly parent was
persuaded to go to an early grave because of the greed of their
children.

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