Elijah's Chariot

They say the thing you feel most is the chill. It is an alien sensation, like someone pouring ice-water directly into the spine. Brycen Ford would disagree. It feels like the simultaneous loss and growth of a new limb; the bodily knowledge that something has changed but feeling that distinct emptiness only those with amputated limbs or phantom pains from childbearing could quantify. It is a solitary and unfamiliar sense, that toes the line between rational and insane.

Honestly, what would one expect when placing an ES-Port in at the base of your skull, permanently altering your spinal column? To house the capability to interface with any technology with a thought, sacrifices must be made. Nano-machines create pathways from the device to the ocular receptors, removing the need for screens to process information. The same machines latch themselves onto the auditory nerves to send electrical signals directly to the brain for crystal-clear audio.

Brycen slouches in his seat as the mag-train races closer to his destination. Every part of himself is at war, knowing what he is coming back home to and what he brings back with him. He feigns sleep to those around him, closing his eyes as his implant delivers him all the information he requested seamlessly. Brycen had just finished reading articles titled

“Scientists Confirm Deadly Solar Flare Incoming” and “Inbound Solar Flares Escalated to Cataclysmic Event, Nations Respond” as the train reached his station. He tries with every fiber of his being to let his research fuel his convictions that he is doing the right thing. He brushes his bronze hair away from his face and steels himself to rejoin The Ecclesia, the home he has violated with the technology in his body, and whom he desperately wishes to save.

The first thing that The Ecclesia teaches is the superiority of flesh. Brycen is quickly reminded of this fact as he and three peers his age are brought to the main Congregant Hall within the hour following their arrival home.

“There is no machine made, nor ever will be, that can compare to the senses of man.” The Architects themselves provided perfection in design to our species.” Hegemon Warwick, leader of The Ecclesia, stands upon an elevated stage so that all can hear. The primitive sound system embedded in the structure drops audio terribly, enough so that those several rows behind the front only get garbled conjecture that they deem just as inspired as those hearing the entire sermon in the front.

“Is it our complex nerve endings that gives us the finest dexterity and precision. When working with exact measurements, it has been proven time and again the implicit error of technology!” Those throughout the building nod and murmur amongst themselves, noisily agreeing and hanging on every word.

“Have we not shown in our blood, sweat, and tears the value of man-made ingenuity? Of the preeminence of humankind?!” The Hegemon spits and yells with righteous fervor as he slams his hand against the raw-carved stone pulpit he speaks behind. The crowd is boisterous in its reply, the fervor shared by those in attendance.

“It is by this baptism that we demonstrate our inward faith for all to see!” He gestures to the rectangular pool of water resembling a tub made from a translucent plastic holding water at waist height.

“The faithful enter the pool and submerge themselves. It is known that those with body modification, those unholy changes to corporeal limits, cannot withstand the plunge!”

He almost chokes on those words, at his obvious disgust for technology that everyone in attendance seems to taste as clearly as he can. Brycen tries desperately to contain the shudder he feels after those words. The Hegemon lingers for a moment in silence as he allows the feeling of perversion to echo through the room. After the moment passes, he continues and side-steps out of the way so the few standing behind him can be better seen by the rest of the congregation.

“One month ago, as is our tradition, we released these four of our brood just

turned 18 into the vile world outside of our belief. They are sent so that they can witness the sin and depravity of those who let the wires and screens of evil corrupt their very bodies!”

“They return to us with eyes opened and tested faith strengthened. Let us all bear witness to the baptism of our youth and welcome them as full members of our collective!”

It is a clamorous cry that throws itself against every wall in the vicinity, a cacophony of pride and zealotry. Of the four youth standing there, none of them seem out of sorts. They have, instead, a shared look of wonder and a twinkling in the eyes. They truly believe themselves to be bearers of a great truth and have come out of a great tribulation all the stronger. This unique blend of emotions is only a façade for Brycen as he follows the other teens to the front of the baptismal. A member of priestly Archons in a ceremonial robe of white and red presides over the ritual. The collar of their garment is the only thing that seems out of place. It is lined with archaic markings and jagged lines. Brycen recognizes its importance all too late. The Archons are smarter than he had thought in his haste and have retrofitted themselves with sensors to weed out possible contraband tech among the teens. Brycen prays to The Architects for assistance; if anyone would believe in his noble mission, he would hope that they would.

The moment had arrived, and Brycen was fraught with a cascade of emotions, the next more intense than the last. What if they find out what I’ve done? Are they going to kill me? Is there something else I should have done? Maybe I can still get out of here? As he struggles internally, the other three teens are baptized one-by-one. Brycen is shocked into attention as the Archon reaches out his hand, still wet from the previous baptisms, and places it on Brycen’s shoulder.

“It is going to be alright, dear boy.” His voice is soft, with lilting accentuations. “Rejoice in the fullness of your dedication to the faith.” The anxiety was nerve-wracking, every moment between blinks, Brycen looked from the man’s face to the electrical markings along his collar waiting for something to go wrong. He rolled his eyes once, then twice to make sure that the ES-Port interface was still off and had disconnected any outside signals. He took a deep breath in and out through his nose and began the short descent into the pool. The water was surprisingly warm, given how long to took for the others to go through. The comforting feeling of the water stopped at Brycen’s stomach. The Archon stood close to Brycen, giving the collar a chance to scan the boy before holding out his arm as he did with those baptized before him. Whether it is the antiquated nature of the collar’s tech or the stealth that the state-of-the-art device imparts, the reaction that Brycen waits for never occurs. The Archon smiles at him and, seeing that there is no reaction, offers his arm to the boy.

“Do you accept this rite as proof of your faith in The Ecclesia? That you hold to the teachings of The Architects and will act in the community’s best interests?” You have no idea, he thinks. I hope that this qualifies as “best interests”.

“I do.” Brycen nods to the man as he says it, lifting his shoulders and interlocking his hands onto the man’s wrist as the others before him had done.

“Then bask in the glory of baptism, my son, and welcome fully into the faith.” The man dunks Brycen into the water, holding him under for the same amount of time as the youth before. Contrary to Brycen’s expectations, the seal protecting the ES-Port is completely waterproof, to the dismay of the followers in view. None of them are the wiser for what has entered their community, and relief showers over Brycen as he lifts out of the water and walks out to claim the towel offered to him.

The easy part of this mess is over, ponders Brycen. Architects forgive me for

what comes next.

*********************

Late evening comes with a shallow hum of generator power and the cool breeze that rustles the nearby trees. Brycen restarts his ES-Port interface with a series of eye rolls and blinks. A HUD, invisible to the outside world, appears in his eyesight, bringing up the articles he was reading before on the train. “Scientists Confirm Deadly Solar Flare Incoming”, “Governments Cooperate in Unprecedented Effort to Complete Elijah’s Chariot” “Anonymous Winner for Elijah’s Chariot Lotto” Brycen readjusts the view and pulls up the info-post he received for Elijah’s Chariot.

**********

Congratulations on winning the Elijah’s Chariot Lottery!

Elijah’s Chariot is an Interloper Class ship, the first of its kind! Capable of withstanding the dangers of space, Elijah’s Chariot possesses State-of-the-art solar sails designed by Proximo Industries to vastly improve their ability to absorb and recycle solar energies for power. Global efforts have also produced brand new particle synthesizers, technology that will allow us to recreate items essential for our survival upon arrival. For those that desire it, an organic body can be synthesized and your data uploaded once certain parameters are met.

While the onboard navigation charts a course for the future, you will traverse the solar systems in style with two of our exceptional Dura-Cybern Packages: a Cybern android unit modified for deep space with patent-pending Eloc-Superior technology.

Each unit will hold your personal data, up to 10 Zetabytes.

We look forward to you joining us as we travel through the wonders of space!

**********

Brycen had been thinking long and hard about those few words, “…an organic body can be synthesized…” It was clear that this chance, given what was supposed to be coming, was The Ecclesia’s only hope of survival.

Will everyone understand what I’m trying to do? Will The Architects?

A large pit was forming in Brycen’s stomach, an unruly bundle of knots and nerves threatening to choke his resolve.

Is a synthetic body that different from the one I have now?

Brycen shook his head to himself, placing his fist against his lips and resting his elbow on his lap. Calculations and diagrams were running through his head, the ES-Port system providing him assistance with his every thought. Another bout of unease wracked his mind. Before, it was easy to condemn those outside of The Ecclesia and their reliance on technology to perform everyday tasks. Now, as the possibilities swarmed around the edges of Brycen’s conscious mind, he was starting to understand the draw.

Is it so wrong to use this kind of knowledge? I could look up anything I needed, and then do it myself; no robots or outside assistance would complete the task. Would that really be against the codex?

Brycen willed the electronic components in his mind to stretch to his fingertips, following the tutorial instructions to the letter as it was beamed to him. He felt the icy rush of nano-machines create additional pathways from his brain to his extremities and began to work. Flashes of movement from his fingertips and fluttering eye motions formed the necessary inputs to open the ES-Port’s weatherproof cover and Brycen pulled a small oblong device from its protective housing. The ebony tech shimmered in the moonlight as he rotated it between his fingers.

He felt like an abomination, pushing away the agnostic questioning from earlier and replacing it with a loathing disgust at himself and what he had become. He could never get back that innocent feeling, wondering why the rest of the world was so keen on ruining themselves to gain this power. Brycen downloaded the directions for using the strange device and, when it materialized in his view, he held back a rush of nausea creeping up his throat.

Autopsyan Mental Encoder

For Use if an ES-Port backup fails during autopsy

Step One: Place at the base of the neck and activate to sever brain stem.

Step Two: Begin Download Immediately after successful attachment to minimize loss of data.

NOTE: Ignore the bodily fluids during the duration of this process. It is a physical response to trauma and does not affect the result.

WARNING: USE ON LIVING SPECIMENS IS PROHIBITED

I…….I have……to kill them…. Brycen thought, dumbstruck; the nausea from before now down with a forced swallow. He had known that this infernal tech was dangerous, but was unprepared for the reality of it all. The encoder was a banned piece of tech made black-market. There were whispers that both criminal and law enforcement organizations used them as a last resort during interrogations to take a person’s memories. Some had even claimed they had stolen a person’s mind and implanted it into a worker drone as punishment. It was the latter gossip that peaked Brycen’s interest that would be the basis for his plan, though it took Brycen forever to find one and a fortune to procure.

The lottery had provided two tickets for Elijah’s Chariot with Dura-Cybern Packages. Giving away the second was a heavy price, but worth it if the plan succeeds. He was hoping to have someone with him during the journey, hopefully Danica Eaton. They were betrothed to each other at birth, though, Architects be praised, they fell in love on their own. She was going to be furious with him after all this. Hopefully, given some time, she would learn to forgive him.

The shock of the last revelation was starting to abate as the ES-Port flooded his mind with hormones. Brycen’s eyes hardened as he looked at himself via the mirror across from his bedside.

No one else can do what it takes to preserve our way of life. Even if they hate me for it, I’m going to make sure they live.

Brycen mentally checked the storage space in the ES-Port’s settings and was woefully high in his estimations. While the Cybern could hold Zetabytes, the ES-Port in his body could only store a few Petabytes. With the device’s help, he made the minute calculations to see what that could mean. After a few seconds, the results blinked back at him.

10 People. The device can hold only 10 people.

Nothing was going according to plan. If it wasn’t bad enough that he had to kill his friends and family to save them, but now he was killing some of them twice. First, when he used the Encoder to save their minds and now, those he didn’t choose would die all the same to the solar flare. The swell of various reactions made Brycen’s head swim. Panic was starting to set in, as he began hyperventilating and clutching his elbows tightly towards his chest. With no hope of a way out of this, he leaned into the invasive technology’s cold calculations and welcomed another dose of emotion-suppressing hormones. Despite wanting to save every person he could, Brycen was forced to think practically as well as emotionally.

The ES-Port scanned through his thoughts and memories and offered the ten candidates it believed fulfilled the imperative provided: Both his and Danica’s families, and three senior members holding important roles within The Ecclesia, two male and one female. Hegemon Warwick was surprisingly off the list. As he questioned the choices, a litany of reasons supporting the choices appeared for Brycen to read; Genetic Diversity, Religious Knowledge, and Ease of Access being chief among them. Brycen cross-referenced the list and, just as it had informed, all the candidates shared the same parish. With his family in the same room, it made the most sense to start there.

If he was going to do this, he had to start now.

The layout of the living arrangements was bare and spartan, a utilitarian design to house without frills. Each family bunks with several others, totaling 50 persons in identical buildings called parishes laid out in a semi-circle. Each family has its own room with bunkbeds and a restroom, surrounding a unified kitchen space.

Brycen tread as silently as he possibly could, unaware of the extra care the nano-machines were doing in his feet to muffle his steps against the floor. His father’s bed was closest and provided the bonus of his facing away from Brycen in prime position. Pausing for a moment, Brycen softly pressed the obsidian tool to base of his father’s neck and mentally activated it. A blast of blood and spinal fluid erupted from the site and onto Brycen as he felt the sudden impact under his fingers. Tears streamed down his face as the download commenced and the ES-Port projected his father’s vitals into his irises. Electrical impulses flared and heartbeats elevated, as his father’s body fought to stay alive. Labored breaths turned to quiet gasps. The download was complete moments later, and Brycen removed the now-wet Encoder from the body clinging desperately to life.

The unique sensation of another mind within one’s own is altogether indescribable. Brycen, with help from the ES-Port, mentally built a space to house the other consciousness away from his own, akin to a library with locked doors. The alien feeling was maddening but, thankfully, his father’s thoughts were still dreaming and did not entirely lash out during the process. If the joining of technology to himself did not affect his psyche, the addition of another person certainly had; and he would have to do these 8 more times.

“Brother, what are you doing?” The timid voice of his younger sister was like a siren to Brycen. She was rubbing the tiredness from her eyes at the foot of the bunk beside him. He turned to her, still covered in bodily fluids with a look of both vacancy and deep sorrow.

“I’m saving us, little pup. I’m saving us.”