Heir of G.O'D. Revelations Read online

  I materialise just south of the Unisphere in New York, its stainless-steel frame accentuated by the winter sun glinting through the ring of fountains surrounding its inverted tripod base. The hollow globe is a representation of the Earth, the frame showing both longitude and latitude lines, with the major landmasses and islands depicted on the surface. Three orbit lines circle the massive sphere, depicting the travel of something (I forget what though, and I don’t have time to waste reading visitor plaques). The whole thing is vast, almost fifty metres tall, and when I scale it up using the image of 3arth in my mind, then overlay the areas north and south of the equator (which are no longer habitable), the scale of loss from the Devastation strikes home. I leave the Unisphere feeling somewhat depressed, and trudge south with only my melancholy and weariness for company, heading in the direction of the old State Pavilion.

  To me, this location is incongruous with COGOD’s usual imposing R3al 3state acquisitions. Their M.O. has been to take over the largest abandoned building in each realworld city they could get their divinely grubby claws on. They started with the Ryugyong Hotel in Pyongyang, using it as a base post-Devastation, then swiftly took over the whole of Korea. They followed with the Sathorn Unique in Bangkok, then the Indian Fatehpur Sikri in Uttar Pradesh, and kept going. In Dubai, their Cathedral is the Pentominium. Somehow, the Church has also managed to secrete itself into every one of the same buildings in Sol’s R3al 3state.

  The State Pavilion is far from New York’s tallest building, One World Trade Center - the building that was erected as a memorial after a terrorist attack on the realworld city in 2001. I assume that COGOD couldn’t take over the Trade Center, so they came out here instead. In comparison to their other headquarters, the observation towers are short, the tallest not much higher than the globe. I wander my way through the park and arrive at the towers with time to spare. The place looks deserted, other than the gaudy signs hanging on each side of the shortest tower – monstrous gold flashing things of a man’s hands holding up the 3arth. How they managed to change Sol code like that on 3arth, I have no clue.

  “Impressive, no?” a rich male baritone voice, thick with a Japanese accent, announces from behind me. I do my best to act calm, I was expecting to have time to scope out the area before he arrived. “I knew you would come. Even though Arch-Herald Ribeiro doubted you.”

  I think the fact he knows the head COGOD fidiot is supposed to impress me. “Perhaps she thought I was saner than I am.” He laughs, a cross between a donkey neigh and someone coughing from fatal bronchitis. “I don’t know why I came.”

  “Because I invited you?”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Even though we’re alone—and 3arth is a non-combat region—I feel less safe standing beside Shuzo in-Sim than when I go outside realworld. Before today, I’ve only ever seen Shuzo in his Japanese military dress uniform, but now he’s adorned in the ceremonial robes reserved for the leaders of the COGOD hierarchy. I can see the fervour in his steel-grey eyes, the deep-rooted sense he has of being right. All of this I find disturbing.

  “Come. Let us go inside.”

  He approaches the larger tower, and the automatic door swings open. Inside it’s almost black, as dark as it gets in-Sim. Without turning to see if I’m following, he walks towards the entrance, his arms crossed behind his back. He steps inside and vanishes, leaving me alone outside. I check around, but there’s no one else in sight. Drawing a deep breath, I follow him into the unknown.

  The total darkness—which reminds me of how I feel realworld without my visor—lasts for only a few heartbeats before the room blooms with bright yellow light. As my vision adjusts, I begin to perceive a large, circular chamber, perhaps fifty metres across. A domed glass ceiling curves above my head, strips of copper keeping the panels in place like giant halved orange segments. Unlike older churches, there’s no stained glass at all, just pure yellow light blazing in from an unknown source. The floor is pure gold, with thin streaks of black running through it, all pointing towards a hollow in the centre of the room, where the light shines brightest. Aside from my breathing, the room is silent. Even Shuzo, who is watching me intently, doesn’t make a sound. Something feels wrong. This chamber is far too expansive to fit inside the tower we entered moments ago. Discreetly, I check the Sol map on my HUD, but worryingly it’s completely blank. There’s only one explanation; I currently do not have a location in Sol.

  “What is this place?” I ask, then jump as my voice echoes over and over.

  “This is the Hub.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  Shuzo smiles condescendingly. “Not many outside of the Church’s inner circle have. Even fewer have actually seen it.”

  I test the floor. It feels solid enough, so I step cautiously towards the middle. The circular central area is much shallower than I expected at about a meter deep. A padded bench surrounds the perimeter, with gold and black steps leading down at each of the four compass points. In the centre rests a small ebony table, perhaps thirty centimetres high, covered with all manner of paraphernalia. Dominating the middle is the fracking hands and globe again, rotating autonomously on a gold base. I take a step down and wait for Shuzo to stop me. He doesn’t try, but instead observes me from the pit’s edge with those feverish eyes. I reach the bottom and loop around the table; scattered on top are images of Gary O’Drae, and a panorama of a house - a sprawling Gothic thing which I know from the histories is where O’Drae lived with his wife. It’s somewhere in what used to be England, now a desolate, abandoned and frozen independent island with a population of about ten thousand, clustered together at the far south. There are numerous other images, photographs, and documents, along with a copy of The Ordinance and the original Sol user-guide.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I ask, pausing in my circuit to look up at him. This close, his posture makes him look much older than he does in Arena combat. I estimate he’s in his late thirties. Of course, he may not look anything like this realworld. Omar proves that.

  “You contacted one of our agents. On Mars.”

  “Yes, OstermondGlanz,” I reply, using Nyffenegger’s avatar name. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, no problem. Please, sit,” Shuzo instructs, as he climbs down the steps, his white cotton slippers silencing his footsteps, but his robes making a swishing sound as he moves. He sits on one side of a set of steps, whilst I perch out of his reach on the other side (just in case). The subtle smirk dancing on his lips lets me know he’s taking pleasure in my discomfort. “How much do you know of Umbra?”

  “That it was formed by O’Drae before he died, to provide free Sol access and equipment to everyone.”

  “Indeed, its primary function. What else?”

  “Only that I assume Umbra is controlled by COGOD…”

  “The Church of G.O’D. please,” he interrupts, pronouncing each of the letters ‘G’, ‘O’ and ‘D’ in turn, instead of saying ‘God’. “Or simply The Church.”

  “…to maintain adherence to O’Drae’s wishes?” I complete condescendingly, ignoring him.

  “Partly correct. Umbra manages all the servers on which Sol runs. Their locations are hidden of course, although the fascist corporations like Sol-Corp would, and do, kill for that sort of information. We possess evidence to prove it. Umbra, though, remains secure and because of this continues to act on The Creator’s instructions, His will. Umbra supplies a free visor and basic gloves, again per His testament. None of this comes for free of course, Umbra relies on donations and on some strategic investments to fulfil these instructions. The Church of G.O’D. donates heavily to Umbra, but we are not one and the same.”

  “The prize money, from events and Arenas?”

  “Yes, partly.”

  “If Umbra acts on O’Drae’s will, why is the Church, and Umbra, willing to let Sol be switched off?”

  “Surely, that is obvious. The Creator introduced the termination point Himself. What could be a clearer indication of His will than that?”r />
  “Unless the Heir saves the world.”

  “Yes.” He smiles, a micro-expression so quick I almost miss it, but one which unmistakeably means ‘I know something you don’t know’.

  “You know where he is, don’t you? The Church knows who the Heir is.”

  “Let me show you something,” says Shuzo, ignoring my question and climbing back to his feet. He glides to the table, releases a hidden control panel, and taps some buttons launching a holo-movie in the air above us. “Do you recognise them?”

  “Gary O’Drae,” I say in wonder. I have only ever seen stills of him. He was so protective of his privacy, and his family. Apart from what he chose to display on his personal Sol profile, there’s nothing of him at all. Now I’m watching a film which shows O’Drae playing with his baby son. “When was this taken?”

  “Sometime in Galileo, 2027, three months after the death of Halag.”

  “His wife?”

  “Correct. Halag died during childbirth.”

  “He looks so happy,” I announce, climbing to my feet and getting closer to the hologram. Using my fingers, I spin the image and zoom in to a close-up of his face. “He’s ill.”

  “Indeed. The Creator already had cancer by this point.”

  “What happened to the baby?” I ask, trying a different angle. Of course, I’m not expecting an answer. As I voice the question, the onscreen O’Drae lifts his son and spins him around above his head. As I move closer, I can hear some tune playing in the background. I recognise it because I catch myself humming it on occasion. O’Drae continues to spin the baby, the expression of love and devotion is clear, but I can also see pain etched between the fine lines of his face. Looking into his eyes I can see that O’Drae knows he will soon be making his son an orphan. “What’s that tune?”

  “No one knows, not even the Church of G.O’D. It won’t play outside of the Hub, and the video has no metadata.” Shuzo steps back and focuses all his attention on me. “The Heir was taken by The Creator’s supposed allies.” He starts pacing around the table, stopping every few steps to straighten an item, or gaze reverently at an image.

  “The Creator was very well connected, with very powerful allies. Remember, He worked with NASA to create the original version of Sol; they funded the development for astronauts’ training, using the simulation as preparation for the Mars missions. NASA had visions of going further, and Sol was expanded to include as much of the solar system as was possible. Whenever one of the viewing platforms…”

  “Like Hubble?”

  “Some are from Hubble, yes. You know some of your history,” Shuzo says, surprise on his face. I don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting, but I do feel a flush of smugness. “He used some Hubble images for Sol’s border graphics – the wider Milky Way and elements such as the subsurface ocean on Ganymede. But otherwise, he used numerous sources from observatories and satellites. Crafts such as Voyager and New Horizons sent back images, scans, orbit maps and samples to be incorporated into the code. Then, Sol was expanded to predict potential meteor strikes as part of an ongoing Blacklist Star-Wars programme.”

  “Then, the Devastation happened?”

  “No, then Capitalism happened. NASA stopped funding the project, at least to the extent that they no longer had exclusivity to Sol. At the personal behest of the residing President of what was the United States of America, The Creator and his team formed their own company and converted it into a Mass-Access programme. After a reset, they launched in 2022 under the company name Sol-Corp. By the end of the year, they were the fifth largest corporation on the planet, and the single largest by 2025 when the Devastation hit. Sol was taken offline for the first time in three years, but by then it was so ingrained in society that removing Sol, on top of the shocking effects of the Devastation, compounded people’s feeling of loss. The world, the survivors, suffered what was essentially a mass bereavement. I could go on of course, about how Sol’s cryptocurrency was like a cancer in the world’s currency markets, about how turning off Sol was like putting millions of people through withdrawal, with symptoms matching those experienced by addicts during Mex withdrawal.”

  “You don’t sound much like a Disciple.”

  He neighs like a horse again. “I was a lecturer. Technology in Modern History, at the University of Tokyo.”

  “And now you’ve joined a Church and play in Arenas?”

  “The world changed.” A sickly-sweet smile touches his gaunt face. “I changed.”

  “I still don’t understand. If the end of Sol was so bad last time, why does your Church want it to end again?”

  “The world has had time to process this time. People are preparing for their loss, as they would for a relative with an incurable disease. No, the world will survive, and it will return to a society of local communities, and of local governments. Society will continue at a level that the planet will recover from, and that we will flourish within. Before the Devastation, humans had drained most of the Earth’s resources and the planet was dying, perhaps the Devastation was a form of damage control from Mother Earth, or perhaps it was merely fate. Whatever the reason, the population reduced in numbers by almost ninety per cent; there are only a little over half a billion humans left now.”

  I sit down and try to organise my thoughts. I really struggle to make sense of myself when I’m in the company of people like Shuzo – when they’re right there in front of you they seem sane, but thinking back through the conversation afterwards, I know I’ll wonder just what the frack he was talking about. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “I’m aware that I’m being somewhat evasive. Let me address your questions. Please do not interrupt.” He pauses until I nod, then settles down opposite me once more, his hands nestled in his lap. “The Creator founded Sol-Corp with his brother-in-law, Johann Schott.”

  “He still runs Sol-Corp.”

  “I requested that you don’t interrupt. Can you not do so?”

  “Sorry.”

  Shuzo pauses, steepling his fingers for a full thirty seconds before continuing. I realise he’s praying, although I don’t know to whom. O’Drae maybe? (I smile as I ponder if he’s praying for patience in dealing with me).

  “Yes, Johann Schott was His brother-in-law. They married twin sisters – Halag, who was The Creator’s wife of course, and Anja. The Creator had one primary objective when he brought Sol back. Namely, He wanted His Heir to view the world as it was when He, Himself, grew up. He locked Sol down, against Schott’s wishes of course, and made it free to all. At least until the Heir claims the inheritance, and there is nothing Schott nor Sol-Corp, nor any of the other capitalist plagues on society, can do about it.” I open my mouth to answer, but his sharply raised hand stops me. “Yes, unless they locate the Heir.

  “The Creator knew that Schott would do all he could to break the code, or to manipulate the Heir in some way. So, He asked His best friends, a couple from the Sol development team who had a new-born child themselves, to care for His child. Somehow, The Creator hid the child’s location, name, et cetera, from everyone. They kept the Heir safe and hidden until The Creator’s Ascendancy in 2029, when they disappeared.”

  “And you think I know something about the Heir?”

  Shuzo laughs so hard that I worry he’s about to collapse from a heart attack or something. “No, Child, we want you to join The Church of G.O’D.”

  “But this will end soon.”

  “All the more reason to join us. The Church of G.O’D. has dedicated the last fifteen years to preparing for an event like Baktun. We want you to join your local House of Worship in Dubai. We believe there is much for you to be thankful for. So, rejoice and give thanks. What would your life have been like without Sol, without the technology The Creator developed that allowed you to see?”

  My heart begins to beat rapidly – Nyffenegger betrayed me to the whole of fracking COGOD, but now at least I understand why the Church are interested in me. My palms are sweating, and I can feel th
e colour draining from my face as the rate of my breathing increases. I inhale deeply and try to reply without betraying the growing sense of panic threatening to wash me away like a tsunami.

  I guess two million $uns wasn’t enough to buy Nyffenegger’s loyalty.

  “In a week, I’ll find out.”

  “Not if we provide you with the means you need.”

  “The visor?”

  “Of course. Nyffenegger will fit the visor, gratis, if you join us.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “We don’t control Nyffenegger. What she does is her own decision. I understand you are some…” he pauses and swipes a couple of times, “…798,000 $uns short, give or take a thousand.”

  “How the frack do you know that?”

  “We know many things, G@n@le0. We know a lot.”

  “Do I need to decide now?”

  “I’m not expecting you to. Arch-Herald Ribeiro did believe that if you were willing to come here and meet with me, then you would immediately commit to join us. But it appears she was wrong on both counts.” He smiles, but his tone is mocking (although I’m not sure if he’s directing it at me, or at COGOD’s head fracking fidiot).

  “I need to think.”

  “Here,” Shuzo announces, providing me with his contact information. “Contact me when you decide. But be quick, there is little time. You can use the port at the entrance. It will take you anywhere in Sol.”

  I stop and turn to look at the portal. “Sorry. I don’t think I can join...”

  “You will be,” Shuzo cuts in, his words hanging in the air like an echo on repeat.

  I leave through the portal and return to my apartment, feeling a little calmer as I remind myself that regardless of what the frackers do know about me, they still don’t know where to find me realworld.