Casey fed the next batch of hundred dollar bills into the counting machine. He liked the rapid-fire sound it made as it processed them, “...fft...fft...fft...fft...” and felt at home in the little backroom tucked away in the corner of Control House.

On the other side of the table, cigarette perched behind his ear, Wallace secured a wrapper round the newly counted bundle and added it to the pile on the table.

“OK, that makes $38,000. That’s our best week this year. With you on board we’re cleaning up.”

Casey stared at the bundles before him. These last few weeks he’d seen more money than he’d made in the whole of his adult life. And it was easier to come by than he’d ever thought possible. All he and Wallace had to do was stick a few ounces of cocaine in their bags, head back down the Mississippi in their kayaks, drive into town, meet their man at the drop point and make the exchange. Ten grand for a day trip down the river. It was certainly worth getting out of bed for.

They were funding the Holy Order’s global network — the fifty or so people here in the compound and the many hundreds in the outlying cells they communicated with around the world. Together, they were laying the groundwork for a new social and cultural order to be run by a superintelligent cybernetic organism. Specifically, they were preparing to welcome their new Master, the almighty Magi , into existence. Casey didn’t understand everything yet, but he was learning and would do whatever it took.

A loud noise reverberated through the building, shaking the lights in their fittings and causing a security alarm to blare into life. Casey and Wallace stopped what they were doing and exchanged an intense, wide-eyed look. Wallace threw his zippo onto the table and made a dash for the door. Casey hurriedly threw the bundles of cash into the safe and raced after him. People were streaming out of the Workshop, covered in blood, coughing and falling about the place, trying to avoid the glass from the blown-out windows.

A thick, acrid taste peppered the air in the Workshop. Ivan, a mechanical engineer, was unconscious on the floor, bleeding profusely from his midsection. Brandon, one of Father Theodore’s lieutenants, was there with him. He’d taken his shirt off and was using it to try to stem the rush of blood. He glanced up at Casey with a look of fear on his face.

“Come and help me apply more pressure to this wound. Wallace, check everyone else is alright. Where’s Mother with the first aid kit? Fuck, this is bad.”

His thick, muscular frame was tense, his forearms bulging as he pressed down hard on a tattered shirt that was already saturated with the wounded man’s blood. Those who hadn’t fled outside seemed rooted to their spots, their faces ashen, their ears still ringing, staring at the scene in front of them, unable to process what had just happened. Casey handed his T-shirt to Brandon and the two of them did their best to tend to the injured man, trying to ignore the sight and smell of the gaping wound in his gut.

Wallace looked after the others, checking them for injuries, speaking firm, quiet words like a wartime nurse. When the hubbub died down, he pulled off his shirt and handed it to Brandon. Almost at once the shirt was red through. Casey readjusted his position to better cradle Ivan’s limp head. The guy was out for the count; his head was lolling and the blood kept on coming. Casey had to look away, scared he might faint in front of everyone. His gaze settled on the doorway as Mother Frances bowled into the Workshop. Beside her stood the man Casey had been yearning to see. Father Theodore. The Grand Wizard of the Holy Order.

Casey froze. The Order was highly secretive, the identities of its members unknown outside the organisation. His induction had taken the best part of six months, in chat rooms and virtual worlds, each side using pseudonyms and computer-generated avatars. When he’d first met Frances online, she’d used the handle ‘Zoro’. It was only once the Order had completed its background checks that he’d even been given a chance at the initiation, knowing full well that success in the ordeal would mean he could never leave its ranks.

Until this moment he’d not set eyes on Father Theodore, the Order’s founder, spiritual leader and Übermensch. All Casey knew about him were the stories, passed on by Wallace during their day trips down the river, and the rumours that flew round the compound day and night.

He looked just like Wallace had described. He had a tight crop of short grey hair that contrasted sharply against his dark brown eyes, and his long, manicured beard grew to a tip that was secured tight in place with three little bands. But it was Theodore’s right arm that drew Casey’s attention longest. Supposedly containing a quantum supercomputer within its confines, the bionic arm was coated in a thin layer of black Kevlar and dotted with different coloured LEDs that flashed on and off in a sequence that made it look like they were communicating with one another.

Frances stood by his side clutching what looked like an army issue medical kit. Casey wondered why she hadn’t sprung into action — hadn’t Wallace mentioned that she was one of the top surgeons in the entire country? Instead, she waited patiently, occasionally glancing between Ivan and Theodore like she had all the time in the world.

The room went quiet as the old man surveyed the scene impassively. When he finally spoke he did so with an unmistakable tone of authority.

“Is somebody going to tell me what happened? Or shall we stand here in silence until Ivan has bled right the way out?”

“My instructions were crystal clear, Father, ask anyone.” Brandon’s voice trembled as he spoke. “I’ve handled explosives for twenty-five years without a single incident. Ivan did exactly what I told people not to do. The canisters are fragile and need to be handled with care. If you drop them on the bench like that—”

“Other than Ivan, who else is hurt?”

A woman removed the bandage she had been pressing against her neck. A small piece of shrapnel protruded from a long, narrow gash.

“I was lucky, Father. I was standing behind Ivan when it happened. He took the brunt of the explosion. If it had happened two seconds later, I might not ...”

She went silent, averted her eyes, and reapplied the bandage.

“We have to get him to a hospital right now,” Wallace said.

Theodore twizzled his beard with his bionic fingers and laughed. “Hospital.” He

repeated it like the punchline of a joke he’d enjoyed.

“But Father, he’ll die.”

“But Father,” he mimicked. The lights on his arms stopped flashing as if they

too, were hanging on his every word. “You questioning my judgement, Wallace? You suggesting that folk round here take their orders from you rather than me?”

Wallace gulped. “Father, you know I would never question your judgement. It’s just that—”

“It’s just that what? You think we should jeopardise everything we’ve worked for?” “No, Father. I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn, and that was wrong. Please forgive—” With the smallest gesture of his hand, Theodore restored silence to the room.

He raised his arms in front of him and gestured in mid-air. The coloured LEDs blinked into action again. Half a minute later, two of the Medibots that Casey had seen in the Lockup rolled into the room carrying a gurney.

So the stories Casey had heard were true. The computer in Theodore’s arm was wirelessly connected to a series of electrodes implanted inside his skull. The setup allowed him to directly interface with the networked components of the Order — to communicate and control its robots and machines.

Another small gesture from Theodore — a flick of his head — was signal enough for Brandon and Wallace to give up their care of Ivan. They stood and backed away. Casey felt Father’s gaze come to rest on his face. He dropped Ivan’s head more quickly than felt right and got up to join Wallace.

The ’bots aligned themselves next to Ivan, uncollapsed the gurney, and with a swiftness that belied their mechanical natures, scooped him off the floor and placed him onto it. One ’bot stood by Ivan’s feet, the other by his head. But instead of wheeling Ivan off to the sickbay, the ’bots took hold of his head and his feet, and with their articulated fingers, began to twist. Casey’s wonder quickly soured. Ivan’s head was yanked sharply one way, then the other. The chilling sound of splintering vertebrae echoed round the room. Next to him, Casey felt Wallace flinch.

The grid of lights on Theodore’s arm continued to flicker as he turned his attention back to the people in the Workshop. “What comrade Wallace forgot,” he said, loading the word ‘comrade’ with irony, “is that my view of the world — and my understanding of it — is far superior to his. I don’t kill one of my own children on a whim. The second I arrived I had the Medibots scan Ivan’s life signs and communicate the findings to me. Not even Frances could have saved him. There was no way he could have lived longer, neither as a human, nor like me, one who has transcended the human condition. Ivan was a good man. He was the seventeenth member to join the Order and his contributions to us were valuable. He joined us for the same reason you all did — because he was called. He discovered a truth so powerful, so compelling, that his old life no longer made sense. But in the blink of an eye, and through his own carelessness, he became a liability that needed to be dealt with. The ’bots will take his body to the incinerator.”

Casey swallowed hard and bowed his head, obscuring the solemn expression on his face. Theodore squared his shoulders and looked at each of his followers in turn.

“Remember that it was never going to be easy. Nor should it be. Trials like this are sent to test our faith, to show that it is strong and pure. If in doubt, remember the pain and suffering that awaits those who fail the Magi. This changes nothing. Is everyone clear about that?”

In silence, everyone but Ivan nodded.

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

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