Infernal

The Elder sat alone in his tower, looking out upon the perfect world. He wore no satin robes as one would expect from the most powerful man in the multi-verse. Sat upon no gilded throne. At eighty-one years of age he had no need of impractical embellishments and instead sat in a simple armchair wearing black denim pants and a sweatshirt that bore the logo of a college football team from another Earth. He had no interest in sports of any kind. Only found the idea of a buckeye wearing a cap and a shit-eating grin amusing.

The world outside the window, technically labeled Earth-01 but more commonly known as the Homeworld, was bleak and grey; criss-crossed with long untraveled highways, crumbling buildings in an advanced state of decay, and ugly black scars from multiple high-intensity power discharges. Dark thunderclouds filled the horizon as a constant barrage of lightning reached from cloud to cloud and sky to ground as if Mother Nature were acting out in fury at what had been done to her. Sunlight had not touched the blasted surface of the planet in the Elder’s lifetime.

It was of no consequence. The surviving population had moved underground over a century ago. Eight billion souls lived, worked, and played in the series of tunnels that reached around the globe and to a depth of four miles. Power was supplied by a series of solar collectors ringing the planet far above the dense clouds, each transmitting its load to enormous batteries spread around the globe. The raw energy was then piped to underground depots that converted it to usable electricity. Food was plentiful. Vast hydroponics bays large enough to house small forests and parks for recreation supplied vegetables while cattle, pork, and poultry were raised on the many ranches scattered beneath the surface. All other necessary provisions were Ripped in from other planets. Water was abundant; drawn from rivers, lakes, and streams above and heavily filtered. Only a handful of people ever ventured to the surface. And why would they? There was nothing to see save an endless expanse of aging concrete, glass and steel.

Still, it was the perfect world.

His predecessors had seen to that.

It began with the first Elder, a man of vision who had immediately seen the potential of the Rips. He supported the brilliant but clearly insane Steven Bana, both emotionally and financially, while quietly working behind Bana’s back to build his fledgling tech company into the most powerful corporate entity on the planet. It had taken decades for Bana to decipher the mechanics of the Rips and make travel through them safe enough to forward his benefactor’s plans, but once the system was perfected the first Elder had moved swiftly, seizing control of the homeworld through political reform and military means.

Then the purges began.

Eliminating crime and criminals was the first order of business. The justice system was simplified; laws enacted that left only two means of punishment for offenders. For misdemeanors such as shoplifting, drug abuse, or vagrancy, the mandatory minimum sentence was ten years indentured servitude to BanaTech. For felony crimes such as murder, rape, burglary or any other violent crime, the penalty was death. Courtrooms and juries were abolished. Arresting officers carried out judgment and sentencing, including execution, on the spot. Ex post facto rights were repealed, making all new laws retroactive. Within months tens of millions of felons worldwide were summarily executed. Those on parole or discharged, their debt to society paid or not, had been hunted down and killed.

Addressing poverty was the next order of business.

With the sudden reduction in population and the constant flow of resources from other Earths there was no need for anyone on the Homeworld to be without means. The monetary system was eliminated. Cash and credit became obsolete. Those who were willing to work, to forward the goals of BanaTech, flourished. Those who refused, who chose indolence over industriousness, were convicted of vagrancy. Repeat offenders were executed.

Eradicating disease was the final order of business in the Elder’s plan to create the perfect world. While this had proven impractical—a list of known genetic defects took hours for the Quantum-Cray’s to generate and would have taken a century to screen for—major diseases such as Alzheimer’s, Muscular Dystrophy, ALS, Down syndrome, and certain cancers were eliminated by controlling reproduction. The populace was screened in toto for genetic markers indicating a propensity towards defect. Those with the markers for such diseases were sterilized. In other cases, marriage and breeding were strictly controlled. Still, heart disease, cancer, congenital birth defects, and some chemical/mental disorders such as Autism were so prevalent as to be impossible to completely eradicate. Incidences of these diseases were deemed inconsequential until they became problematic. The lame and the insane were dealt with swiftly, usually by euthanasia. Others were monitored and studied in hopes of discovering a cure.

In his seventy-fifth year, the first Elder recognized the need to pass his legacy on to a man of equal ideology and vision. He had the known multi-verse—at that time less than a hundred worlds—scoured for a Mirror of himself who most closely fit his requirements. He took the young man under his tutelage and groomed him for the role he trusted no other to fulfill. In his eighty-ninth year, satisfied that the second Elder would continue where he had left off, the first Elder stepped into a Rip that the Quantum-Cray’s predicted terminated in the vacuum of space.

The second Elder had nearly destroyed Earth-01.

Under the first Elder’s rule, the existence of the multi-verse and BanaTech’s exploitation of other versions of Earth had been a closely guarded secret. Very few people outside of the Elder’s inner circle of most trusted advisors knew the true breadth and scope of BanaTech’s hegemony. The populace knew what they needed to know and little else. The second Elder viewed this as a mistake. He felt that a perfect world should be united in goal, if not in mind.

He’d expected some outcry. Though the populace had been ignorant of its government’s true agenda and had been submissive to its reign for over half a century, the knowledge that entire worlds were being harvested for resources was certain to raise some opposition. He was equally certain, however, that any dissenters would be rapidly identified and subdued.

It may have been his youth that led to this error in judgment. He’d been taken by the first Elder at the age of thirteen and educated for nearly fifteen years in multi-verse theory, Rip travel, politics and the use of military might to achieve BanaTech’s goals. He had little practical experience in the administration of such power, however. Like the spoiled child who inherits a fortune but has no understanding of how that wealth was acquired, the second Elder nearly lost the legacy that had been left him in less than a decade.

The political structure of the Homeworld was akin to a monarchy. The many countries on all six populated continents had been demoted to Commonwealth status by the first Elder and united under one body of government, each with an appointed Regent. The Regents, all members of the inner circle and privy to BanaTech’s secrets, were chosen for their ideologies and loyalty to the Elder. Each held power over the various Commonwealth’s on his or her continent but all six answered to the Elder. Their powers were illusory; their titles titular.

Shortly after the first Elder handed over his empire, the European Regent—a shrewd and cunning man named Vasily Ivanovich Alexeyev—angered by political impotence and enraged that neither he nor any of the other Regents had been allowed to ascend to the role of Elder, began undermining allegiance to the new Elder inside the European arm of BanaTech’s military.

For two years Alexeyev gathered allies throughout Europe before daring to divulge his planned insurrection to his lifelong friend and the Regent of the South American continent, Valentina Mayte Vientena. Collaborating on two continents, Alexeyev and Vientena had only to wait for the opportunity to seize control of BanaTech, and thus the world.

The revolt was planned to coincide with the Elder’s public revelation of BanaTech’s true objectives and was to be disguised as public outrage at the atrocities committed on the other, innocent versions of Earth. The scheme almost worked. And surely would have if Alexeyev and Vientena hadn’t underestimated the Elder. What he lacked in political experience he made up for with brutality. At the first hint of rebellion, Europe and South America were all but obliterated by nuclear fire.

The Homeworld was plunged into nuclear winter. Billions died and the planet was forever scarred. BanaTech emerged victorious, mostly because its central operations and research arms were already housed in a warren of tunnels hundreds of miles long and several miles deep beneath the surface.

But once sown the seeds of rebellion can never be fully eradicated. The Elder realized this and took steps to make sure that any future attempts at insurrection died on the vine.

He swept away the few feeble vestiges of democracy that remained. Democracy was an allusion anyway, a fiction designed to give the masses the idea that they still had free will. Elections were suspended indefinitely. The population of planet Earth 01 was now under the direct control of BanaTech. Every man, woman and child knew it, and they’d seen what happened to those who dared to oppose its corporate sovereignty.

The four remaining Regents were executed. Their staff and military attaches similarly culled. The inner circle was vetted for traitors. Those who fell under suspicion were killed, the others placed under close scrutiny for the rest of their lives. Nothing garners loyalty, the Elder believed, like a gun to the head.

The Elder also took steps to ensure that his misstep would not be repeated. He began searching for his successor at the age of fifty. His ten year old Mirror was rigorously trained in all facets of BanaTech operations, beginning with a decade-long study of military tactics and strategy, plus five years of provisional rule as Elder before the second Elder, as an homage to his predecessor, stepped through a Rip into oblivion at the age of eighty-three.

That third Elder, now looking out upon the scarred face of the perfect world, knew the void was out there, waiting for him as well.

“Not before you’ve completed your task, old man.”

The voice, a mere thick and raspy whisper he knew would go unheard by anyone else even if he were in a room full of people, came from behind him and off to the left. When it came next it was directly in front of him, though no one was there:

“There is much to do yet before you’ve earned that reward.”

“If you’re referring to the Focal Point Generator, old friend, it will soon be online. Every version of Earth will be united and the perfect multi-verse will be born.” The Elder’s voice, coarsened with age, nonetheless reflected the conviction of his obsession. As the first Elder had created the perfect Earth, he himself would create the perfect multi-verse.

“You have the Key, then?” the thick voice asked.

“You know we do not,” the Elder said. “You can read my thoughts as easily as I read the daily sector reports. Do not treat me as you would treat those who do not know what you are.”

A shadow detached itself from the wall and rushed towards the Elder.

“Do not dictate to us old man,” it hissed with rage. “It was we who guided your predecessors on this course, we who warned your Mirror of impending insurrection, we who instructed him to wait until their plot was in motion to stomp them out, thus ensuring BanaTech’s domination of all life on this world.”

“And it was no doubt you who fomented that failed revolution in the first place,” the Elder responded without a hint of alarm at the creature’s wrath. He stood, brushing the shadow aside as if it were no more than vapor. “Stop your posturing. Why are you here?”

The shadow reassembled at the Elder’s right shoulder, its tone that of a repentant child:

“The Keeper,” it said, “He must be destroyed once the Key is retrieved.”

“The order has already been given” the Elder said. “He has proven far too resourceful and clever for my taste. But what is your interest in the matter? Can he not be turned? As we have turned the others?”

“Not this one,” the shadow said, flickering out of existence only to appear at the Elder’s left side. “This one is different.”

“Different how?”

“Question us no further, old man. It was not we who lost the key. Not we who jeopardized all we have worked towards. Perhaps we should have let Alexeyev and Vientena have their victory. Perhaps they would not have failed us so miserably. Destroy the Keeper and you will be rewarded.”

The shadow drifted over to the wall and melted into it.

The Elder did not ask the question that had been disturbing him for the better part of a year as the Infernal faded away. Did not voice aloud his fear.

If the Infernal are the omnipotent creatures they claim to be, how is it they allowed the Key to be lost in the first place?

A finger of fear ran down his spine at the thought of a force more powerful than those born of the dark. He shrugged it off. It was much too late to change the course of things now.

He stepped over to a console and brought up the screen for military operations. A face appeared on the screen. A much younger version of his own.

“Sir?” Jefferson said.

“Where are Bledell and Farris now?”

“We believe they’re still on E-514, sir.”

“You believe they’re still on E-514?” The Elder asked, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Explain.”

“We’ve been getting some strange readings from there since the nuclear devices detonated,” Jefferson said, unabashed by the Elder’s ire. “All voice communication with our agents has been disrupted by the electromagnetic pulse and we’re relying completely on our satellites. Also, we’re now tracking not one but two RLP signals.

“How is that possible?” the Elder asked. “I ordered our agents on the ground in without devices so that Farris would not be warned of their presence.”

“That order was given and followed, sir,” Jefferson answered. “We believe the second device belonged to Bledell’s Mirror. We know she had one in her possession when she fled the Homeworld.”

“An astonishing lapse in security,” the Elder reminded him.

“Yes, sir,” Jefferson said, accepting the reprimand. They’d been over this before and while the fault had not been Jefferson’s, he was ultimately responsible for the actions—or inaction—of those under his command. “We think Farris found some way to cloak the second device and retained it. It went active several miles away from a Rip that had formed but closed when our nukes went off.”

“Assessment?”

“Hatfield is alive, sir,” Jefferson said. “I think he apprehended Farris and Bledell shortly after they Ripped onto that world, disobeyed our order to alert us of their presence, and took their RLP so that he and his men could escape to another Earth. Signals from that device now indicate a search pattern closing on the second device’s location. I believe the second signal to be Farris and Bledell. Hatfield is trying to find them, probably to find out why the Rip closed early and cut off his retreat.”

“Where are Farris and the woman now?”

“They’re holed up in a barn, if you can believe that.”

“I can believe a great many things, my young Tyro. A great many things.” The soubriquet irritated Jefferson, the Elder knew. His successor felt that after nearly thirty years of tutelage, the nickname given him as a young boy no longer applied. “How long until Hatfield finds them?”

“An hour,” Jefferson said, “maybe less. If he were more familiar with our technology he’d turn on the proximity alarm and have their location in seconds, but he hasn’t stumbled across that feature. Yet.

“And how long before our communications are back up?”

“Maybe forty minutes, sir, “Jefferson answered. “The Cray’s are predicting that the Rips will reopen around the same time.”

“There is another problem though, sir,” Jefferson added.

The Elder remained silent. Waiting.

“The Cray’s have reported another Enigma incident.”

“Like the one that preceded the loss of the Key?” The Elder said.

“Yes, sir,” Jefferson said. “The Enigma Rip opened several yards from what I believe to be Farris and the woman’s location, remained open for several minutes, and then closed again. With all the electromagnetic interference, we can’t determine if anyone passed through the Rip from either side but the RLP in Farris possession is recording life signs within its limited range.”

“So they have not yet fled,” the Elder surmised.

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Jefferson said.

“Do they have company then?” The Elder asked, thinking of the robed figure that had come through the first Enigma Rip, ferreting away the Bledell woman and the Key.

“Unknown.”

“Very well, Tyro,” the Elder said. “Continue to monitor the situation until the interference clears then carry out my orders. Personally.”

“Sir,” said Jefferson, grinning like a hyena approaching a helpless impala, relishing the idea of sending the traitorous Hatfield to his death, “that will be my pleasure.”