Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy: Volume I) Read online

  Chapter 10

  Antone removed his link visor and rubbed his aching temples. The marketing term reviewed and approved by his legal team 'Your ability to learn is limited only by your desire' held new and pertinent meaning. He had widened the pipe as fast as humanly possible. His capacity to learn beyond most, digesting the advanced principles of quantum field theory in a few hours was too tall an order, even for him.

  Frustrated, he turned the swivel chair away from Stalling's desk and peered out the glass-paneled north wall of the high-ceiling office. Poised just above the evergreen rainforest surrounding the entire campus, he set his mind free amongst the treetops in effort to calm the tempest stirring in his heart.

  He hated to wait on anyone, especially on Stalling. The man left him in a lurch of confusion so often, expecting immediate and complete absorption of the latest developments upon his return.

  Who am I kidding? I live for action, and no one produces it better than Stalling. It was filling the time in-between that I hate.

  He could have kept busy while he waited. The list of projects, crucial to the operations and expansion of Alterian Enterprises, never seemed to end. From the active recruitment and growth of their human telecommunications network, to the prioritizing of the next suite of educational programs, to the expansive entrainment library, it all needed Antone's seal of approval.

  The thought of work relaxed Antone. It evoked a rare smile of satisfaction. He lived for challenges, regardless of the inherent difficulties found in any of them. For Antone, work provided peace from a chaotic world, a sense of control that kept him sane. He was a fixer, taking on the challenges no one else wanted, turning conflict into usable parts for the great A.E. machine. He helped shape and realize a better future.

  A minor twinge of panic invaded his thoughts, and he did his best to suppress the lethal emotion. For the "fix" to the biggest challenge A.E. had ever faced continued to elude him. Instinct, backed by years of firsthand experience, told him the Stalling would find a solution. A solution that in all likelihood would require Antone's unique skill set. But not since Stalling Alterian provided him a new lease on life had Antone struggled in his belief that the Universe conspired to make his world a better place.

  Anger pushed aside panic and once again strived to consume his thoughts. The familiar emotion had once ruled Antone’s life, dictating his impulsive and often violent actions. But that was before Stalling or Janison came into his life.

  Born Ecifrican, Antone belonged to the lowest rung of Antium's ancient caste system. His anger originated from the frequent and flagrant injustices dealt by the Drakarleans to his long-conquered race. Stalling provided Antone a means by which to channel that energy toward a bigger cause, a gift he thanked the Universe for every day.

  Janison's betrayal had derailed him from that cause, stoking embers of fury long dormant. Overwhelmed by volatile emotions, he was useless in contributing to the process of visualizing a solution, a role he desired beyond words. Janison's deceit made Antone question his core abilities, robbing him of his much-needed semblance of control. The deceitful act had tainted his optimistic vision of the future. Worst of all, it had caused Antone to second-guess core beliefs.

  Do not dwell on that which you cannot control, the outcome of the situation and my future relationship with Janison depend on how I react now.

  Despite the insightful reminder, rage continued to mount as he retraced Janison's steps over the past year. What made it so damned personal was the painful fact that for any of Janison's plans to work, it required slipping past Antone and his extensive security measures. A feat accomplished by conscious choice to betray hard-earned trust.

  Antone’s pride in his work was not a secret. Few understood this intimate layer of his persona better than Janison. Where Stalling provided Antone with a life changing opportunity, Janison provided him the guidance to realize it. Janison was the person Antone turned to when his pride flamed his competitive drive and threatened to consume the creative divinity within. Janison taught Antone to trust in a higher power, to alter his perception of control. His friend managed to find love in everything.

  Still unsettled, he kept his mind’s eye transfixed on the trees within the forest, incapable of discerning the growth of one conifer branch from the other. The elusive vista reminded Antone of how he had changed over such a short period. He retraced all the little miracles that had led him to this moment. The exercise strengthened his confidence. It reminded him that it was his decisions at those crucial junctures creating his current reality, not Janison.

  Recharged, Antone discarded his thoughts of vengeance and went back to channeling his energy toward what he could control. Janison’s departure meant Antone would have to pick up the slack. To do that, he had to educate himself in Janison's fields of expertise as best as possible in what time remained. He placed his visor back on and restarted the entrainment program. Wasteful thoughts soon dispersed, removed from his mind as the familiar pressure mounted behind his optic nerves. Brainwaves settled between the alpha-theta stages as his synaptic connections hummed with activity. He embraced the enhanced process of learning as his link visor streamed the basic protocols of quantum theory.

  Five minutes into the arduous session, Nancy's voice cut over. "Sorry to interrupt, but you asked me to update you on any new developments."

  He paused, more grateful for the distraction than he cared to admit. "No worries. What is it?"

  "A representative from Archbishop Clortison's cabinet is insisting he meet with Stalling."

  "Who is the representative?"

  "Cardinal Thortizan."

  Stalling had brought Antone up to speed on his brief meeting with Clortison earlier that afternoon. As usual, he understated the outcome when he said, "Things were left incomplete." No doubt about it, Thortizan smelled blood in the water.

  "Tell 'em the usual, he's currently occupied and will get back to them according to priority."

  "Give me some credit Antone, I've told them that a half a dozen times since Stalling left them the hanging. I think you will want to see today's mass service broadcast."

  What has got her so rattled? Capable of making decisions at the highest altitudes, only the big picture issues made it past Stalling's golden gate keeper.

  On impulse, Antone switched to the satellite surveillance feed of the campus. Pedestrian traffic across the central park had trickled down to a few dozen people as most had started to clear out for the weekend. He switched his view to the surveillance cameras within each of the facilities and after quick survey of the three dozen buildings, concluded the same. The forty-acre campus would be empty in a few hours.

  He panned out for a broader view of the campus, nestled at the edge of the large island's secluded rainforest. Antone followed the main magnarail leading to and from the campus, down the mountain where it fed into the primary bypass surrounding the coastal city of Gestrafa. The city was home to the forty thousand employees and their families stationed at Alterian headquarters. Antone did a quick survey of the gridded street map. He moved from the suburban developments skirting the bypass to the downtown area running parallel to the city's cliff coastline. All looked peaceful as patrons began to fill the plentiful cafes, restaurants and theaters. It seemed to be business as usual in their little utopian corner of the world.

  "What's the problem?" he finally replied.

  "See for yourself," she said as the left quadrant of his view screen blinked with the link.

  As was the case with most church broadcasts, the setting was in the historic temple of Deltoria. Clortison sat in his ornate cathedra. He was dressed in his vestments reserved for formal occasions, flanked by his cabinet in similar attire. Antone fast-forwarded through the forty-five minute liturgical dog and pony show. He stopped as Clortison began his sermon to the thousands sitting in the pews before him and the millions watching from their telipads around the world.

  "Rejoice! A new age is upon us!" Clortison’s profound statem
ent generated a frenzied mumble within the congregation. With the raised palm of his right hand, he silenced the discord.

  "Scripture teaches we are all God's creatures endowed with eternal life. We, God's chosen leaders, desire a culture of life, not death." Clortison paused with a theatrical expression that he washed over both physical and virtual congregation. Nauseated, Antone fought the temptation to hit delete.

  Patience Antone, they will know the true meaning of 'culture of life' soon enough.

  "Unfortunately, some oppose our divine leadership, setting our beloved institution aside in the name of freedom and autonomy. They claim God's ordained scripture is no longer relevant to our modern era; that man should choose their path, not the one chosen by your creator. Is this what our species considers progress? Is the eternal damnation of millions of souls the next step in our spiritual evolution? This is regression, not conversion to belonging fully to God. Nay, it is a consecration with the Evil One himself!"

  This sermon has got a sharper edge compared to their normal defensive posture. Janison's betrayal was a potential momentum shifter and so far, the C.O.S was leveraging it just right.

  "We, the church of your eternal salvation, implore all of its followers to embrace the true freedom bestowed by the gospel of our one and only beloved Savior. Presently, I read to you from the book of Leviatus, chapter 3, verses 1-5, ‘And I will return unto you. My return marks the dawn of a new age, ushered in by God's chosen. All hail the end of ignorance! Embark on this new journey, confident all false direction will be revealed. Beware of the false prophets, those among you who choose to advance man's agenda over that of God.’"

  "Search your hearts and pray for the peaceful deliverance of our destined golden age. Pray the almighty reveals these false prophets to our beloved church. Until we commune again, I will devote body and soul to receive the Lord's holy message. Praise be to Leviatus."

  Antone closed the video in disgust. Up to today, Stalling, helped in large part by Antone's conniving mind, had stayed three steps ahead of the C.O.S. All attempts to date by the church to portray Stalling as the bad guy had failed. In part because everything Stalling and A.E. had provided Antium over the past decade has been completely benevolent. It also helps when your adversary's response to each new initiative is both pathetic and predictable.

  Of course they resorted to what they did best, throwing their totalitarian weight around in attempt to make the problem go away. But Stalling succeeded day one in avoiding this trap. He did so by scaling wall after wall of bureaucratic bullshit, leveraging the full extent of his in-depth knowledge of Drakarle’s quasi-capitalistic society. So long as they played by the rules, the C.O.S., up till now, had to do the same. Before the C.O.S. knew what hit them, there was no stopping the runaway train of Alterian Enterprises.

  They can’t make laws for something they don’t understand. Did Janison provide them enough information to go forward with their hostile takeover? And what of the ultimate mission?

  "Contact us. Now!" the voice message attached to the file said. The simple message caused Antone to cringe, recognizing Cardinal Thortizan as the owner of the voice. He forwarded the link and message to Stalling and attached his own that said: "I'll deal with this."

  He synced back to Nancy. "Thank you Nancy. As usual, your judgment is spot on. Send the Cardinal a secure address and inform him Stalling will meet with him in five minutes."

  "Understood," Nancy replied.

  Antone studied the double glass doors located in the middle of the room’s west wall. Behind those ebony tinted doors was the "Meditation Chamber". Used for many purposes, meditation was rarely one of them. Antone visualized the room he helped design. He pictured Stalling as he sat in the recliner and applied the latest technological advancement produced by the project.

  It was coming up on an hour since Stalling entered the room. Antone figured it would be at least another half hour before he had completed his rendezvous with Janison. He would be exhausted by the effort when he was done and far from being capable or willing to deal with Thortizan for some time after.

  Until they discovered a solution to save Muzar, Antone conclude he had to do what he could to keep the C.O.S. from forcing their hand. As valiant as his crash course attempt to learn the science behind the project was, he knew it would do little to help the fast approaching emergency procedure. In this moment, he provided the most value by negotiating with the C.O.S.

  I can only hope Stalling will conclude the same.

  "The Cardinal has responded and is waiting for Stalling's arrival," Nancy reported.

  "Understood," Antone said, taking a deep breath.

  This is what you do best, read and react. Keep the vision on the forefront and trust your gut.

  Antone opened the address Nancy provided and materialized in the virtual room an instant later. In lieu of the mundane conference room normally reserved for meetings with the C.O.S., Nancy chose the virtual copy of Stalling's office.

  Located in the east corner, he sat in a contemporary leather couch facing Cardinal Thortizan sitting across from him in one of identical design. Thortizan was leaned back, his arms stretched across the back of the couch with his feet propped up on the glass coffee table placed between them. He appeared to be enjoying the virtual vista of the rainforest.

  He pulled his attention away from the scenic view upon Antone's arrival but remained in the same, casual position. At the sight of Antone, a wave of disgust beyond imitation washed across his face and long body.

  "What business do you have here Ecifrican scum? Don't you know there's no trash to be taken out in the virtual world?" Thortizan savored the insult with an evil chuckle as he put his feet to the floor. He then placed elbows on knees and intersected his manicured fingers. Leaning across the table, he pointed his index fingers at Antone's crooked nose. "If your master has any sense, his ass had better materialize in your place in the next few seconds or a bad situation will get much, much worse."

  Antone stared into the other’s eyes, allowing the silence to fill the room, enjoying the unexpected but welcome boost to his optimism. After a decade of battling his counterpart behind the scenes, he could not have been more pleased with the start of their first 'in person' encounter.

  Granted, Antone was leveraging his technological advantage to decipher the true meaning behind Thortizan's words. The virtual tool reflected an internal confidence consistent with the outward. The man's prejudice toward the Ecifrican race meshed into the very fiber of Thortizan's being. All-in-all, the cocksure bigot on the outside mirrored a more disturbing, internal image.

  It was respect for Antone as an adversary, revealed by his virtual talent, no matter how begrudged it may be, that filled Antone with satisfaction. Never did the man before him, Antone realized with pride, ever imagine an Ecifrican as more than an indentured servant. Antone relished the reluctant validation bestowed by his enemy a bit longer, prideful of his role in reducing the C.O.S. dynasty to what it was today.

  "Stalling Alterian has provided me the full authority to make decisions on his behalf both now and in the future," Antone lied. "He wishes to convey his utmost respect for you and your colleagues and his desire to find an amicable solution to our current conflict."

  Thortizan appeared to reflect on Antone's words as he leaned back into the couch in one fluid motion. Dressed in a stunning, argent colored, fitted silk suit, his thin lips formed a cocky smirk as he observed Antone. Younger looking 'in person', Antone figured they were the same age, give or take a year. Thortizan was a prototypical Drakarlean: tall and lean with wide shoulders, thick, jet-black hair that curled in waves at the base of his neck, olive skinned with hazel-green eyes framed by high cheek bones and pointed chin. True to his order, he wore no facial hair but his five o'clock shadow outlined a rich beard.

  "This arrangement is unacceptable. We both know this. I mean, really, how do you expect my superiors to take anything that transpires between the two of us seriously?"

 
Antone leaned back in his own couch, casually crossed his legs and folded his hands around the top of his knee. "How you report to your superiors is not my concern. Frankly, we have reached a point in our dealings with you and those you represent where the returned value has diminished. Significantly. Have details surrounding our situation changed? Do you have something new to propose?"

  He was grateful Thortizan did not possess the same means to detect emotions. Antone's assessment of the situation dictated the need to bluff early. He remained confident in the decision but his anxiety mounted as he gazed into Thortizan's calculating eyes, uncertain as to how his adversary would respond.

  "Antone Lartisent, Alterian Enterprise's poster child! Oh, and let us not forget, author of the 'Manifesto of the Oppressed Ecifrican'. Look at you," Thortizan said, pointing at Antone with open palms and an exaggerated shrug. "You actually believe in the facade Stalling has built around you. So sad. So pathetic. Tell me, is it better to have tasted the life of God's chosen, even if only for the briefest moment? Or to remain ignorant to what can never be, much in how your countryman choose to live. I guess you will learn soon enough."

  He's a cool one, I'll give him that. His primal respect keeps his knee jerk revulsion of me in check, preventing his self-centered existence from taking the bait. Let's see what happens when I let the line out a little.

  "This must be hard for you," Antone replied, confident his smug smile would relay the truth of his words to follow. "I mean, it’s one thing to eat the shit sandwich A.E. has served up to you and your department over the years. But knowing it was delivered by an Ecifrican, well, I don't know how you live with yourself. As we sit here in person, I will admit, the joy of kicking your ass for the past decade has provided more pleasure than I ever imagined."

  Antone detected a subtle twitch in Thortizan's right eyebrow before the man turned to face the evergreen vista. "Did you know I am a direct descendant of the Knights Vorenian, Order of St. Vorenius of Drakarle? There are over five thousand of us. We are the purest bloodlines, tracing our family line for thousands of years, all the way back to the Order's formation. Indeed," he continued, turning back to face Antone, "my direct ancestor was none other than our founder and first Grand Master, Sir Bron Thorthauser. Our beloved Apostle Drestan’s first born son."

  Despite himself, the sound of the name sent a shiver down Antone's back.

  "Yes," Thortizan said, enjoying Antone's repulsed response at hearing the name. "You now see how your manifesto's demonic depiction of the great knight would conflict with my own. We, those of us who preserve all the Vorenian Order stood for, uphold Sir Bron 'The Wicked One' Thorthauser as the most holy of champions. The only blemish of his long list of achievements for the Church, in our humble opinions, was the failure in his campaign to extinguish every last Ecifrican from the face of the planet."

  Antone's mouth had gone dry as blood pulsed hot along his ears and neck.

  Spurred by the Antone’s visible rush of anger, Thortizan drove salt into the exposed wound. "You see, my great ancestor recognized your great ancestor's recalcitrant resistance to Drakarle as nothing short of a plague. How could God's Chosen rule the world when there were so many pagans openly opposed to our doctrine? And as you eloquently reminded everyone in your pathetic manifesto, none of the Church's leaders at the time disagreed."

  "Ahhh, what glorious times it must have been," Thortizan said, leaning back into his original, relaxed position. His eyes turned up in his skull, half shut, as he imagined that gruesome age. "Think of it, commanding ten legions of the world's most advanced warriors of the day, with one objective: rid the world of the Evil One's spawn. Oh, how I look forward to our ritual meetings when we reenact the canonized butchery of the Ecifrican Crusades. An experience greatly enhanced thanks to your link visors and Auranet I might add." He lifted his hands above shoulders and waved them around the room.

  Leaning forward again, looking left, then right, he spoke in a mock whisper. "Between you and me, it’s still not enough. As realistic as our setting today may be, we both know deep inside it is not real. Nothing beats the real thing. So every so often, I collect a few Ecifrican servants, you know, the ones relegated to the hazardous labor, the ones no one will miss. A child or two, sick but not so weak they can't give a good chase. A young maiden or two to make the whole 'rape and pillage' bit as authentic as possible."

  Thortizan absently wiped a dab of spittle with the back of his hand that had escaped out the side of his crooked sneer.

  "A few of my fellow knights do the same and we put the lot together on some isolated island. We even build a few shacks; provide some food, some basic tools, all the trimmings to make it look like an Ecifrican settlement of yesteryear. After week or so, I gather the boys." Without a skip in his cadence, the image of Thortizan's three adolescent sons appeared above the table, a glimmer of pride washing over his face. "My comrades do the same with their scion and we set our camp outside the makeshift settlement. Dressed in our replica armor, armed with our replica weapons—I've taken a preference to the flanged mace, renowned for its proficient violence—we commence with our God given right, nay duty, to rid the world of evil."

  He leaned back, as if communing with close acquaintances at the country club. "You cannot imagine how therapeutic the exercise has been for all us. It's the only thing keeping us sane over the centuries as we patiently wait the Savior's second coming; when we can finally finish the job our ancestors started so long ago."

  The rush of anger turned into a dull throb at the base of Antone’s throat by the time Thortizan finished describing his demented actions. Antone knew, if not for the virtual setting, he would have not had the perseverance to control the impulse to lock his hands around the man's throat and crush the life from his body. On the brink of going berserk on the man as he was, the imposed patience shed light on a much larger and insidious threat. A threat to the vision he swore to stay focused on before engaging this malevolent creature.

  Thortizan knew that, despite the formality of signing our terms, they would keep a private record of the meeting. Their use of condemning sound bites, spoken by various cabinet members and high ranking Church officials had been a key intangible used to sway Drakarle’s growing liberal sector. All of that incriminating intel combined is but a fraction of what the third highest-ranking cabinet member just confided.

  Antone had maintained his cool composure throughout Thortizan's insane soliloquy. Somehow the man across from him saw through the facade, as if he had acquired Antone's technological advantage.

  Janison, that sanctimonious son-of-bitch, turned the tables on us. This pious piece of shit no longer fears anything from us.

  Worse, and the source of the knot gripping his stomach, unlike Stalling, he had little doubt that Thortizan would deliver the deathblow to his adversary. Antone found a level of respect for Thortizan in that moment. When it came to matters of survival, they were kindred spirits.

  Antone glared at Thortizan and considered the subtle implications behind his words. History, written by the victors, described how, one by one, Antium’s ancient civilization, outside of Ecifrica, chose assimilation into Drakarle's blue print for society. And why not? Drakarle offered to share their superior technology along with the promise of an open, free trade, world market. All they required in return was the complete and devout acceptance of Drakarle’s preordained, divine station as God’s chosen people. A small price to pay for those budding societies in exchange for peace.

  Of course, that same history omits the occupation of Drakarle's advanced military might in each province prior to any choice being "given". The thought sparked his own jaded prejudices, awakening his natural impulse to fight, to survive. It was time to turn this conversation around and buy them a few precious hours.

  "I have often wondered how well the warriors of those other ancient societies fought against your Vorenian Knights," Antone baited. Thortizan looked that of a cat, tired of playing with its food, ready to get down to the bu
siness of eating. However, as Antone predicted, the slight raise of his brow in response to the odd statement had peaked his curiosity.

  "What of the skirmishes that never got recorded by Drakarle's historian monks. Combat I am certain your order has kept record of in detail. The battles that invariably occurred before and after the leaders of each society accepted Drakarle's tainted partnership. Those powerful minorities of each once proud society, who chose to die free over a life of bondage and servitude. Did they fight as hard as the Ecifricans?"

  "After all, history does record some semblance of military prowess by the other races before aligning with Drakarle. Many possessed advanced technology that rivaled your own. For example, the Maltenoise swords sitting in museums for the past two thousand years are said to be sharp enough to cut a two-inch thick titanium rod. Surely the Maltenoise had warriors to match such exquisite craftsmanship."

  Thortizan, still lounged in couch, moved his hand across his mouth and chin as he pondered Antone's words. Antone probed the man for any signs of weakness. While Thortizan remained cool and confident, he appeared genuinely intrigued by the subject. But this was no revelation, Antone had dedicated himself over the years learning everything possible about Cardinal Thortizan.

  Case in point, he was well aware of the Vorenian Order's not so clandestine meetings. He had studied the graphic virtual reenactments, though he was unaware of and shocked by Thortizan's real life indulgences. Thortizan's pride in his violent heritage and consequential passion for ancient weaponry had been a subject of great interest to Antone. As a result, he was aware of the Cardinal possessing at least two Maltenoise swords for his personal collection.

  With a faint nod, Thortizan permitted Antone to continue his thoughts. "But alas, I always come to the same realization whenever I ponder the subject. Unlike our Sidropan and Maltenoise counterparts, we Ecifricans did not fear the heart of our neighbors. Quite the contrary, our budding society was built on the trust of man. That, with conscious practice and determined actions, we would treat others as we desire in kind."

  "Unfortunately, my forefathers could not hold out against Drakarle's military machine to realize that philosophy in their lifetime. But the spirit of it perseveres today in people like me. We stand for equality. Alterian Enterprises embodies that vision. We both know there are many among you who share this view and desire true change. Stalling's endeavors have fanned the flames of reform. We welcome and desire a future that includes Drakarle's leadership but to do so, a paradigm shift from the top must occur."

  "I implore you Cardinal Thortizan," Antone said with as much respect for the man as he could muster, "let us spend our remaining time mapping out a win-win partnership that we can both take action on in the near future."

  Antone patted himself on the back, proud of how well he had tucked his emotions away under such strenuous circumstances. His elation did not last long as he searched Thortizan's aura to read his emotional response. Any shred of respect for Antone keeping his true feelings in check had dissipated. In its place was a storm of rage and hate that startled Antone with both its abruptness and strength.

  Somehow, Thortizan's outward response remained calm and level. "Amazing," he whispered, probing Antone as if looking at an alien creature. "The scripture warns us of the Evil One's ability to deceive but you, I will confess, are something beyond my imagination. To think it would live and breathe amongst us in such open blasphemy yet hide its deceit to so many devout using butchered scripture of our one and only Savior. Truly amazing."

  Antone detected enough awe in the words to know Thortizan believed what he said.

  "Despite all I have to be grateful for in life, I have so often struggled to find my true purpose, God's ultimate intention for my soul. Meeting with you today, I now have clarity on that purpose. The reason I felt driven to harden my heart in preparation for the final battle with the evil yet to come. Evil Incarnate has truly evolved into something only a select few of us in today's soft world are equipped to deal with. Thank you Antone, this exercise today has been most beneficial toward our final preparations."

  The genuine gratitude detected in his words sickened Antone.

  "Trust me when I tell you this: You will know the fear of God the next time we meet."

  Antone swore he saw the devil wink at him from the depths of Thortizan's eye in that moment, right before the man vanished from the room.