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  Fortunately enough, by the that time, Leia’s boat had sailed to a safer distance. The enemy had also turned their attention to toying with those in the water and on the beach. Young Sallace watched as the distant shoreline turned red. Retribution was a new sensation he had just experienced.

  For Alexshi, his destiny would be influenced by the coming night. As his mother slept on the ship’s deck, Alexshi gazed upwards for the first time towards the heavens. Sparkling starlight began to install a sense of wonder. He learned that the power of thought could override and divert those of traumatic experiences.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sallace’s story

  A young survivor of war never continues life unscathed in some way. Old enough to understand what his eyes dared see, the potential trauma was maximal in influence.

  For years would the nightmares of death and destruction haunt his dreams. Within time, those thoughts turned into a reversal of destructive administration.

  Sallace arrived on England’s shores with his mother and brother. His ability to speak both English and Arabic was indispensable. It secured his family’s rapid transition from an immigration centre to an independent flat within London. However, to stay, Leila had to renounce her former religion and convert to Christianity.

  Their apartment was damp, dull and mouldy. Few possessions adorned it except for the simplest of luxuries. Their furniture had first passed through an innumerable number of households.

  At twelve years of age, Sallace entered school. He held little interest in any subjects. At thirteen and in high school, he came across propaganda for the Alliance. And from that moment, he hoped to join the youth’s military service. His mother wouldn’t allow it, of course, so Sallace protested by evading school altogether. Leila had no choice but to surrender to her son’s wishes.

  Sallace settled in the academy from day one. His experiences had desensitised him to the brutalities of war. Nothing could dissuade him from going ahead.

  His determination matched that of his physique, towering over peers, none could hinder progress.

  When fourteen, and six feet tall at two-hundred-and-ten pounds, he dared challenge those above his rank and grade.

  His Captain admired such strength. Sallace’s brutish behaviour saw him climb the ranks at a rapid pace instead of the usual disciplinary actions prescribed to others.

  At seventeen, Sallace became the face of the Alliance’s propaganda for the English branch. He found an insatiable sense of fame, fortune and respect.

  In 2096, Sallace’s chance at retribution had arrived. As a general, he could spearhead the first wave of attacks by the English division.

  Upon the shores of Saudi Arabia’s south coast, Sallace landed with his unit’s infantry. They took the beach within half an hour. The Empire’s main southern resistance was its navy, but it had crumbled before the land invasion began.

  There, Sallace found a new enemy: the heat. Sunstroke took its toll on the invaders within hours, equalling a total as those that died in battle. Later, disease became rampant on both sides, killing countless more.

  As other units and countries pulled back, Sallace pushed on. He later joined the retreat after seeing the Captain he’d befriended as a teen receive a bullet to the chest. Sallace ran with the Captain over his shoulder to a medical facility. He would survive.

  Although disappointed, stories of his heroic actions gave him a continued sense of notoriety – the novelty of which wouldn’t last. For all the lives saved, he would have traded them all to decimate the Caliphate.

  Back at home, his world was about to undergo drastic changes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Alexshi’s story

  Alexshi’s experiences in El Hamam affected him in a very different way. It gave him a realistic perception of human nature. Many children have an innocent and positive view of those around them, unaware that many hold the potential to cause harm. And for this reason, he would avoid dabbling with strangers in general. It required a concerted effort on behalf of others to gain his trust.

  Instead of retribution, Alexshi sought to change the world. Science had a profound ability to change the world for the better. And so, he sought to identify the main problem and rectify it. There was nothing he could do about population numbers, but recognised energy – or the lack of it – as a leading issue.

  Like most children of profound curiosity, he tore anything and everything apart to understand their function. As Sallace dropped out of school, Alexshi had already dedicated himself.

  At fourteen years of age, the government scrapped all financial support for students. Only the rich could afford to have their children in school. The news broke Alexshi’s heart.

  When semi-famous Sallace learnt of his brother’s misfortune, he paid for Alexshi to continue receiving an education. A request for more money to perform his experiments was met with, “Don’t push your luck.”

  The combination of events had secured Alexshi’s appreciation and desire to perform his utmost at school. In fact, he would achieve grades that were the envy of his class. Alexshi’s lack of inherited privilege added insult to his peers. His introverted nature was also misconstrued as snobbery.

  At seventeen, Alexshi was accepted into Cambridge University to study physics and engineering. To avoid unwanted attention, he changed his name to ‘Alexander,’ or ‘Alex”, to shake the stigma associated with being a foreigner. The new environment meant new classmates. He could better fleece his societal status and proceed unabated.

  University changed some of Alex’s perceptions about people upon finding friends with similar aspirations. He was far from alone for the first time in his life.

  Alex made a concerted effort to develop his social skills. Specific methods weren’t his cup of tea, such as playing sports. One process involved sitting among strangers in the library, but the table required at least one friend as an excuse to join. It was his dream to get hushed by a librarian.

  One day, he found all the tables saturated with students – except for one. A young woman sat alone on a ten-seater table. Those in search of a seat would overlook her. And so, in need of a station, he took a deep gulp before approaching. There were little urges to abort, but a compulsion to stick with an original decision took precedence.

  Alex recognised the lone student but wasn’t a hundred percent sure. His stare prompted her to look up.

  “Are you here to make fun because I can assure you, I’ve heard them all?”

  Alex shrugged around nervously in his seat. “Not at all.” He paused to formulate his words and execute them without appearing idiotic. “Are you that biology student?”

  “That biology student? Yes, I am that biology student,” she said with a sarcastic tone.

  She was Angela McPherson; a biology undergrad found strolled across the front page of the university’s latest magazine. In that issue, she was chastised for her objection to creationist teachings in place of evolution. She was labelled a ‘godless infidel,’ making anyone associated with her get dubbed immoral. The school didn’t expel her because they felt she could be corrected.

  Alex sought to gain her trust. “You know, they also place stories from Genesis in Physics.”

  Angela relaxed her tense expression. “And what did you think of it?”

  “Honestly? A load of bollocks,” he said with a quirky smile.

  At that moment, Angela could begin to trust Alex. They would befriend one another for a year before initiating an intimate relationship. And still, the studies came first, keeping their heads low and papers stacking.

  Alex later accepted a doctorate position at a particle research facility in Webley, London. It served as a research tool for high powered weapons. No institution remained for who’s vested interests involve an unlocking of the universe’s secrets. It wouldn’t stop him trying.

  Angela experienced no such fortune and thrown into a sea of obscurity by the lack of career opportunities. She followed Alex deep into the bowels of London. A
place she hoped to avoid.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Angela’s story

  Alex’s education had earned him a career. And with that came a salary. The level of income received was enough to buy a modest home and raise a healthy family.

  On March the third 2107, he became a father to a child they named Mezox Watson. The young boy would grow in what was labelled a privileged lifestyle.

  Four years later, Angela had finally received a job offer. For the previous five months, a new disease had taken dozens of lives and mounting. Most victims were children.

  The government required an immediate solution. They feared that the outbreak might heighten religious hysteria. The Church would exploit such superstitious arousals in a bid to gain support and ultimately more power.

  Meanwhile, fresh and enthusiastic, Angela struck the ground running by identifying the disease a few days after initiation. She discovered that a single-celled amoeba, Naegleria fowleri, was responsible. Under normal circumstances, a patient could survive if caught early. However, the parasite wouldn’t succumb to conventional treatments. And the host would be dead within a week post infection.

  After months of investigation, she would discover the organism’s American origins. A warmer climate meant its wider proliferation.

  A swimmer’s compromised when it reaches the olfactory receptors of their nasal cavity. From there, it would work its way to the brain and continue feeding. London’s new strain had an accelerated metabolism. It could enter through cuts, scratches and any exposed receptors. One could find themselves infected via physical contact with the host.

  The unveiling of genetic alterations could reveal a drug target. As part of an update on the findings, she wrote an article that detailed mutations in two genes. She didn’t shy away from describing them as the product of evolutionary adaptations despite her awareness of its provocative nature.

  As predicted, a vocal minority of fundamentalists opposed it. The Church was incensed because the article hadn’t gone through their editors, but straight to the publishers.

  Angela had another problem; the pharmaceutical industry was almost dead. Three members of parliament supported the need for its revitalisation. That vocal side opposed it, believing their deity should dictate one’s fate. The Archbishop hijacked the issue to lay claim to his legitimacy as head of state.

  The feud had widened societal divisions. You were either for an ecclesiastical rule or not.

  A new movement evolved to challenge the Archbishop’s bid for power. It became known as the Secular Democracy Party. The Church deemed it illegitimate and illegal.

  Angela was the inspirational core of the new party, and therefore the centre of a hate campaign. Her labs were often vandalised, setting back any progress. She would vary her time of arrival and departure. It made her movements unpredictable. However, some would recognise her and administer verbal abuse.

  Alex begged his wife to surrender her job. To Angela, it would mean capitulating to the theocrats. She remained resolute, hoping to overcome England’s tendencies toward epistemophobia and gather political support.

  One late evening on the twelfth of June 2113, Angela prepared to leave for home. Glassware was set to soak, and cultures began to grow. She closed the window as rain crashed upon its open pane. A flash of lightning felt ominous as she gazed out onto a blackened street. The storm was a welcome occurrence. It allowed her to travel as others sought shelter or wilted their heads. The weather often dictated her fluid timetable.

  Out of the labs, she made her way a stairwell. On the final three steps, a distant crash of glass startled her. The building was usually devoid of others at such a late hour.

  At the base of the stairs, she could turn right and towards the exit. It played on her mind that a colleague may have also remained. And what if that individual was experiencing some difficulty? She turned left to investigate.

  There were other rooms and facilities down her left of the corridor. Lights gave a strobe-like flicker.

  She peered through openings to find dark and seemingly empty rooms. Half-way down, a flash of lightning blazed through the windows to her right, followed by a snuffing of the lights. She froze on the spot, hopeful for the lights’ return. For each second they failed, the greater the urge to sprint for the exit. Hairs stood at the back of her neck, and eyes fully dilated.

  Before she could begin her mad dash, a small figure proved impervious to the lightning. The silhouette blocked her only means of escape. She took one step back when the next crash of thunder concealed the release of a projectile down the barrel of a handgun. The perpetrator fired three more shots, but she was dead before hitting the ground. The shooter casually left the scene.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The rise of theocracy

  Angela’s cold body was discovered the following day. The murderer was apprehended that afternoon after bragging about his crime.

  The culprit was a fourteen-year-old boy. There were no records of his existence, which wasn’t uncommon for the time. Homeless women were responsible for a quarter of births.

  Many mothers were the victims of rape, making her child illegitimate. Documenting the child meant a compulsory baptism. A baptism required the Clergy’s formal meeting with both parents. To go without a father would raise suspicions, potentially leading to some form of investigation and penalty, which could range from losing receipt of the Church’s charity to the child altogether. Neither were favourable options.

  The teenager held no remorse for his actions. The government wanted him tried as an adult in the hopes of dissuading others. However, the boy had gathered a large fanbase that revered him. They believed his actions were justified and that he should go free.

  The Archbishop took advantage by siding with the suspect. When the government ignored calls for the boy’s freedom, he could accuse them of flouting the will of the people.

  Demonstrators, in their hundreds of thousands, descended on London to hear the court’s verdict. When the boy was tried for manslaughter and sentenced to two years, the crowd was incensed. The number of protestors had almost tripled just hours later.

  Such recognition went to the boy’s head. He came to believe that his temper influenced the weather. An alter-ego emerged, calling himself Summanus after the god of nocturnal thunder. For him, the storm that concealed his shooting was proof of that. And the simultaneous act of killing for the God of gods granted his inception to such a status – a bloody baptism.

  For Alex, Summanus’s sentence was an insult to his wife. A counter-march by the Secular Democracy Party was preparing to support the government’s position.

  Alex returned from the courts and listened to the unfolding events from his bedroom radio. No station opposed the Archbishop’s bid for power.

  In three days, Summanus’s had over two million supporters. London’s streets lay in ruin. Any building that held civil servants or those associated with Parliament was vandalised. One protester summed up the crowd’s mood that morning.

  “I’m fuming,” said one activist as sweat poured down his face. “We are sick of these parliamentary dictators. Archbishop Pugh should be in the seat of power. God wants it for the Archbishop said so. We will climb over Westminster’s walls and drag them kicking and screaming if necessary. My friends over here, we’re ready to make this revolution happen.”

  Sallace had previously joined the secularists alongside his family. It wasn’t a huge issue for him to begin with until that point, where he felt the Church had gone too far. He took centre stage. It was hoped his celebrity status could win back hearts and minds. He had to break the ‘Christian equals theocrat’ cliché. A renowned and respected Christian on the secular side was as good as it could get.

  That afternoon, secular supporters began to aggregate on the other side of the Thames. They hoped for at least a million in their ranks. Only thirty-eight thousand dared to show.

  In their wait, the police had blockaded them within just a few streets. The theocr
ats were aware of their presence and spilt towards them down Westminster bridge. They maintained a distance of fifty feet. It began with taunts that soon escalated into a throwing of random objects at the secularists, including faecal matter.

  Sallace made his way to the front line with a megaphone in hand. And as the police attempted to contain him, the theocrats recognised Sallace in his army fatigues. Many paused in disbelief at his presence.

  “Look at the religion of peace in action. So much for ‘love thy neighbour.’ Where are the real Christians? I can’t see one amongst you,” declared Sallace.

  The theocrats calmed their composure. It appeared to have worked until one, then the rest, shouted, “Traitor!” The furore continued at a more frenzied and determined pace.

  At first, a few chanted it. The response to Sallace’s words became louder until the whole of London chimed it. “Infidels!” they cried.

  The two sides began to clash as the police line thinned. The secularists, vastly outnumbered, began to dissipate and return home.

  Sallace stood his ground once again until a friend received an injury that required immediate attention. He found two other wounded secularists upon their retreat and accompanied them to the hospital.

  An hour later and the Archbishop had reached a deal with the government. It stipulated that the Commons could propose and amend legislation. The Church would dictate their fate. The Archbishop had also acquired powers of parliamentary acts, allowing him to overpower the commons whenever it suited him.