The Transdyne Awakening (5 page)

There is some internal evidence that points to him too. There’s the writer’s wisdom, the references to his building activities, his wealth and so forth. Anyway, as you may have already found, it has a deal to say about the futility of a life that does not acknowledge God the Creator.

He throws up real fundamental questions everyone asks, like ‘what’s the point of any of it?’ Because it seems to be so melancholy, it is a book that many tend to skip over. I think we need to keep in mind what Paul’s letter to the Romans suggests that we consider.” John picked up a book from in front of his seat and opened it. “Turn with me to chapter 15 Verse 4.”

He waited a moment and then read out,

‘For whatever things were written before were written for our learning, that we through the patience and comfort of the Scriptures might have hope.’

So we shouldn’t just ignore the parts of the Bible that we find a little more difficult. The Book of Ecclesiastes has a great deal to say to us. For example, you will have noticed that one of the key words that the writer uses is ‘Vanity’. It comes up repeatedly. It refers to uselessness, nothingness, futility. But, note that he
also
uses another key phrase - ‘under the sun’. That’s too occurs again and again. So he’s drawing out the point that when men and women leave God, their Creator and the afterlife out of their considerations; when they look at life only from an earthly perspective, then life is just that; empty and pointless.

Rael quoted to us from Ecclesiastes earlier, while I was talking with our guest, Clay. We were speaking of those who saw Transhumanism as a means of achieving some kind of immortality.

Addressing this, Rael used a phrase from Ecclesiastes;
‘All is vanity, a chasing after the wind’
. Does that help?”

There were positive responses around the circle. Some were recording notes on electronic pads.

“Incidentally,” John continued,” some of you may not have met our guest, Clay.” The attention of the group turned towards Clay and he shifted position awkwardly. Their murmured greetings and welcomes unnerved him. He didn’t like being the focus of so much attention, but he was touched by their kindliness. He was used to being addressed as just ‘courier’ or ‘dealer’. Yet John had referred to him as someone accepted, a guest. He was a little taken aback but he felt good about the reference.

The questions and answers continued. John went on giving background to the material the group had been examining. Occasionally, he would get up and walk over to the old books on their shelves. As he spoke he would run his finger along their neat rows before taking one of them down to find a date or a quote.

Clay looked around the circle and took stock of the others. He was still extremely puzzled at the number of Trans present. He made out around twenty, although he couldn’t see all of the participants clearly. It was a large group and some were sitting just outside the circle of light around the centre. He was even more bewildered at the level of knowledge they displayed. It was completely at odds with his experience up to now. The contents of the session made his head spin. Within minutes he had become conscious of being entirely out of his depth. He was in a different world. The customs, the manners, the language, the shared knowledge; all of it was alien to him. He felt like an infant among adults. The really hard thing for him to take was that the Trans sitting in that group were treated with such individual recognition. They had an accepted status here, almost as equals. The dislike and resentment he felt towards Trans like Anodyne returned. He still regarded them as spoilt, rich mens’ pets.

They lived in extravagant luxury, participating in commerce and even orgies with their human owners. It was all insanity. After all, he told himself once again, these were just complicated dolls, created to help with tasks that humans considered too much trouble. He was disturbed and conflicted, his thoughts alternating between sheer wonder at what was happening and frustration; almost anger. Part of him wanted to stay and investigate, the other part wanted to escape from this peculiar situation.

John’s voice brought him back into the moment.

“Well, everyone, I hope you will excuse me. It’s time I got some rest so I’ll wish you goodnight.” Clay was relieved and pushed his chair forward to stand up. He was embarrassed again when several of the group addressed him personally with “Good night Clay,” or “Glad you could join us.”

He had a headache. All he could think about was getting to his somacot in the guest quarters and taking a couple of Nevermind pills.

Today had been a little too much for him. Now he just wanted oblivion.

The journey back provided Clay with the opportunity to take stock of what he had seen. He needed time to process the events of the last two days. Reaching forward, he started a soundsheet playing.

He had been affected on many levels but tried to keep his emotions in check. He wanted clear thoughts. He couldn’t get over the feeling of being drawn to this odd community.

The trek back seemed interminable. Eventually the skyline of the megacity came into view. Just a short time away from its foul embrace emphasized its sprawling ugliness. He made his way slowly back through the familiar ghetto. On squalid streets he remembered walking as a boy, a new generation had come up. Waiting outside the gargantuan permasteel door at Ahab’s, he looked up at the concealed cameras until he was recognized. The massive structure swung open and he steered the terraglide between the squat buildings of the compound until he had reached the farthest one. Again he waited until the entrance gate was opened. He pulled into the receiving bay where several other terraglides were parked up. He only had electronic cargo to unload and so he pulled into a position next to one of the supporting pillars. Disembarking, he walked over to the passenger elevators. It was quite a ride down to Ahab’s bunker and he punched in the required security code. The panel on the elevator wall flicked rapidly at each level of the descent. Finally, the little moving cage came to rest and the doors hissed open. The long, wide corridor that stretched out ahead of him was dimly illuminated at intervals along the walls. The dull surroundings were in stark contrast to the opulence that lay behind the door at the end. Having buzzed, he brought his eye level with the panel and waited for recognition. The voxres clicked on and barked ‘Enter!’

Inside, he glanced over his shoulder at the big viewscreen watching the corridor outside. Two of Ahab’s men were standing around. Zack, the nearest who had been observing his arrival, made a mock salute. The lobby was adorned with statues and the floor was covered with an intricately patterned rug. On the walls hung several large paintings, each one lit carefully by an individual light source. Clay stepped down the three carpeted steps into the lounge of the apartment.

The luxurious main lounge was where Ahab liked to conduct most of his business dealings. At the far end of the large room, he sat leaning forward on a spacious leather couch. He was staring intently into one of three smaller viewscreens perched on top of a beautiful, polished table. Finally, he looked up. “Clay, everything go all right?”

Clay nodded and handed over the small comp.

Ahab turned his attention to the screen on his right, his lips moving as he calculated the required bottom line. “Yeah, that’s good,” he said. “I’ll credit you right now.” Clay waited while Ahab adjusted his account.

Ahab had always done right by him, he thought. A thickset figure with a hypnotic stare, Ahab was a powerful presence. He was always dressed immaculately in unusual garb. Today, his loose fitting top garment looked blue, but seemed to change colour slightly as it caught different levels of light. His leggings were some type of shiny animal skin, worn over gleaming black boots. On his fingers were several very large rings. Some of these had big, shining stones mounted in them. Ahab was brown skinned with midnight black hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard. He totally ignored the rules of social proximity and fixed everyone he spoke to in an intense stare. Caught in the probing gaze of those dark, intelligent eyes, most people started to feel extremely ill at ease.

It was something Ahab was clearly well aware of. He knew just which buttons to press if he needed information. From this comfortably furnished bunker, he controlled an expansive operation. Anyone in contact with him was quickly aware that Ahab had real gravity. The people hanging around this complex weren’t run of the mill rentagoons. These men were highly trained and well paid, the very best. Nobody just walked into a soldier’s position with Ahab’s organization. The screening was intense. For those who proved trustworthy and loyal, there was no better employer. Ahab had more juice than most politicos and a better intelligence network than the Polibureau. He had originally been destined for political office. His education had been thorough and he had graduated from the very best studylearn faculties. He had been tutored in all the disciplines required in order to take his place as an overlord. His natural father had been a State Governor for The Global Dominion. He had successfully quelled several uprisings and had been ruthless in state suppression of faithcrime. The forces of the Dominion liked to keep these purges out of public view as far as possible. Ahab’s father had implemented a coded system for tracking and arresting anyone associated with ‘socially divisive’ faith movements.

Ahab’s path to disillusionment had started when he witnessed his first mass slaughter. He had been to the interrogation camps and observed the grisly torture of ‘anti-socials’. Somehow, he had never developed his father’s detachment. Scenes of men strung up with electrodes attached to their bodies stayed in his memory. He could hear their screams as they were subjected to unbearable agonies. His father told him this was a necessary part of statecraft and that he had better get used to it. To maintain social cohesion, the individual must be taught to conform to state rules governing conduct. Under The Dominion there was no longer any place for assertive individualists. They were a menace to be eradicated by any means necessary. Those loathsome individuals who insisted on infecting others with their toxic ‘godlegook’ were particularly dangerous. They had to be taken out of the equation entirely in order to preserve stability. His father never used the word government. All of this was necessary he said, so as to maintain what he called ordered ‘governance’.

The turning point for Ahab had come as he had witnessed a “G” session. He had been standing with his father on the walkway above the killing floor. It had been in total darkness as they took their positions. The overhead lighting had flickered on, revealing row after row of mechanized guillotine devices. From this elevated position he had sight of the entire cavernous area. In front of each row of machines a deep trench ran down the entire length of the chamber. The large side doors rolled back on their castors and a long line of prisoners were forced into the arena by their Polibro guards. It was obvious to Ahab that the victims had been drugged to render them docile. They were easily brought before the machines and beaten to a kneeling position. Each man’s head was pushed into place and secured with a strap. At the sound of a loud buzzer he had seen the guards step away from the machinery. There was a deafening hiss as five hundred blades fell simultaneously. Each man’s head was severed cleanly from his body and fell forward into the catchment trench. A dark river of human blood flowed down the trench to the drains at the end of the chamber. He would never forget the deep gurgling of that bloody river. The guards stepped forward and bent to their grisly work. The headless corpses were thrown onto big, flatbed terraglides. The monstrous transports moved slowly to accommodate the pace of the clearing crews. In front of the machines, other guards collected heads, throwing them into deep trolleys, which they moved forward on wheels. They were cheerful as they went about their hellish labour. Ahab had watched, stunned. These were dreadful tasks that could have been assigned to droneclone class Trans. It slowly dawned on him that these men actually seemed to be enjoying their ghoulish assignment. The updraught of disinfectant-scented air reached where he stood, crouched over the railings on the lofty walkway. Along with the stink, it carried the crews’ hateful comments about their victims. When the deathly harvest was complete, the crew turned on high pressure sprays. Jets of water washed over the tiled floors, carrying away the remaining debris of execution. The drain ports drank away all traces of this mass killing. The slow moving terraglides with their gruesome cargo disappeared through the open doors at the far end of the building. The high-pressure hoses spluttered and went limp, ceasing their cleansing rain. The tiles glistened under the strong lights. The men filed out of the deathly arena and their footsteps died away to silence; terrible silence. The events of that day had changed Ahab’s life forever. Everything he had been conditioned to accept started to fall away from him. He had been sickened. If his father could endorse and preside over this, then he knew he would never follow him into any kind of political office. If this was the machinery of ‘governance’, then he would take no further part in it.

The Ahab that Clay knew was born that same day.

Clay was always amazed at the stuff Ahab surrounded himself with. He knew most of the items of art or sculpture were way outside his range. He could work for a lifetime and still not be able to possess such handsome objects. In the corner stood what looked like an early domestic robot. Ahab looked up from his screens and immediately picked up Clay’s curiosity. There weren’t many things that could distract Ahab from checking profits, but he was always delighted when anyone showed interest in his unusual collection of historica.

“Robot?” Clay inquired.

“No, no!” said Ahab, rising from the couch. “It’s an armoured suit worn by ancient soldiers.”

Clay looked quizzically at him. Ahab joined him before the shiny exhibit. “You have to remember that they were fighting with swords and arrows back in real oldtime. A soldier wearing this stuff might be a little restricted, but he was a lot safer than the man without it.” Clay found it hard to picture a man in this suit fighting. Every time he saw Ahab he discovered something new. The man was a walking historical studylearn.