The God Machine Read online

  Absolom rapped on the barn door, a quick pattern to the knock that was a secret signal the Band of Electricizers shared. One could never be too careful. As Absolom and his followers had gone about gathering and purchasing the supplies they needed to fulfill the god's wishes, they had drawn the curiosity of the citizens of Lynn. He could not confide in them--their primitive minds were not prepared to comprehend something of this magnitude--so he'd assuaged their curiosity by telling them that he had decided to add on to his home. That had seemed to satisfy them for a time, but just the other day, he had chased away several young boys he'd found snooping about the barn.

  Waiting for a response to his knock, he could not help but smile. Out of all the souls that toiled upon the world, he had picked them to be his ushers, guiding him into the world. The thought warmed Absolom against the frigid New England wind.

  Geoffrey Wickham, his drooping, hound-dog face showing signs of stress, opened the barn door, his cheeks flushed pink and dappled with sweat. The old man was wearing the special armor that Absolom had designed, made from burnished strips of copper attached to a heavy suit of woven mail. What a sight he is, Absolom thought, a knight of a glorious new order.

  "Come in, come in," the old man said with urgency, his armor rattling. "We've been waiting for you--we think the time is near."

  Absolom nodded, for the same feeling of imminence had touched him as well. He had been meditating at the house, opening himself to the ether in case the god should need to communicate any final instructions before his arrival. While deep in the grip of his trance he had once more been shown images of the world as it would be afterward, and how they could assist this messiah of a new age with its transcendence.

  What a world it will be, Absolom thought, enraptured by the vision still fresh in his mind. He saw great cities dwarfed by towering spires, crackling energy harnessed from the spirits of the dead connecting one tower to the next, filling the world with a power it had never known. And he saw people, no longer afraid, hands clasped and filled with the glory of the god, awaiting their transformation, faces turned to the heavens.

  And it was all to start here, now.

  "Yes. The time is near. And it shall be glorious," Absolom said as he entered.

  He made a quick circuit of the barn, inspecting the machinery that had been assembled there, fabulous contraptions designed by the god but built by the human hands of the Band of Electricizers. He called them his god machines, for with them, he would deliver his savior unto the world.

  Absolom watched Tyler, Annabel, and Silas as they went about their duties, each assigned vital tasks. In the armor he'd designed, they moved heavily from one device to the next, each of them checking and then rechecking the work of the other. Everything had to be perfect, or all of their work would be for naught.

  "And the vessel?" he asked, removing his heavy woolen coat and letting it drop to the floor. He too wore the armor he had designed.

  "Waiting to be filled," Wickham answered, hobbling over to join Absolom at a table in the center of the room.

  This was the most important of their creations, and Absolom felt his heart flutter as he reached down to pull away the sheet that covered the object upon the table. It was built in the shape of a man. Made of metal and wood, this vessel would contain the spiritual essence of their savior, giving their god a mighty form in which to lead them.

  Absolom ran his fingers over the rough surface of the mechanical body. He pricked his finger upon a jagged edge of steel, smearing the metal that composed its broad rib cage with blood.

  "Do you think he'll like it?" Absolom asked Wickham, suddenly concerned with the crudity of the armature. He brought his bloody finger to his mouth, sucking upon the weeping gash.

  "I have no doubt that he will," Wickham said. "Our messiah will leave all who look upon him breathless."

  Absolom closed his eyes and imagined his god adorned in the body he and his band had made, preaching to the masses. They would sit at his right hand, of course, high priests of a new world order.

  "It cannot come soon enough," Absolom said dreamily, opening his eyes. "And where is the Madonna?"

  Wickham pointed with his cane to the far end of the barn, where a door stood slightly ajar. "It was becoming too warm for her in here. She said she had to step outside before she burned up like poor Sally."

  Absolom flinched at the memory of his wife's demise. "I see," he said, proceeding toward the open door.

  "I think she knows that the time draws near," the old man said, reaching beneath one of the copper plates of armor draped upon his chest and producing a handkerchief, "and is a tad...anxious."

  "Mary Hudnell will do just fine," Absolom responded. "Remember, it was god who chose her to deliver him into this world."

  "Let us hope that your assumptions are correct," he said. "I'd hate for the birth of god to be tainted somehow by the tirades of a spoiled heiress." Wickham turned, hobbling away to join the others in their preparations.

  The draft that crept in from the open, rear door of the barn was wonderfully invigorating. Absolom stepped quietly outside, not wanting to startle the mother-to-be. The winter sun had faded quickly, and the only illumination came from the starlit patches of snow still clinging to the forest floor.

  "Mary?" he called softly, his eyes searching the shadows.

  He found her leaning against a birch tree, staring out into the woods. She was clothed in a heavy wool dress, a shawl draped over her head, and he wondered if she was purposefully adopting the look of the mother of god.

  "Absolom," she said, picking her way toward him through what remained of the snow. From the way she waddled, he thought her belly might have grown even larger since he had seen her earlier that afternoon.

  Mary threw her arms around him and held him in a tender embrace. He hugged her back, feeling the push of her hard, pregnant stomach against him.

  Only days had passed since the first attempt to communicate with their god had resulted in the sacrifice of his wife--and this. From that moment of conception, Mary's belly had swollen by the hour. Using Sally's death as a source of power, the god had transferred his divine essence across the void to take root in Mary's womb.

  A miracle--the first of many to come.

  "How are we feeling?" Absolom asked, continuing to hold her close.

  Mary was trembling, and he had to wonder how much of it was due to cold.

  "I...I can feel him...growing inside me." She shivered, wrapping her arms tighter around him.

  "As he should be," Absolom said, gently pushing her away to look into her eyes. He gave her his most reassuring smile. "He'll need to be strong to make the transition."

  Absolom placed his hand gently upon her protruding belly, gasping aloud as his mind became filled with the god's presence.

  "It is time," Qemu'el whispered in his mind, and Absolom was nearly driven to his knees by the intensity of the proclamation. He pulled his hand away, breaking the connection, his head still swimming from the sensory assault.

  "Did he speak to you?" Mary asked. "What did he say? Is everything all right? Is he all right?"

  Absolom gulped at the cold, winter air, desperate to catch his breath. "He seems to be fine. Eager to be born."

  Mary placed her hands upon her bulbous stomach. "Is it time?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  He nodded, reaching out to take one of her hands in his. "It is."

  Her fingers were like ice and he gave them a gentle squeeze. "And are you ready?"

  Mary began to cry, fat tears running down her pretty face. "Will he know me as his mother?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "Will he love me?"

  Absolom pulled her to him again in a tender embrace. "He will love us all. But I would not be surprised if he reserved a very special love just for you." And he began to lead her toward the door, the final steps toward a new destiny for the world.

  "I would do anything to keep him safe," Mary said, as they entered through the do
orway. "Does he know that?"

  "I'm sure he does," Absolom reassured her, his mind already beginning to review the process that would transfer the divine spirit currently growing within the womb of Mary Hudnell to the body that had been constructed to contain it.

  He closed the rear door of the barn behind them, cutting off the breeze. Absolom led Mary to a special chair, built to assist her in the process of birth, and helped her to lie upon it. He placed a red velvet pillow beneath her head and, seeing that she was comfortable, turned to his disciples. They all stood together now, the twinkle of anticipation showing in their eyes.

  "It's time, brothers and sisters," he said, barely able to contain his own enthusiasm.

  From beneath their robes they each withdrew the god's gift to them. The crystal cylinders contained the power to run the machines that would allow their holy savior to make the transition from spirit to corporeal. The energy within the cylinders churned and pulsed with the power of conviction, of belief, collected over these last years. Those who had contributed had been blissfully unaware that they were helping to change the world. It was a powerful gift from a god that loved them so.

  On a makeshift altar covered with scarlet cloth they placed their gifts, the keys that unlocked the doorway to man's ascension. Silas and Tyler went together to fetch the final piece of the mechanism that would make it all happen. It was little more than a wooden box, its four sides inscribed with strange symbols provided to Absolom by his savior. Sigils of transition, the god had explained. The two men, clad in their ceremonial armor, wheeled the unassuming apparatus toward him.

  Absolom instructed them to position the machine between Mary and the hollow body they had constructed to be the god's receptacle. He undid a copper clasp on the front of the box and exposed the contraption's innards--tubing and wires, gears and pistons, copper and rubber, and beneath it all a separate compartment left open for the power source--the crystal cylinders. He barely recollected its construction but knew that he had been responsible. In the grip of divine inspiration, he had toiled for seven days and seven nights to bring it forth from his fevered mind.

  "The gifts!" Absolom said.

  The Electricizers returned to the makeshift altar, retrieving their faith-engorged crystals. One after another, they fed the cylinders to the machine.

  Absolom was the last to place his holy offering within the belly of the device. He held his breath as he experienced a moment of self-doubt over whether the machine would function, but function it did, the internal workings coming to life as soon as the last component was secured within it. Silently he thanked his lord and master for giving him the knowledge to build such a miraculous instrument.

  Mary screamed, writhing upon her birth chair. He went to her, taking her hand in his.

  "What is it, dear one?" he asked.

  Her eyes were wide and glassy, her breathing coming in short gulps. "It hurts," she gasped. "As...as if there's a fire growing inside me." She squeezed his hand nearly crushing the bones within it. "Please don't let me burn."

  Panic was setting in, and Absolom knew that it was time. Tearing his hand away from hers, he returned to the machine. Coiled beneath the throbbing mechanism were two sets of thick cables, and at the end of each was a needle, precisely twelve inches in length.

  "Take these to the subjects," he instructed as Geoffrey and Annabel rushed forward to embrace their designated chore.

  The disciples moved toward the subjects, Geoffrey toward the Madonna and Annabel the vessel.

  "Insert the needles," Absolom ordered, closely monitoring the function of the transference apparatus.

  Annabel carefully slid the long piece of metal through the rib cage and into the metal body of the vessel. "Done," she said, stepping away from the table, a triumphant smile upon her face.

  Absolom waited to hear the same from Wickham, but it didn't come. Annoyed that the old man was keeping them waiting, keeping their god waiting, he looked up to see Geoffrey standing beside the panting Mary Hudnell, her eyes clamped tightly closed so as not to see the needle bearing toward her.

  "Geoffrey--insert the needle!" Absolom commanded.

  But the man continued to stare somewhere beyond Absolom, toward the entrance of the barn.

  "Geoffrey!" Absolom screamed again, leaving his station, reaching for the cable. "Give it to me."

  "We're not alone," Geoffrey said, and at first Absolom did not understand, but then the old man pointed.

  Absolom noticed the child first; a little boy no older than five, his eyes like saucers as he stared at them from across the barn. There were others as well, men and women, people that he recognized from his visits to town. Some were carrying torches, and others rifles.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he bellowed authoritatively, crossing the barn, feeling his anger on the rise.

  A man standing behind the boy slowly raised his weapon, pointing the shotgun directly at Absolom. He stopped short, gazing into the unblinking eye of the barrel.

  "See here," he started again. "You do not have the right to come here and--"

  "Walter Massie says you've been asking some weird questions about dead bodies," the man replied, speaking for the mob. "Says you asked him how to keep them from rotting." He looked about him with disgust.

  Absolom cursed himself for not having been more selective with the people he talked to, but he had needed to plan for the future. Qemu'el had given him a way to create tireless drones from corpses powered by the raw spiritual energies of the deceased, slaves to do the bidding of the god and his high priests.

  "Just a bit of research," Absolom explained.

  "Then this boy says you folks're doing something funny out here," the man continued. "Inside the barn."

  Absolom remembered the boy as one that he had chased away the other day. The child must have seen them at work, building the vessel.

  "We thought it might be in our best interests to come on over and check it out," the man said, as his eyes passed over each of the machines the group had built over the last two weeks. "And from the looks of things, I'm glad we did."

  Absolom smiled congenially, and spread his hands in front of himself. "We don't mean anybody any harm. We are simply in the process of completing some experiments that..."

  "Is that part of your experiments?" the man asked, pointing with his gun.

  Absolom turned and was startled to see that the birthing chair was empty. Mary Hudnell was gone. The man was referring to the metal body lying upon the table.

  "Yes it is," Absolom said, turning away from the mob to go to the vessel. His eyes darted about the barn, searching for signs of Mary, but she was nowhere to be found. He tried to catch the eyes of the others, but their attentions were riveted on the mob before them.

  There was no further purpose to dissembling. Absolom smiled. "You see, using these machines, we're going to attempt to bring our creation to life."

  A disquieted murmur went through the crowd.

  Absolom stood beside the table, looking down at the vessel. "I know how this must sound to you all. Not much different from when primitive man told his brethren that he was going to create fire, I'd imagine. We're going to bring it to life, and nothing in the world will ever be the same again."

  A figure clad all in black, whom Absolom recognized as the church pastor, forced his way through the gathering, a Bible clutched in his hand.

  "Blasphemy!" the holy man screamed, raising the black leather book in the air. "Did you hear him, brothers and sisters? They're attempting to create life! It's the Devil's work they do here!"

  The crowd began to murmur all the louder, growing agitated by what they did not understand.

  "You have nothing to fear from us," Absolom said. He could feel their eyes upon him, and knew that the fact that he was dressed so strangely in preparation for the ritual of transference was not lending credence to his case. "What we do here tonight will benefit all of humanity," he tried to explain, slowly making his way toward them. "Please, liste
n to me."

  He wasn't sure where the shot originated. There was a boom like sudden thunder as the shotgun fired, and an explosion of shrieking pain as he was propelled backward to the floor of the barn.

  Then all was chaos.

  Absolom heard more gunfire and screams. He watched helplessly as shots tore into the transference machine, shattering the crystal cylinders in a searing flash as the precious energy contained within them was released.

  He fought to stand, the pain in his shoulder excruciating, his arm dangling uselessly at his side. The thick, noxious stench of what could only have been kerosene suddenly filled his lungs, followed by the smell of wood burning. The mob had set fire to the place, and a thick black smoke was beginning to fill the confines of the barn. It was as he had feared, those who did not understand their cause, seeking to destroy them.

  How could it have gone so wrong so quickly? he thought as he stumbled through the smoke, hearing the screams of his disciples and trying to find them in the din. Why has god allowed this to happen?

  Squinting through the billowing haze, he could barely make out members of the mob fleeing their handiwork, slamming closed the door of the barn as they escaped into the night. Then he nearly fell over Silas Udell, curled into a tight ball upon the ground.

  "Where are the others?" Absolom screamed, reaching down to pull the man to his feet. There was a bleeding gash on his forehead.

  "I...I don't know," he stammered, shaking his head from side to side. "When they started shooting...we ran. They're here." He coughed and gasped for breath. "Somewhere in the fire."

  Absolom let Silas fall back to the ground and forged ahead through the blinding smoke. He noticed that some of the machines, even though damaged, were still working. He could almost feel the unearthly hum inside the barn, like a hive of bees preparing to swarm.

  "Geoffrey!" he croaked, his voice scorched hoarse from the intense heat. "Annabel! Tyler! Where are you?"