"I ask you to uphold the values of America and remember why so many have come here. We're in a fight for our principles, and our first responsibility is to live by them. No one should be singled out for unfair treatment or unkind words because of their ethnic background or religious faith." - G. W. Bush.
In the last part of the 21st century, the old religions were moribund. No one really believed any more, as rationality and enlightenment replaced outmoded superstitions and rituals. After all, man had colonised the solar system. Unlimited cheap power, combined with matter manipulation, made an era of peace and prosperity to all, only dreamed of in the previous century, a reality. Great strides in understanding the mind, mainly subsidised by that last gasp of the old system, the advertising agencies, meant that any mental illness could be cured, or at least re channelled into more socially productive areas.
Religion was looked on as a personality quirk of people who could not accept reality as it really was, and believers were, oh so gently and reasonably, searched out and sent to the psychiatric units to be cured.
In these time of troubles for the faithful, the leaders of the world's main religions gathered together in the one safe haven on the planet – the Vatican. An independent, inviolate city state, still incredibly wealthy after centuries of tithes, with more wealth arriving as various religious leaders, guaranteed both a safe haven and total independence for their message, made a prudent escape from their countries.
Having no where else to go – the residents of the Vatican dug in. Literally, in this case, making a thriving city of 12 million, complete with farms, schools, factories, universities and independent power plants descending six miles into the soft rock and clay of the Tiber valley. Still capped by the stately grandeur of the basilica of St. Peters, the only visible difference from historical prints, for decades, was that the dome now sported a rakish microwave beam receiver.
The rest of the world, after a few abortive attempts to flush out the last of the believers, shrugged and ignored them. After all, who cared if a bunch of cranks want to live together according to some strange, prehistoric lifestyle. Science and technology was far more exciting.
Most scientific research at the time was concentrated on how to reach the stars in a reasonable amount of time, people being somewhat impatient that way. The most promising line of research was null-space. Null-space had been known about, in theory, for 30 years, as an offshoot of the Hawking – Taberishi Unified Theory. Considered too hazardous for researching on Earth, an entire research city in the asteroid Ceres developed, devoted to attempting to use null-space for rapid travel between the stars.
The first null-space portal was opened, accidentally, in a freight warehouse in Trenton, Ohio, in 2192. The sequence of events that lead to it could not be duplicated in a million years, so ridiculous were they. A component tester, forgetting to remove a battery. A security guard, sitting on the wrong box at the wrong time. A stroke of lightning, striking the metal framed building and creating an electromagentic field pulse. And where Henry J Billings, plus box, had been, was suddenly a smooth, blank hole into nothing.
Billings was given a hero's burial, complete with planet wide broadcasts of the, rather regrettably, empty coffin being solemnly lowered into the sacred soil of Arlington, and the null-space researchers quietly went nuts trying to replicate the feat. After 3 months, the hole in reality in Trenton spontaneously healed, making their job worse.
But, as with all scientific breakthroughs, knowing that something is, in fact, possible, and having measurements, analysis and recordings of the phenomenon meant that results soon came in – first in a trickle, then a roaring flood. Within two years, the theory and practical engineering to control, focus, transfer and travel null-space holes was firmly established. The only thing they still couldn't do was create the hole in the first place. In total frustration, the researchers in Ceres Lab A, lead by Dr. Hibram, the leading null-space mathematician of the day, recreated the original sequence for the 75th time. This time, they, in desperation, included a person in the circuit.
A quiet huff of displaced air, and Ceres Lab A was the proud possessor of it's very own stable wormhole, the first one ever made deliberately. And missing one eminently replaceable intern, sacrificed to the glory of the race.
Dr. Hibram was showered with every scientific accolade available to any institution above high school level on the planet. Funding poured in to turn the wormhole into something usable for humanity. The intern was quietly placed on the missing persons reports, rapidly buried under the thousands of cases filed per day.
Fortunately for the millions of “surplus” population, it was rapidly discovered that a human sacrifice was not necessary to create a wormhole, though those made in that way tended to be the most stable and long lasting. A mere 20 cc's of blood, taken from a living man or woman and fed directly to the circuitry could open the door to null-space. Dr. Hibram was reported to be furious, not at the unnecessary death, but at the complete waste of time involved in filling out the missing persons paperwork, by that time for 76 people.
Newscasters, popular science journals, even the gossip mags – they all followed the progress. Announcement of the first fully Earth type planet to be discovered, only 12 hours away by null-space was greeted with cheers. The announcement in 2102 of the setting up of wormhole conduits between every city on Earth for instantaneous free transport was met with a week of celebrations and a party that dwarfed the millennial celebrations.
The religious, in their Vatican fortress, followed the news with interest. Their own researchers copied the techniques and studied null-space. The philosophers convened and debated. And the historians, delving amongst the treasures of three thousand years of books and manuscripts, made a terrible discovery.
The null-space warp was nothing new. Humanity had known about it for millennia, though by another name. They used to be known as Astral Gates. Leading to hell, and used almost solely by black wizards.
The leaders of the seven surviving religions met in conclave. In common cause, they formed the Society of Faiths and prepared their followers. The world was warned, but no one listened.
Six weeks after the intercity wormhole network was completed, the first Demon crawled out into Times Square.
* * *
Why the hell do they always include this historical shit in every briefing? It is both annoying and humiliating to be constantly told what you already know. Guess, when I have a free moment, I shall have to pay a visit to the Archivist and press my point. More forcibly this time, he obviously healed too quickly the last time I visited him and gently berated him for giving me the wrong information. Mind, that wrong information cost over 7000 lives. Cost me 6 months in rehab, growing a new arm too. I don't care what the doctors say, I still get twinges at the bite line even now. Luckily it is only my gun hand.
“Ship, fast forward to Threat Assessment Section.” Disconnect from the needles, the null-space wormhole has reached self sustaining mass and needs no more blood from me. Shuffle to the galley, slightly awkward in gravity after a month in zero G, and look for something to eat. Not nutritious, or balanced, or healthy, but something a guy would actually want to eat. Debating between a sad looking vegetarian chilli and a limp tofu burger. There are downsides to belonging to the Society, even when something with more teeth than brains is not actively trying to turn you from a fighter into a starter, and their shunning of meat and fish in the diet is definitely one of them.
“Operative, there is no Threat Assessment Section.” The ship has a neutral, light tenor voice, designed to sooth the frazzled nerves of operatives who have simply done and seen too much. And to ignore any shouting, cursing, screaming or crying the passenger in it's care may do during the course of rehabilitation therapy. “There is a note where the TAS should be, which simply states Code 12.”
Oh my. I slump in the galley chair, unappetising meal choices forgotten.
Him really fucking hates me.
A code 12 – a Soul Reaver, complete with familiars. So not just one demon, but an entire horde.
I do think that, apart from the grace of Him, I will be needing some more human type help with this one.
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