Authors: N David Anderson
Rei walked slowly and purposefully along the ward to room 133. She glanced at the medipac she held as she moved past the corridors and private rooms that spun off in every direction like the wings of a vast eighteenth century country estate. Her heels clicked loudly in the gloomy emptiness of the building; drowned out only by the hiss of the rain on the windows. That sound always annoyed her. There really was no need for glass windows in this day and age, she would say to herself, although she knew that it was money, and not technology, that forced the clinic to be housed in a building over one hundred years old, full of idiosyncrasies and the ‘mod-cons’ of the twentieth century. Back at home in Tsukuba, of course, all the buildings of this type and age had been demolished years ago. Perhaps she was getting a little homesick, or maybe she was just worried about this task. Perhaps it was getting near the time to return home.
She scrolled down the medipac, flicking through pages that hovered in front of her. Maybe something had been missed, and in these final few minutes she would spot it. But she knew that this wasn't going to happen. All the tests were run, all the findings analysed, and all the options exhausted. Sometimes, she thought, there was only one answer to a problem, and whether you liked it or not, events could dictate to people. She hesitated outside room 133, thought about her opening line, and looked in.
Adrian and Bethany looked tired, even in the soft artificial light of the private room. George was playing with some small square boxes that beeped and lit-up periodically in what appeared to be a random sequence, although the automated voice emitting from the base implied that George fully understood the rules to this game. Rei switched off the medipac and entered.
“Adrian, Bethany, may I speak with you a moment?” asked Rei politely, carefully hiding the sensation that her heart was leaping somewhere in the back of her throat. They followed her out of the room as George played quietly. The couple stood in front of Rei expectantly, his arm around her shoulders as if they were new lovers out for a quiet walk. They said nothing, but waited for Rei to initiate the conversation. Adrian raised his eyebrows slightly and Rei knew that she had to begin.
“We have had the last of the test results back. George has been responding fine to the drugs that we've been administering, but his body is refusing the organs that were transplanted, and to be perfectly honest, we currently have no idea why.”
“So that means what exactly?! Another set of transplants? More operations? Do you know how many operations George has had for this organ failure? He's six years old!”
“I know,” replied Rei. “But there is still only so much that we can do. For some reason, George’s body has persistently refused the artificial organs that we have inserted, and there seems to be nothing to suggest that if we install another set of organs that these will take.” All three adults looked at the boy lying by the monitors and machinery that had accompanied him every second of his life for the past two years.
“So what happens now?” asked Bethany. She sounded like a frightened child.
“Well, we can keep George alive with the failure of most of his organs, although not if they are all rejected and fail in a relatively short period of time. If organs from another child of the same size should become available, providing they are acceptable of course, then we may be able to transplant some or all of those. But you must remember that the chances of a suitable heart, lungs, liver and kidneys all coming onto the market at a reasonable price in the near future are highly unlikely. And even if that happens we will still have to prove that we can keep George stable and that he would be the most suitable recipient of the organs, which would be down to the guardians of the donor, their medical advisors and the clinic fund-holding committee. I think you should prepare yourself for the eventuality that George might not be able to recover, and that a rapid downturn might occur in the next few weeks.”
Adrian and Bethany looked straight into Rei’s eyes for several seconds, their hands interlocked as their faces lost the last remnants of expression. Neither cried, or shrieked, or hurled abuse; they just stood, then nodded politely and walked back into the room. Rei turned and walked back up the corridor with no real sense of where she was headed. She turned the corner and slipped through the door to the old staircase, knowing that it was never used anymore. Here she quietly placed her medipac on the floor, put her back against the ancient concrete and gently bumped her head against the wall until she could feel reality again. “Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,” she whispered. At times she hated her job more than anything in the world.
Although technically still on field duty, Deon had been asked to check some details on three of the inmates the day following the overheard conversation. These three had arrived at Unit the previous week and had supplied the compulsory list of family names and possible ancestry. But it seemed that they had subsequently mentioned to Wendy, who shared their dormitory, that they had been related by marriage as well as blood. Deon hated tracing relatives through these means and could never fathom why people didn’t have a better idea of who they were related to and what that relationship was. Travis and Michelle were married, and Travis’ cousin Daniel had accompanied them to Unit. From the information that Deon had, it seemed that Daniel's paternal great-grandmother was married to someone who shared a name with Michelle’s maternal great-great-grandfather. It was quite possible that this was the same person, but they weren’t sure if it meant that some of the intermediate lineage were unaccounted for, and that meant that there were people, possibly even still alive, that Unit had not recorded. Still, Deon thought, it meant that he escaped one day of field duties, and a slightly convoluted report on the situation might be not be the worst thing he could experience today.
As he ran through the lists of names and places that appeared on the screen he decided to run a quick contemporary scan on Aaron, just to find out where he’d been sent. The scan produced two unexpected results: firstly, Aaron was on Sark in the Channel Islands, which seemed too far away to ensure a quick return; and secondly, Aaron appeared to have a sister who lived in Cheltenham. This was not so strange, except that she had never been brought into the confines and secrets of Unit, or even, as far as Deon could ascertain, ever contacted about the Divine Temple of Jesus. Although he of all people understood that bad blood could exist between members of a family, he also could not condone the way this sibling was to be tossed aside by the Disciples. He decided to speak to Caroline about both of these problems with Aaron. Of course that would have to be later on tonight. For now he had to try to follow the over-complicated lineage of Travis and Michelle Sargent. The watcher screen on Unit’s large, clumsy and archaic viewer flickered for a second and was quickly restored with a sharp blow to its left hand side, which as usual jogged it back four stages. He wished they had an ICP or even ethervision, rather than this ancient screen system. Deon cursed the machine quietly and wished he could use one of the better, more precise, newer pieces of equipment that he had in his old life.
Deon was troubled further that night as he lay in his cot amidst the quiet chatter of the dorm. At 17.58 exactly he had entered the antechamber that connected Hall # 8 to the Divine Caroline’s workroom. He had applied for an appointment and as usual his application had been granted. His work meant that he was able to seek personal consultations with her, something not awarded to many other of the Disciples, who would receive any requests through personally hand-written notes. How marvellous it was, he thought, that Caroline could always find time for her followers. The red light above the door told him not to risk entering, or even pressing the connection button, so he waited patiently in the bleak cold room. It was 18.36 before the light was disabled and the door slid quietly open. Some machinery here always worked, he thought absently as he entered. The room was small but adequate. A cluttered desk filled the space and books and pictures appeared to have been randomly placed about the office. Caroline was studying a c-pac screen filled, he noticed, with quotes from the Psalms. Her hair was tied back out of her eyes and her gown flowed freely from her shoulders, clinging to her breasts. Deon forced his eyes away from them and fixed them on an invisible point behind her head. In these situations he always felt most comfortable avoiding eye contact completely.
“How is the Sargent case, Brother Deon?” she asked. Her manner as usual fell just short of approachable, encouraging most people to state their business and leave any extra talking to her. He raised his worries about Aaron while talking about the case he was working on, which he still required more time to resolve. Caroline listened to his fears and agreed that Sark was a far distance from Unit at such short notice. “But”, she assured him, “I am not in the habit of risking the souls of my disciples, and nor is the Lord. This is a test of faith, Brother Deon, and the Lord will not see us fail or our work come to nothing.” And although everything that Caroline said seemed to make sense as she said it, retrospectively she seemed to have said nothing at all. With everything seeming to change so quickly his mind was becoming over-stretched. He laid his head back on the hard pillow and waited for sleep to engulf him. All would be fine, and in three days’ time he would have a sharper understanding of the universe. That was what he needed to concentrate on. He just had to concentrate on his own work, he thought, as he drifted towards sleep.
The following two days were largely spent on the case of the Sargents and their relatives. He made as much progress as possible and resigned himself to the fact that no more investigation would aid the cause. His last day was spent, therefore, not in front of a watcher, tracking people through an outdated method, but with the other members of the community preparing for the divine onslaught. Talk was rife with speculation. Some said that the Lord would appear with a heavenly host of angels and lead them to Paradise. Others seemed to think that a great battle was to be fought, and the Whore of Babylon would appear to them as Revelations had foretold.
“These are metaphors,” said Redmond from kitchens, peering at the younger zealots arguing about the end of the world and disturbing his peace.
“No no,” shouted Adrian, one of the younger and most vociferous men. “It is said in the Bible that a woman sitting upon a scarlet-coloured beast, of seven heads and ten horns will appear upon the water, and she will be arrayed in purple and scarlet, and gilded with gold, and precious stones, and pearls. And she will be full of abominations and uncleanness of her whoredom, and upon her forehead is a name: Secret, Babylon the Great, the Mother of the Whores, and the abominations of the Earth.”
“Brilliantly misquoted, my Brother,” Redmond answered. And where do you suppose Babylon would be then?”
“The abominations of the Earth are everywhere, Brother Redmond, and so why shouldn’t this appear here, over these waters?” With which Adrian flung his arm theatrically to the grey water of the Solent.
“Yes, but these are expressions of understanding. They are interpretations of metaphysics. They are not reality. In reality, we will see what we will see. If Babylon is everywhere, then good and evil will be everywhere too. The physical manifestations are not to be seen, but to be sensed.
“Brother Deon, you’re a man of the world. How do you imagine the Coming?”
Deon looked up at the group gathered around in the dorm. They seldom asked him his opinion, and he was taken aback. “Well, er, I don’t know. Yeah, maybe it’ll be like Brother Adrian says and the skies will be lit by angels and demons, or maybe, I don’t know. Perhaps everything will just stop. Or maybe we won’t even notice. I think that’s how I’d like it. If everything was good and we all felt content and just waited, and, and it just stayed that way. Like, forever. That would be critical. Yeah, that’s what I’d like.”
“Well, as long as you get what you’d like, I’m sure the materialisations given to John won’t matter,” taunted Adrian, and a small murmur of laughter rippled through the circle of watching disciples.
“We’ve seen the prophecies come true. People speak ill of God, the evil corruption is everywhere, false gods and untrue faiths abound. The End has been written, and it will come in the form of flames and destruction for those not present,” cried Adrian, feeling enlivened by the backing of the small crowd.
“Well, I’ve looked all of my life for the truth, and now know I’ve found it,” said Redmond, slightly wearily. “Whatever the next few days I shall embrace them, for they will lead me to better things.” A small nod of agreement followed. Deon wished that he could discuss biblical rhetoric like his fiery brethren, but he lacked the words, the compulsion and maybe the imagination, he thought. He looked around at the group who were starting to side towards Redmond or Adrian, and wondered about the split that these discussions could produce. To one side Nasreen looked across to him and smiled, taking neither side of the schism.
Caroline too had not been forthcoming with her idea of what would happen, when she had spoken the previous day. “Revelations is metaphor,” she reiterated, “and not a blueprint of what will be. But I have been informed when the End is to come, and that it will be glorious. The details we shall know when we know. You must remember that it is you, the Disciples who have been chosen for this glorious day. Jesus said to his disciples when they asked why he spoke in parables ‘Because it is given unto you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given.’ We shall all know the Truth. All that I can say is that many preparations are still to be made, and the remaining produce from the fields, for it has not all been eaten or sold, is to be grouped together in Hall # 3.” And so it was on the penultimate day the Brothers and Sisters of the Divine Temple of Jesus were employed in moving stock into the Hall. They laboured hard moving sacks of grain and boxes of supplies. A night of constant prayer had been declared and the beds from two of the dormitories were also moved to the storage area to allow the halls to be free from unnecessary furniture.
Deon was not surprised when Caroline asked him to finish whatever part of the Sargent case he was on and help with the final movement of furniture and goods around Unit the following day. This was not, however, to say that he was necessarily happy about it.
“It’s work for donkeys,” he moaned to Nasreen, as they pulled at a run of the fence that was starting to wilt towards the outside path. It gave the appearance that someone has tried to climb over its 2.5 metres, and Deon wondered who might have tried to break into their little community.
“I don’t understand why we need to maintain the fence now anyway,” the girl said as she tugged at the stake. No one seems to be making a final rush to get here.”
“Did you expect them to?”
“Well, yes,” she said with a slight laugh. “After all we’ve said and everyone we’ve told, I rather thought that we’d be getting busier. I thought people would flock to us. Caroline, I mean the Divine Caroline, thought so too, you know.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Because she’s had everyone move all the excess food and supplies to the chicken hall and left a huge area clear for new arrivals.”
‘Hall #3. It’s not a chicken hall.”
“Well, it smells of chickens.”
“Yeah, critical. I’ll tell her you said so.”
“And I’ll tell Caroline that you call her, ‘her’.”
“Ok, it smells. Now pull the stake back towards us, while I tie the wire back around. No, further to your left. No, your other left.”
“Shit, I stabbed myself.”
“Come here, let’s see.” Deon took the girl’s hand from beneath her arm where she had it pressed. A twist of wire had stuck into Nasreen’s palm and she watched the small trickle of blood with morbid fascination. His earlier life had not been a virtuous one, but from it Deon knew that there was always an easier way of doing anything. He looked at Nasreen marvelling at her wound. Her skin felt smooth and warm, and he wondered if he couldn’t have fixed the fence on his own. Shit, I’m lazy, he thought to himself. It was nothing more complicated than that, and being lazy wasn’t, as far as he knew, something that would stop him entering the kingdom of heaven. He just had so much trouble concentrating on things that didn’t interest him. Anyway, it was nice to have a pretty girl to help him, and now she was injured and he had something to make her feel better.
“Nasreen, it is time for a break from this persistent shit.” He looked down at the small wound in her palm. “It’s not too deep. It may throb if you catch it for a few days.” Then he remembered that everything would be completely fine in a day’s time. In the meantime he could take her mind off it for today. “Come on, sit over here for a second. By the hill you can’t be seen from Unit.” They walked along the length of the fence to the secluded spot and sat, watching the clouds roll overhead. Deon took out his autopipe and loaded it with a tablet. For a split second he lifted his head, thinking he’d heard someone call him, but it must have been the wind, as there was no one but himself and Nasreen visible. He clicked the apparatus into action and inhaled the beautifully corrupt air that it produced.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes were wide with fear and wonderment, and suddenly Deon became very sure that he was the only person in the complex that possessed such an item. Somehow he had always assumed that he’d just never seen anyone else’s. “You’re smoking,” she said, still apparently completely astonished.
“Tomorrow we shall walk in Paradise. Today, I feel like a smoke.” Deon looked across and winked, but guessed he wasn't winning any popularity awards her. “I take it that you don’t want one,” he said, holding out the slim silver pipe for her. Nasreen looked at it, for a second slightly unsure what to do. She reached across to take it, touching his hand for a moment and holding the moment too long. Then her mind was made up for her. The prayer bell sounded and she hastened back to the dorms. Deon followed more sluggishly, slipping the pipe back into its hiding place. Shit, shit, shit, he thought as he paced back to the complex. He had liked Nasreen but felt that his last chance of any kind of forbidden pleasure had been well and truly fucked by the smoking incident. Tomorrow I shall walk in Paradise, he repeated to himself. But sometimes he had to admit that he didn't seem quite the same as the rest of the Disciples. It preyed on his mind, like a name that you can’t quite recall. He quickened his pace and fell into the line of people marching to prayer. All you have to do, he thought to himself, echoing one of Caroline’s phrases, is accept and confirm.