2400 AD

Eight men and four women filled the seats at the long table in the center of the brick warehouse. Shafts of light streamed in from the windows and fell on the table like curtains of mist falling through trees. A large and complex series of catwalks ran among the rafters and water dripped from the roof in several places.

The woman known only as Lillian was seated at the head of the table, listening to the arguments of the men and women whom she relied on, and trusted.

She painted a delicate pose in her seat. She was bald. The tattoos on her neck and arms had faded slightly but had not lost their uniqueness. Her earlobes had huge holes to fit two large onyx sleeper earrings. Her face was puffed with a powdery white base. Brown eyebrows painted above grey eyes. A thick coat of red lipstick on her unsmiling lips.

She concentrated on the words of a young man seated in the middle of table.

“Two of our children have been abducted, and one is dead.”

“So they only have one child?” A Chinese man asked.

“No. There were three children in one of our master houses when they came. All three escaped. One was killed. The remaining two have been abducted.”

“Who are these people?”

“The other is Denizen.”

“I thought Denizen was against what the government is doing in every sense.”

“Seems they too have an agenda.”

“These children, what are their names?” A woman wearing the traditional bead dress of the Ndebele tribe, asked.

“Thespian and Jacob. Thespian is an orphan. Still too young to realize his full potential. Jacob is being trained as Lillian’s successor.”

“How is this possible?” The Ndebele woman asked. “I was under the impression that Samarand was beyond detection.”

“It seems as if Xenocon and Denizen have the capacity to detect what we are doing.”

“Then they must be stopped,” said a man with a long, pointed white beard. “Jacob is being groomed to lead the fellowship of Samarand and take over as the next facilitator. He must be found.”

“Do we have the resources for such a mission?” The Ndebele woman asked.

“Manpower? No. Both children are being held underground. The frequency cannot penetrate rock. It is impossible for any of us to reach them,” the bearded man said.

“Only one of us can penetrate rock,” said the man in the middle. He focused his gaze on the woman at the head of the table. “It is you, Lillian.”

The Chinese man said, “However, we question whether you have the necessary power to do this. You will need all the power you have stored, and it could kill you.”

“We must try. The world depends on it,” Lillian said.

“Lillian, forgive me, but your power has been halting these last few months,” the Chinese man continued. “And the anomalies in the simulation have grown exponentially and erratically. You have been ill several times, and each time you are bedridden, the world falls apart. If you attempt this rescue mission, we cannot guarantee your survival. It will take all you have. I suggest the most powerful members assist you in bringing them back.”

“Then so be it,” Lillian said. “When do we do this?”

“Tonight,” the middleman said.

The Ndebele woman stood up. “Tonight is too soon. If we allow this to happen, the weakened frequency from Lillian’s mind will cause a rift in the space-time fabric and lead to an apocalyptic event even more powerful than the Toba tragedy. Even more powerful than yesterday’s tsunami on the north west seaboard of Africa.”

“That is why I suggested we all join forces and use our collective telekinetic power to bring him back,” the Chinese man said.

“Telekinetic teleportation is dangerous. It could kill Jacob, or Lillian and even some of us.”

“If we don’t do this, the strain will kill Lillian.”

“I think it’s a risk worth taking. Without Jacob humankind will fall apart.”

“For this to be successful, we need to know the exact location of the boys.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. We can send our microscopic drones into the Denizen pyramid. No one will detect them. The drones will serve to locate the boys and destroy most of their technology.”

“ETA of the mission?”

“Two days. It gives us time to prepare and harness the energy needed.”

“I don’t think so,” Lillian said. “We could use our power to create a psionic explosion. Create a diversion. We must get Jacob. Tonight.”

***

In the privacy of her room, on an upper level of the warehouse, she turned on the memory card. A thin, rectangular plastic looking device that sent out holographic images of recent memory, much like opening a photo album. The front title was simply Lillian’s Lot. Tears streamed from her eyes, making lines on her white cheeks as she reminisced.

How she would love to have led a normal existence. The responsibility was great. Too great at times. It sucked all the energy from her. Yet she persevered and continued without complaint.

Her life had been protected by the members of Samarand. Here was a photo of her and her husband 40 years ago. She remembered it rained that day and the wedding was moved from outside into the hall. Another photo of her holding her newborn first child. Her smile was short lived; the child died from birth complications two days later. A second child was born twenty years later.

She named him Gideon.

Lillian would rather die so that her son would live. Losing another child was not an option.

Paging through the holohistory, she sobbed loudly when a photo appeared of her husband’s grave under an Oak tree in the garden of the warehouse. He died of cancer and refused medication from the moment of diagnosis. Chose euthanasia. She administered the drugs that finally put him to rest and mourned him daily.

In all, Lillian had led a good life until the Toba eruption ten years ago. That was the month she fell ill with double pneumonia. The world changed that month.

Since then, she’d succumbed to various illnesses. Colds and flu mostly, but each time her health halted there had overpowering consequences in the simulation.

The simulation could only be controlled by a healthy, strong individual, if not, humanity would perish.