

### Great Is the Mystery

Published by Anthony Van at Smashwords

Copyright Anthony Van 2019

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

His world was dreamlike, absolutely convincing and nonsense at the same time. How well did he know the characters about him? Could he build trust in these transient encounters? Even though the records would state he had walked this path before, many times, and gathered information for the tasks required of him, there was an eerie feeling about this time. It was outside the parameters described. There was something more to it than anything he had previously experienced.

Will Durham stared at the data button. He had heard of them. He had seen pictures of them in the units of media history he had read in the instruction handbook. It was among the various instructional modules in his 'communication masters certification' that was part of his role. And yet, it was a mystery to him what to do with it. It had arrived with his midday meal delivery—a capsule secreted beneath a pastry slice—and it presented multiple puzzles.

He had picked the capsule up and a touch sensitive recording had sounded in an electronic tinged voice, "Will Durham...for your eyes only...lives depend on it." He had twisted the base of the capsule that had contained the micro playback device, opened the sugar cube sized container and the data button had fallen out.

It was significant. Someone had gone to the trouble of concealing and masking the delivery of this secret message. The assumption was, he supposed, that his bio detailed him as being a notable, galactic news reporter—one who had broken a few stories of corruption and conspiracies of planetary scale—and he was required to act on what the button contained.

The conundrum was that if it was for his eyes only, how would he get advice about how to read it? Clearly, someone doubted the cryptographic encoding of the universal network to have bypassed, what was virtually, the sole carrier of data and communications across the galaxy. He fingered the small, gold coloured disc. He would have to research its workings. The thought that nibbled at the back of his mind was to retrace the origin of his lunch and try to determine who had placed the archaic memory device in his sealed lunch container.

Will walked over to the large window near his workspace and looked out. The eightieth floor of Informer Spire looked over the largest metropolis on Taleo. Several towers matched, and some surpassed, the lofty altitude of the building, and large windows presented a spectacular scene against the majestic backdrop of the Balfour Range pinnacles. He used the plastic spoon to eat a few mouthfuls of spicy sweet meat, fruit and rice concoction. He imagined which neurones were activated to register the multiplicity of exotic tastes and smells. The how, why and who imponderables of the device were scrabbling for attention in a jumble of theories. His jaw chewed slowly as if the questions themselves were his meal.

He jumped suddenly, stimulated nerves responded, as a hand touched his arm. Will turned to see Keela standing behind him. She smiled and her face was dominated by the horizontal. Her eyes squinted, her reddened lips parted and stretched wide showing two rows of perfectly aligned white teeth. "Did I give you a fright?" she sniggered.

"You startled me."

"You were in another world. What were you thinking?"

"Our triple Ds are fairly sophisticated aren't they?"

"You're talking about the Dangerous Device Detectors?"

He nodded.

"We've been told they're virtually foolproof. I can't imagine anyone getting anything past those things."

"What if someone tried to smuggle a device on a SCART?" He was referring to the Self-Contained Automatic Robot Transporters.

"Wouldn't work...The triple Ds scan and identify every part that is supposed to be on the SCART. They would find anything not meant to be there."

Will nodded again, slower this time.

"Why do you want to know?"

He pulled a taut smile and lifted his food capsule. "Just wondering..." He then fabricated a further complication. "I mean...what if someone tried to poison a meal container?"

Keela shook her head vigorously. "Not possible. You know how they work. Every item, every chemical is identified. If something conflicts with the programmed audit list or disallowed materials it would be stopped."

"Yes...that's right...that's how it works." It was hearing her say it that clarified the suspicion of how it might be possible—was possible; for the capsule had arrived! And it had a non-audited data button inside. The notion of program hacking was not new to him.

He looked more directly at Keela Constance. He was, apparently, one of the few who knew her actual assigned name. All others he came into contact with, if they knew her, called her KC. She had told him she went by KC to avoid a repetition of the ragging she had endured during knowledge attainment sessions. He liked Keela and he suspected she liked him, but he wasn't ready for any ties—if they were possible in this electronically regulated world.

"Is this something to do with the proposed robotic legislation you're reporting on?" She maintained eye contact as she said it and it made him marginally uncomfortable. There was something intimate about holding your gaze with someone you find attractive.

"No...no...It's still being debated...and, from what I can tell, I can't see the codifiers passing a law that allows robots to override human commands on the basis of life preservation or moral precedence...I think the no harm guidelines are doing the job." That was the line he was expected to iterate.

Keela turned as she heard the hiss of the elevator. Staff were returning from their lunch break.

"I should get back to my colonisation article. How much more do you have to do?" She was adhering to the strict instructional protocols she had been primed with.

"Virtually finished...I mean, it's an ongoing story...but my take on the progress of the debate is done. I only need to polish it a bit." He watched distractedly as another load of workers came out of a lift. He had been there long enough that all the faces were familiar. He still wasn't clear where the threat was coming from, what the challenge would be; he too was sticking to the protocols. The open space had numerous desks with a variety of digital devices and display screens being awoken from temporary slumber. One or two desk pods disappeared behind opaque polymer partitions rising from recesses in the floor. These enabled private conversations and uninterrupted work sessions. Should you wish to contact one of these workers, a handprint on a panel of the partition would inform the occupant who was wanting their attention. They could respond immediately or provide an appointment time.

The two reporters wandered back to their desks. Will knew that completion of a scheduled task was required before he would get his next instructions.

"Catch ya later," stated Keela chirpily and continued on to her work space. He sat down and accessed the network to search for information. Aware that his every action on the network was open to scrutiny, he devised a justification. Maybe his next 'story' would be about technological evolution. He certainly could argue that it followed on from robotics' legislations. The directive into the data store, 'reading superseded data buttons' rapidly returned numerous articles about solid state memory storage. It took several attempts before he located the particular device that had been sent to him. Notes on the topic suggested that it was still popular amongst fringe groups of conspiracy theorists who were convinced that every digital interaction was gathered and assigned to personal history files. They transferred information between themselves using data buttons and minute plug in data readers. These were often consulted in electronically screened environments.

Will implemented security strategies as a matter of form. Checking out the availability of the readers caused him to blur the search purpose by adding numerous other data handling techniques to his information collection, all the way back to primitive magnetic recording. Side issues like fringe groups, alternative communications and future possibilities, obfuscated his reason for the search sufficiently to give him deniability that he was suspicious of the network.

While not initially discernible, it was evident to Will that certain electronic enthusiast groups were offering various data readers for sale if the offer was right. The absence of any recording device other than digital pens, and audio and graphic capture meant that he had to memorise the location of the suppliers to prevent tell-tale electronic memory of the event. He rehearsed the two most likely suppliers several times till he was sure he would remember them.

He was now versed well enough with Teleo to know the best way to get around. Taking a hire tube car to a precinct identified with a number of historical digital artefact collectors near to the suppliers he had chosen, Will recorded a number of brief interviews about defunct technologies. These were bit players in his determination to see this new quest to its completion. The characters hardly emerged from the tapestry of the world and it made him doubt their actual existence.

He then walked hastily to the first of his two selected old tech collectors. Their range of products were sold as ornamental novelties and collector's items by explicit declaration, and were provided to genuine non-conformists subtly and discreetly.

The first place was averse to any suggestion that they knew of ways to communicate apart from the universal network. These technologies were no longer supported, not compatible with current interfaces and far too inefficient to be useful. The second store was also wary. So he asked for a data button writer. Why would he want a writer? He tried to convey the importance of confidential communication. They recommended modern encryption onto the network. Will countered that quantum algorithms were able to dismantle the most sophisticated encryptions these days; nothing was secret. He then added, if they had them, he would purchase two writers and two readers. That would enable two-way communication without interception. That was the key. The argument swayed them, possibly in concert with the promise of a substantial sale. In a bizarre twist the proprietor suggested he might need some shielding apparatus and offered a Faraday shield for a further ten gram coin. As an added incentive he included an adaptor cable for modern computing devices. The man said the old tech wouldn't link otherwise. He never ignored unsolicited direction. It was the only way to survive in these settings. Will parted with two twenty gram gold coins and a ten gram gold coin to gain highly questionable goods—fifty gram was a fair portion of his initial allotment and there were four cycles till his next allotment. He would monitor his balance.

Will studied the data storage paraphernalia briefly. These items were the sort of thing for someone with something to hide. It was a principle that was patently obvious to him. He would keep them hidden.

Quickly retracing his steps to the tube dock, he waited seconds before the personalised transporter arrived. A slight hiss, even a hint of wafting escaping air as the hatch pivoted up and allowed him to enter, tantalised his senses. The return journey went unnoticed as Will considered where the trail would lead when the data button was accessed and the message revealed. What sort of challenges could come from such a secretive communication?

Will walked to his desk which wasn't far from Keela's. He raised his partition—something he hadn't done before. The lighting diminished and the glow of his computer increased proportionately. As an added security measure, he used the portable Faraday shield. He lifted the telescopic pole from a small tripod base until it was two metres high, opened the umbrella like appendages and lowered the sheer titanium mesh to the floor. It meant ostensibly, for the moment, he was cut off from electronic communications.

Plugging the adaptor into his device and attaching a reader, he opened up the data button. It was a video file. The video began but he couldn't hear anything. The earbuds on the desk quickly solved that problem. After restarting the thread, he watched as a male, slightly older than he, appeared:

"My name is Driscoll Ryder. I was a psycho-scientist working for Day Conglomerate. I need you to help me. Will, you're one of the few in the media who are not under the thumb of Ubel Day. I have learned, by hacking into the Perfect World Network, that four prototype new worlds are being used as a social and psychological experiment. The populations of these worlds are unwitting subjects to environmental manipulation. We need to rescue at least four citizens from each world to testify against Ubel Day. The Justice Court will respond to the weight of their witness. They will reveal the mental and emotional enslavement he has perpetrated against these populations.

Stealth and guile will see you through...only magnetic weapons may be used."

Driscoll, who had spiky, fair hair and lively hazel eyes looked down at a screen. He then continued:

"I'm working with Kevalin Adamson. He is waiting at Teleo Central Spaceport for you and any trustworthy recruits you can bring to support our cause. You must vouch for your team members. Secrecy is essential. You will be given a problem to solve at the Spaceport. If you succeed, your completed team will be given a way to bypass security to get to the private space cruiser Kevalin will pilot. Do not delay. Latecomers won't be allowed to join. Keep this data button as further instructions will be available when needed. Godspeed."

The archaic sign off halted any action briefly. Will resumed his new role as the words 'Do not delay' flashed on the screen. He unplugged the reader. Then putting his device and the small collection of items he got earlier into a small satchel, he lowered the screen.

Chapter 2

"I'm coming with you," announced Keela.

"What are you talking about KC?" he said dismissively.

"When I saw your screen go up, I knew something was up. I put a signal amplification device on the screen. I got everything you saw on your device...I'm going with you."

Will was pleased and suspicious at the same time. His security measures had amounted to nothing. And now he already had a team member. Would she frustrate his endeavours or was she one of the team members that Driscoll had implied he would recruit? It sounded like there was a plan afoot more extensive than his role. Here was another case of 'go with the flow'. He would work with Keela if she proved cooperative or he would try to eliminate her.

"Well, are you ready to go?"

"Sure...but we need to swing past my place. I've got something that might be handy on another planet."

Will looked at her curiously. Had she been forewarned about his involvement? If she was linked to the regime he would be leading her to an anti-government cabal.

"Where are you at?"

"It's on the way to the spaceport...Say is this outfit okay...I've got a few to choose from for interstellar travel."

"You serious?" Will shook his head. Keela gave a quirky smile that he really couldn't fathom.

They went to the nearest tube hire hub. Two individual tube cars whisked their passengers away consecutively, in quick succession. The next car recognised a two occupant vehicle was needed and slid into the dock within seconds of the last one. Presumptuously, Will moved to the forward control seat.

"So, you know my location number? Keela asked wryly.

"Sorry." He got out and moved to the back. Keela patted his arm and his skin tingled from the touch sensation.

"I know...It's a guy thing...But you know they drive themselves don't you?"

Will scrunched his face as if to say 'you don't say' but said nothing.

The rapid transit to the indicated screen location made him aware of the affluent district she resided in.

"How can you afford this on your allotment?" he remarked as they rode the elevator to a significant height.

"Not envious are you?"

"No...just curious." He glanced around at the verdant indoor greenery under recessed grow lamps, the water features and the lavish design and, inside the luxurious apartment, he drank in the spectacular view of the city through one wall of windows. Will added, "...and maybe a bit jealous. It must cost a fortune."

"Apparently, some people come from wealth. I'll be back in a minute." She disappeared into her bedroom.

Will reflected that his bio put him at the other end of the spectrum. He had no parents and no assets to speak of. He made enough as a lead reporter to cover his rent and live modestly. That was it. He sauntered along the ceiling to floor windows trying to place various landmarks. The delay was starting to agitate him. "Are you okay KC?" he called, vaguely aware that unpredictable things could occur. Were they being tracked already?

"Almost ready...just give me a sec." Keela called back.

She emerged holding a small backpack but his attention was directed at her outfit. She had changed from her formal work clothes to casual wear. His first thought, apart from being appreciative, was what was the point? Then it occurred to him that their actions might be inhibited by something as mundane as uncomfortable clothing. And it could be true that compared to the other journalists in the office, his clothing could be described as slovenly, if one were to be unkind. They were certainly rated as comfortable. He didn't have more than three choices but he was sure, glancing at the setting, Keela could have spent a lot longer making selections from an electronic wardrobe menu.

"So you changed...I thought the comment was merely academic."

"Do you like it?" She spun around and made a fashionable pose. Though he could appreciate the aesthetic qualities of her appearance, his reply was a slight rebuff. "Very nice, but I don't think how we look is going to see us through this."

"Did you get what you came for?" he asked slightly cynically, assuming the ulterior motive had been to satisfy her whims for fashion.

Keela reached around and withdrew an ancient looking book. "This..." she said. "The sayings of Eli Benn. I was told it was important."

The resultant face he made reflected what he thought. Why would some mystical proverbs make a difference to their task?

"You'll end up thanking me for this." The words were so assured he was left mute.

They returned to the nearest tube hub and a car soon arrived. "Go ahead," Keela stated drily, and motioned with her arm that he should take the front position. "I wouldn't want to usurp your rightful status."

He stared at her briefly. "I'll sit in the back," he said flatly, unwilling that she should score some 'I'm-the-bigger-person' points over such a trifling issue. Sitting behind her, seeing her dark hair out down to her shoulders instead of tied back for work, he wondered to himself; who are you?

The trip to the spaceport, like all tube car rides, was brief. There were mild sensations of sweeping around curves at speed and acceleration and deceleration forces, but there was little physical data to determine the distance travelled apart from the digital map display.

***

At the terminal, each tube hub had up to ten tube cars merging into a single file to disgorge their passengers. The vehicles quickly disappeared to proceed to the pickup centre or the reserve storage area, depending on the demand. People were everywhere, streaming from the labyrinth of tube hubs. Keela slid her arm into his which jolted him and the unfamiliar contact made him decidedly uncomfortable.

"What are you doing KC?" He sounded bewildered.

"Two young people at a spaceport, what looks more natural than a young couple walking arm in arm?"

"Maybe natural for you." The comment didn't dissuade her at all. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Uh huh..." Her smile was disconcerting to Will. Secretly, he was chuffed.

A tall, unshaven, dark haired man, barely in his twenties, confronted them. He pulled the lapel of his sport jacket back to reveal a spaceport security medallion. He said quietly and sternly, "Security...What is your destination?"

The realisation that they had no strategy for justifying their presence resulted in a stultifying silence.

"Well...Show me your tickets...Where are you going?"

"Um...We're going on a private cruiser...We're just on our way to meet our host." Keela smiled sweetly at him.

He smiled. "Very good. At least one of you can think on their feet...Name's Garrett Irving. I have some spare security IDs in case someone asks."

"What?" Will tried to assimilate what was happening.

Garrett walked alongside them. "Driscoll contacted me...said I'd be able to join you here."

"How did you know it was us?"

"Your pictures...Driscoll sent them...and such a lovely couple you make too."

"That was the idea. It's part of the plan," shot back Keela.

"You mean you're not a couple?" he chortled facetiously.

"We're work colleagues," she protested. Her vigorous denial battered Will's previously solid self-image. His eyes were averted and strangely met the gaze of another girl staring at him. She looked uncertain and slightly agitated. A half step forward was halted when she saw his returned look. His wrist communicator sprang to life. "Recruit her," it commanded. The monitoring threw him briefly. Somehow their moves were being watched and manipulated.

Will left Garrett and Keela as they continued to verbally spar and drew near to the indecisive girl.

"I believe you're joining our team."

She looked about to see who Will was talking to. He continued. "I take it Driscoll contacted you about helping him expose Ubel Day?"

"Yes," she replied timidly. Will wondered what use this fragile looking girl would be in the quest.

"What's your name?"

"Cecilia." Her large brown eyes fluttered. "I'm sorry...I'm still trying to work out what I have to do. I don't do this sort of thing very often." She looked down to her side. "I have my book...I was told it had things in it that will help us."

"Eli Benn?"

"That's right."

Some unkind thoughts flashed into his mind. 'He had a newbie on the team...and why was it that now two members had some information that he was not privy to?' He switched to friendly reception mode.

"Well, come with me Cecilia and I'll introduce you to the others...Don't worry. We're all in the same boat, I imagine...not sure what we're supposed to do."

He walked alongside the girl doubtful how their growing band would react to having a shrinking violet on their side. He had been emboldened by the task he had been given but now concerns assailed him; it was easy to have some confidence in Keela but he was gathering unknowns about him and they were yet to get a grasp of the problem ahead. Halfway back to the pair he had left quarrelling and who were now scrutinising his new companion, he was accosted by two people who halted their progress. The man was a tall, bookish Afro-American and the girl slim, sandy haired and with a slight spray of freckles.

Nothing was said in the awkward confrontation. Will and Cecilia stood self-consciously. It was clear that the other two were examining them as if assessing whether they had made a mistake. The girl spoke in a soft confident tone.

"I'm Kaimi Wordsworth and this is Doyle Gatehouse. I believe we're your team members on this adventure that Driscoll has in store for us."

"Good to meet you." His greeting sounded lame in his ears and he felt he was too attentive to the girl's questioning look. It took a few seconds to realise she was expecting to be introduced.

"Ah...right...This is Cecilia...er..."

"Morgana."

"Morgana..." he repeated distractedly. "And...I'm..." His name eluded him.

"You're Will Durham," she cloze-d patronisingly. He pulled a pained expression.

"Come and meet the rest of the team." He brushed past them, hoping to garner some ground from the floundering introductions he had attempted.

He was relieved when he had reached the other two that the three newest members had followed. "Garrett and Keela, meet Cecilia, Doyle and Kaimi. I believe we'll be working together as a team to expose this scheme that Driscoll has warned us about. I suggest we get to know each other a bit more so that we'll work together more effectively."

"So, Driscoll made you the team leader?" Doyle's first words weren't particularly encouraging.

"Shouldn't we start? I imagine time is fairly critical." Kaimi added, clearly under the impression that Will needed some sound guidance.

"No...I want to learn something about you first. We have been chosen for a reason. I'd like to get some idea what that reason is...Let's sit here."

Doyle and Kaimi were unhappy at the delay but could hardly proceed without the knowledge of what to do. The other three sat on the padded couches and waited for his lead.

After a slow scan of their faces Will began, "I'm going to compromise my safety right away by saying...I'm not a supporter of the regime...I won't speak for others...KC and I work for TIN...Teleo Informational Network...we're reporters. If I have any skills then I would categorise them as logic based. Driscoll contacted me at work and has identified people that we need to help him rescue."

"Why did he choose you?" queried Doyle.

"I have no idea. I'd use a cliché...but the truth is your guess may be better than mine." He turned to Keela. "You next."

"I'm Keela...but call me KC. I work with Will...and I hate the regime. I overheard the message to Will and convinced him I had to help. My skills?...maybe talking...I convinced him after all." She tilted her head at Will and smirked. "And...I'm trustworthy and loyal."

"You shouldn't even be here...Driscoll didn't choose you," complained Kaimi.

Her comment brought to the surface what Will had privately noted; Keela was the only one who hadn't been summoned directly. The steely looks at Keela made him intervene.

"Driscoll told me to recruit...and I recruited her." His wide eyed open handed response declared, 'what's the problem?' Sidelong glances suggested that the issue wasn't to be resolved so simply.

"What about you Garrett?"

"I actually do work security, and...I could take or leave the government...but when citizens are experimented on...well...we need to stop it don't we?"

"What about skills?"

"What can I say? I...will get you into places by what I know, and...I'm good with a blaster..."

Will cut him off, "No weapons...I think."

"Magnetic pulsers," corrected Keela.

Garrett smiled at Keela. 'Maybe the discussion was worth it already,' thought Will.

Garrett went on, "O...kay...and I can pilot a spacer."

"You leave that till last?" Doyle sounded incredulous.

"Might come in handy," added Will, "but we already have a pilot."

Not knowing anything about the transport plans, heads turned to him to expand on the remark. Will forced a tight grin and left it at that. He looked at Doyle. "What's your story?"

He looked down at the girl next to him. "We're programmers with universal network. Our job is to eradicate parasitic networks using the infrastructure. We came across a file that said 'open if you want freedom from regime control'. It sounded like a clever trick...something the regime would put in the system to catch non-conformists...Couldn't find it anywhere on our list of executables so we opened it, and...Driscoll tells us that if we want to do some good, to join you at the spaceport. The clip had an image of you." When he registered that Will was waiting for more, Doyle continued.

"I guess our skillsets are similar..." He gestured toward Kaimi. "We can hack the network...help you avoid detection and...monitor regime communications."

Will looked at the girl beside him. "Anything else?"

She shook her head. "That's about it."

"No opinion about the regime?"

"It's our employer...so...I'm not saying anything."

"Why should we trust you?"

"Because Driscoll does."

The answer made sense. It wasn't very reassuring to him that two people whose job was to expose network infiltrators were going to help expose a government sponsored social experiment. They all turned to Cecilia.

"I don't have any skills...a man called Eli Benn asked me if I wanted to see freedom in the regime. I said yes. I had been playing slots at a gambling venue. I sort of have a problem with gambling games. Eli said this wasn't about entertainment and asked me if I wanted to kick the gambling habit. I said yes. He asked me if I wanted to help others find freedom. I said yes, and he said go to the spaceport and find Will. He showed an image, then he gave me a bag saying we might need what is inside, and then he left...and...and...I'm here."

"Does everybody have a picture of me?" griped Will. A few heads nodded.

Unsure what to do next, Will led his small band of accomplices toward the private use terminal. An ungainly professorial character virtually leapt out at them with comical eagerness.

"Tell me..." he challenged, "I asked for a cube and he gave me two squares...What do I do?...Do you know?"

Will was appalled. It showed on his face. Their knowledge of him went beyond his present role.

"Yes." His weak reply propelled the enigmatic questioner into action.

"Come with me...we will put your answer in the machine...and I'll get my extra dimension." He hauled Will away to a keyboard and screen. Like some indistinct image coming into focus through a camera lens, Will recalled his childhood discovery. It was a formula relating cube numbers and square numbers. The others crowded around him to see what was happening. He wrote:

a3 = (a/2(a+1))2 – (a/2(a-1))2

A sentence appeared next to the equation: "Every cube is..." He was required to complete the statement. He wrote, "...the difference between two squares." The man had gone. A door next to the screen opened.

"Come in here." A mellow voice instructed. All six filed into the dim room. The door closed and lights came on.

"I'm Kevalin Adamson. Here, put these uniforms on and then follow me. You got the puzzle right but don't forget what Driscoll told you."

Will didn't know whether he was referring to everything or something in particular. He hated riddles. His gaze took in the man who would transport them to their destination. He wore a pilot's uniform. The uniforms he was handing out were blue cleaner's coveralls. When they were all similarly clad in blue, the solid looking pilot led them out to the private space cruiser. Its glinting silver polished surface and streamlined contours was a visual quotation of science fiction transportation. For the sake of appearances he pointed and then handed a few items to, what seemed to be, the cleaning crew. Amongst the items was a bag containing the book Cecilia was so intent on taking with her. Will thought furiously about what Driscoll had told him. He would bring his team with him and... What else? He had to hurry and he'd get more instructions on the button. How did that work?

Once on board, Kevalin congratulated them on getting to the launch pad. "It's only the beginning but we have got here without a hitch." He was all business directing them into their seats and warning them that they would experience brief discomfort due to rapid acceleration and then transitioning through hyperspace.

***

Some of them claimed to have experienced different forms of space travel but the pilot was adamant that none had ever left Teleo on this craft before so it would be a new experience. When it occurred, Will wondered how much of the sensation was due to the power of suggestion. Launching and accelerating to orbit was stomach wrenching but the transfer into subspace was a disorientating feeling of moving through viscous liquid. Will was the first to observe the new planet when they regained normal space. Land masses and oceans were unfamiliar and intriguing. Only one land mass displayed extensive development. Kevalin explained that the concentration of the population was necessary to monitor the attitudes and behaviour of the people.

"So...are they slaves?" asked Kaimi.

"In a manner. I'll let Driscoll fill you in. And...you'll see for yourselves what's happened here."

The landing was tame compared to the journey. The site was away from the one large metropolis, on a flat shale platform within a deep chasm. Their disembarking had them standing out in the open with the breeze and sun competing to tantalise their senses. Kevalin took them toward a sheer crevasse wall. Around a corner there was a tunnel they walked along. It opened to a cavern with rows of computers. The whole scene was like a second rate spy movie.

Driscoll came out from a side office and told them to sit. Obediently, they took positions on two couches facing a wall screen.

"You have been selected because of your distaste for autocratic rule. Each of you has displayed a moral code counter to the decay of Teleo. You have all shown a hope and a sensitivity for something better. This is an opportunity for those sentiments to be put into practice." As he walked to a screen controller, Will wondered what level of consciousness he was experiencing. How did this equate with what he knew was possible?

Driscoll went on. "This is the first of four worlds that Ubel Day has engineered to manipulate people's lives. It is run by robots. Some, the humanoid ones, are normally indistinguishable from the public. Others control the environment and situations of living, guided by constant surveillance. Initially, this world may seem harmless, even pleasant, but pay close attention as you observe what goes on. The ramifications of this world are diabolical."

As images came onto the screen, the psycho-scientist kept speaking. "This world is THEOS1. THEOS stands for Total Heuristic Environmental Operating System and is a product of Robotic Solutions Inc. The aim is to give people what they want...all pleasure and no pain...ease and comfort, no struggles... there is total intervention...in their minds nothing bad happens...all is provided...everything is analysed...genetics for optimal offspring...everything is achieved and failure is avoided. In the short time you have to rescue the individuals we have identified, consider the consequences of such a world. For these people, if any issue arises, solutions are provided, not solved, not worked out through experience."

Driscoll went on to describe the moral vacuum the residents lived in. Will hated reflecting on what he was really like, who he really was. He had to focus on what was being said; distraction could mean failure.

"Six residents have been targeted as ideal candidates for witnessing against this pernicious system. They have come to understand the fallacy of indulgence. Your presence cannot be explained unless you merge and even appear to join the frivolity. I warn you, however, that to do so has its dangers. You will recognise the machines by the glasses I'll provide. They will amplify and tint the electrical fields surrounding the machines. Be wary. They will eliminate you if you are found out." He paused as vignettes of people partying, food aplenty, holiday scenes of swimming, sun-tanning, adventure sports and also music and the arts featured. If Will was to label it with a theme word it would be 'hedonism'. The world was materially rich. Commercial outlets offered every modern convenience, every luxury and every distraction that managed to dull the sensitivities and make them ignorant to their addiction to pleasure.

To carry out their mission, they were given pulse guns, a signal jammer, field vision glasses looking like tinted spectacles that revealed the electromagnetic fields surrounding the humanoid robots, and a digital map of the megalopolis depicting numerous escape routes; each would be available once and then shut down since robotic memory would identify the location and put everyone at risk. Should someone use your chosen escape route first it would necessitate a rapid change of plan. Will decided that he would always have a backup.

Driscoll observed the somewhat ad hoc team as they viewed the entertainment culture being captured on the screens.

"You cannot delay. Your orientation has used up much of your time allocation. A strict deadline for a citizen census will entrap the residents. These are the people seeking deliverance." Six faces with accompanying names came onto the screen. "Also the robots have the ability to eliminate you with lasers. They will use them sparingly and not at all in the view of the populace as punitive control would alert the public to the sham Ubel Day has created."

Will had played enough video games to be confident he could outshoot the bots, especially since he wasn't restricted by the presence of people because magnetic bursts were harmless to humans.

"Now hurry and retrieve these six," spurred Driscoll.

"Why would they want to get out of here? It seems like an ideal world," said a voice from behind them. They all turned to see who was speaking.

"Ah...a couple of late comers," observed Driscoll. "Let me see, we have Teagan Maghal and Mallory Keres." He held up a hand in greeting indicating the latter as the one posing the question.

"Why indeed? I'll let you people work it out...Time to go."

Will briefly stared at the new girl. She winked at him with a coquettish grin. It bewildered him. He shouldn't react that way in a situation like this, should he? He tried to readdress the strategies they would need to use to complete the task. Removing the memory of that impudent look would be more difficult than merely shifting his gaze back to the screens.

For a short time Keela and Cecilia read from their Eli Benn books giving examples of the words they should use to convince targets to leave. These lines were said to be key triggers to gain responses.
Chapter 3

Will had decided that each of the original six would split up and target one of the dissenters to the world. The two new members of the team could latch on to whomever they wished. Questions about Teagan and Mallory were pushed aside for the task at hand. Each team member dispersed, taking different travel pods to their destinations.

***

Will was strolling along a boardwalk beside a placid bay. The walk was akin to attending carnival sideshows. Pinball machines rang and shrieked and buzzed to the clamour of excited players, massages were offered by robotic humanoids almost indistinguishable from flesh and blood people and bars proffered their wares with entertainment provided. Two girls attempted to lure him into a dance party where the music rollicked to an infectious beat. He was not going to be detoured or distracted from reaching the theatre district. His potential witness, Alan, was binging on plays and movies.

The unease growing in Will's mind was ignited by his fear of subliminal messages. But with Alan, his disaffection with his life was caused by the filmic portrayal of adversity overcome. It had been the plot complications displayed on this medium that had struck a nerve. In his world there were no challenges to rise to, no threats to overcome and so every success was a pyrrhic victory, costing the winner the absence of lessons learned. They were empty of meaning because the robots had facilitated the end result. In the movies, the triumphs of the human spirit, depicted in what he saw, suggested a deeper reality. Now he had a tinge of an understanding of struggles and he felt the valuable lessons of defeat were experiences he'd been deprived of in this place of excess and decadence.

Easing himself into a mega complex of cinemas, Will was assaulted by garish, sensual and explicit posters and digital signage. He moved into the huge foyer, checking his locator as he went. Alan, the citizen he was about to engage with, was waiting for the commencement of a historical drama movie. Toward the entry, a cluster of jubilant youths tried to recruit him to watch a risqué spy comedy. It puzzled him that the inhabitants were obsessed with entangling all and sundry in their feckless lifestyle. The free entertainment enmeshed them in filling the void in their lives and somehow it made it more palatable if others were likewise entangled. He rejected the invitation claiming a prior engagement, and thanked them for their friendly inclusiveness. The compliment deflected any perceived rebuff. The group swarmed into another like-minded troupe and with whoops of glee they swaggered to their show.

Inside the less seamy screening, the sparse audience scattered about were waiting patiently for the movie to start. Will went to the seat next to Alan and sat down. The young man glanced across sensing something was not right. Will began quietly.

"Alan, my name's Will Durham. I've come to get you out of here."

"What...the cinema?"

"No, this world."

"What makes you think I want out?"

"Your life is incomplete. You have no challenge, no achievements to pursue, and this world is an amoral crowd who are so self-obsessed that they can't define what it is to do good...Whether you like it or not, you're a slave to your passions."

His tight lipped response conveyed passive concession. Alan looked around guiltily. He knew the one law, the one rule of the planet, was that you were here to stay.

"O...kay, wh...what do...do you want me to do?" he stammered.

"Follow me out when once the movie starts. We have a limited amount of time. We'll drive a share car for a bit and then get out."

"You know they track those wherever you go don't you...They know everything!"

"Trust me...We have a plan."

"We?"

"You're not the only one discontented with this free for all where everyone does what seems right in their own eyes." Will felt awkward delivering his quote from Eli Ben.

Alan squinted as if it hurt to think. "You know no one gets hurt...they protect us from everything...It's just that...how do you know if you're good at anything—what your strengths are— if there are no problems, no adversity, no struggles...It's not why I got into this."

"No failures to learn from, hey? And...I guess the natural consequences for your actions are intercepted so others aren't affected by substance abuse, laziness or selfish desires."

"Exactly...say, are you a Theo's player?"

"No, but I've had a briefing and a chance to observe your world for a bit."

***

Alan didn't move when Will started shuffling sideways. It was clear he was unaccustomed to adhering to any strict schedule. Will sat back down. Any obvious distraction or interference of another patron would be dealt with by the ever vigilant robots. The movie didn't really engage Will but he could see that plots which explored human conflict and displayed courage, commitment and sacrifice could ignite a yearning for meaningfulness and a desire to identify with the protagonists. The action escalated as the hero sought to rescue hostages and inflict vengeance at the same time. He whispered harshly, "We have to go...decide now...a challenge and purpose or continue to indulge yourself?" A sharp kick to Alan's ankle shattered his reverie. A foreign urge to retaliate in anger washed through him like volatile decongesting vapours. Momentarily, he grasped the reality of valid emotional responses. He half rose, sat, and then stood and trailed Will out of the theatre. This was genuine drama. He was risking elimination so the tension increased with each step.

Things went haywire from there. An attendant who displayed the tell-tale shimmer of a magnetic field approached. "Is there any problem with the movie?" Its voice was perfectly modulated.

"Er...didn't like the movie," responded Alan.

"You have never left before Alan."

"No...no...bit of a headache."

"We can fix that for you..." It paused and then asked, "Who is your friend? He doesn't register on our records." The words were becoming more menacing.

A warbling boing emanated from Will's blaster. The attendant froze. He quickly swung around and immobilised two more before grabbing Alan's arm and running for the outside.

"We can't get away now," gasped his fearful companion as they emerged from the theatre.

"Stick with me!" demanded Will.

Jumping in the nearest share car, the two accelerated away. Will was conscious that every move was tracked. He swung right, barely in time to avoid a collision with an intercepting robotic vehicle. Trying to keep one eye on the roadway and one on his digital map, he negotiated past one roadblock after another. All the while Alan was bemoaning his fate.

"Oh no...this is hopeless. We can't drive forever. They'll catch us. We'll be eliminated."

Weaving through traffic, various cars were directed into their path. The signal jammer Will carried prevented remote control of vehicles when they came into their vicinity. Twice Will was surprised by cars driven by humanoids trying to ram him. Only last second manoeuvring allowed him to elude the pursuers. Behind them several collisions occurred. None of the robots expressed any emotions and the human audience were amused as with any other seemingly harmless diversion.

Will drove the vehicle straight toward three humanoids waiting near the entrance of an underpass tunnel. The stop was unexpected. He leapt out and reduced them to motionless hulks. Scrambling back into the car he bypassed the barrier and hurtled into the darkness. As the small red spot on the map drew near he slammed on the brakes.

"Get out," he yelled, simultaneously exiting from his side. Alan was beginning to hope. Things were working and his rescuer had gotten them farther than he thought possible.

The two were walking along the tube when bright lights appeared, first from behind them and then from in front.

"We're trapped," moaned Alan.

Will slapped a blue lit panel in the wall and it slid open. He dragged Alan through, closed the entry with a similar strike to its reciprocal panel and it slid shut. The red dot disappeared. The panels began welding themselves together. A rumble indicated the tunnel they were in would not be there for long. They ran for a minute as the tunnel behind them collapsed. Before them a capsule arrived and opened up. The moment they boarded, it lurched away. Its velocity increased alarmingly. Everything was a blur and a swirl of kaleidoscopic patterns and colours.

They arrived into the safe haven of Driscoll's mission centre. Alan was elated.

***

Checking the progress of the others provided some relief for Will. Keela had arrived back first with her escapee, Baden. She told Will that Baden had been afraid to leave home because of his addiction to alcohol. He had been revived three times in a medical care centre, detoxified and encouraged to imbibe with greater moderation. Experience had told him that the mind numbing effects of the drink required greater and greater amounts to induce euphoric insensibility. In a moment of lucidity, despite the constant cajoling that it was all right to continue, he knew he had to get off the addiction treadmill.

It had been Keela's good fortune that he had been sober and an escape route had been nearby. She embodied the directive for stealth. In the guise of a fitness fanatic, she had run along a roadway and turned into the flat as if she lived there. She provided a running outfit for Baden and they left at a much reduced pace. His poor condition meant even the short jog exhausted him. A smart trapdoor exit within a maze went unnoticed. Their departure from the city resulted in a belated and ineffective investigation by the humanoids. The robotic logic focus was on the last known location of Baden and an unknown companion.

She jibed that Will made an easy task into a hair-raising escapade. Keela then proceeded to provide unwanted advice on what she would have done. He ignored her. Doyle had also preceded him returning with Chad. They had arrived following a brief chase in a boat to a secret exit on a lighthouse. Will remarked on the risky nature of such an escape since a whole range of options disappeared once they had chosen a water transport. Doyle merely laughed. His target was expected to be on the water. Chad was an enthusiastic recreational sailor and had assumed that endless sailing opportunities would satisfy his desperation for peace, quiet and relaxation. The problem had been that when he had long spells alone, the introspection he engaged in revealed an inner unease and a longing for the transcendent that solitary meditation virtually affirmed was there.

Garrett and Cecilia came in as Will was studying the map to locate all the team. Both were vocal about the rush they felt at delivering their respective clients. Garrett had intercepted Eva on her way to a party. Without explaining who he was he had begun to raise personal doubts about the emptiness of entertainment. He had Eva sharing her hollow feelings about pursuing fun and the let down at night times when amusement had to give way to sleep. He shared that the origin of the word 'amuse' was 'not thinking'. From there it had been a simple task to divert her to an exit point that he had been drawing her nearer to all the while.

Felicity, who had come with Cecilia, was a proactive deliver-ee. She had seen the superficial, self-obsessed lives of the inhabitants and had rejected it as an aberration. Irresponsible and directionless lifestyles reinforced to her that somehow she needed to leave the so-called 'ideal world'. Meeting a hesitant Cecilia, almost had her recruiting her rescuer. It was only Cecilia's methodical planning that convinced the girl that, despite her tentativeness, this new acquaintance had a strategy. Engrossing Felicity with Eli Benn quotes from her book, Cecilia suggested that justice, mercy and humility led to a path filled with contentment and joy. She was quickly convinced and had to urge her rescuer to get them out.

The meticulous preparation and timed departure were temporarily stymied by the antiquated book being noted by humanoid minders. A share car was rapidly acquired. Cecilia proved to be a crazy driver and transported them through several road blocks in a wild chase to a place where three exit points provided options. The one out of view of those on their tail, a rock covered tunnel, was hastily used and then, once they were safe, the way out disappeared like all the others.

What troubled Will was the absence of Kaimi. He checked her locator and saw her, on the digital map, in the fashion district with her target, Dani. The two new recruits had accompanied her on her mission. He wondered what the complication was that held up Kaimi, Teagan and Mallory.

"I'm going out. No one else comes. If I fail, we'll cut our losses."

"We're a team," reminded Keela.

"I know...just the same...we could all get caught if we trail out to remedy an irretrievable situation. Five saved is pretty good."

Will again took an entry adjacent to the one that he used last time and slowly made his way to the fashion district. Numerous outlets and stores congregated around glassed in catwalks. Garments of all styles, haute couture, from the sublime to the ridiculous, from the pompous to the diaphanous; all were paraded in an endless stream of perfect human form droids. He scanned the area trying to find Kaimi amidst the throng of obsessive shoppers.

Finally, after checking his map twice he saw her surrounded by Teagan, Mallory, her target Dani and several other admirers. She was posturing in a black evening dress. As he drew near he heard Teagan effusively declare, "O Kaimi...you must have it. You look so elegant, so regal."

"She's right, you're simply stunning in that dress," added Mallory.

"You think so?" answered Kaimi poised with delight at the admiration.

"Here's another that would look beautiful on you," offered an assistant, bringing a lacy, white party dress to her.

The opposition was too great to counter in one move so Will sidled up alongside Dani, who appeared quite bemused by what had happened.

"I can get you away from here to a place where appearance doesn't mean everything, where people are appreciated for their values and the integrity of their behaviour." The girl looked at him.

"Does such a place exist?"

"Not in this city...but I can get you out, if you're willing."

"That's what she said," her tilted head directed at Kaimi. "Then her friend suggested it wouldn't hurt for her to try a few things on and...well, you can see for yourself...she's into it."

Will looked again at his team member disappearing into a changing cubicle before addressing Dani more forcefully. "Do you want to get out or not?"

She examined him briefly, and then relented with the look of a weary athlete. "Yes please."

He took her hand and sidestepped through the crowd engrossed by the next file of daring fashions on display. Instinctively, he swung around and in one motion fired two pulses at humanoids drawing near to them.

"What was that?" gasped Dani.

"Opposition."

The surveillance feedback from nearby bots was informing the AI computers of his identity. This departure would become difficult very quickly. Two other robots readying their laser weapons, were frozen in their tracks before he hauled Dani into a share car and raced away from more alerted machines. He zigzagged wildly between two robotic vehicles whose delayed motion was solely due to the conflict of preventing the populace from being exposed to any form of danger or hint of oppression while trying to enforce a closed world.

Dani was exhilarated by the hazardous ride. The share car was swinging left and right accompanied by her squeals. Will almost lost it, drifting into a corner before correcting its slide to dash down a side street. He was sneaking fleeting looks at his map to negotiate his way to the exit which gave him most leeway. Glancing down, he found the red dot most removed from the hunting yellow bars of the human mimicking tyrants. Slewing sideways suddenly to regain the roadway, Dani bumped up against him and shrieked with exhilaration. Before he realised it, Will was barrelling up a cul-de-sac. Braking hard, the car slid to a halt. He leapt out and had to fetch the girl who was waiting for his lead. Grasping her hand once more, he urged her to hurry. They ran up some stairs, through a series of corridors; whump, whump, whump and three more foe stood stationary.

Another stairwell and this time they descended three levels. Will hit the glowing blue plate and the exit opened up in the wall. It was closed and being decommissioned by the time more pursuers arrived. A capsule came and whisked them through winding dark tunnels to Driscoll's control room. Leaping out and leaving Dani to make her own way, he barked at Driscoll, "Those two late team members, they have helped snare Kaimi in Teleo. Why did you give them to me?"

"I didn't. They just turned up."

"You allowed them to join my team."

"No Will...You are in charge of your team. You didn't follow instructions. I said your team would be complete at the spaceport. I said no late comers. It was up to you to reject them on that basis."

Will bit his lip. He hated the minutiae of cryptic instructions. The path to solving this conundrum was convoluted. He would have to be on his guard.

He considered what to do next. Kaimi was on his team. He couldn't leave her; firstly, because he was team leader and was responsible and then, because so much of the mission still had to be completed, he couldn't afford to lose someone.

"I have to go back in," he announced to the others.

"I'll go with you. I don't think they even ID-ed me," crowed Garrett.

"You know if you get eliminated, that's it for us...you're the team leader Driscoll chose. I doubt if any of us could pick up the slack." Doyle's bald and tactless appraisal left him ambivalent. It was meant to be about team, he knew, but individuals were important too. One part of him relished the backhanded compliment—they saw him as an effective leader.

"I'm team leader, that's why I have to go," he retorted.

The two of them returned to the labyrinthine tunnels and boarded a capsule.

"How are we going to do this?" queried Garrett.

"Nothing delicate...This is a snatch and grab. If Teagan and Mallory are in active opposition, then there'll be no negotiation...and we're running out of time. We might be closed out as it is."

They hurtled along the winding passages while Will simultaneously studied the exit locations. If they emerged nearby, the chances of detection lessened. He tapped a red dot near Kaimi's location and then indicated his getaway preference. Garrett nodded.

"That's the one I would have chosen too," he remarked.

"You take out any bots and I'll grab Kaimi."

"I might have do some shoving if Mallory and Teagan get involved."

"You do what you have to do," replied Will, "...within reason," he appended. "No one gets hurt. Driscoll was strong on that."

"We'll be lucky if we make it," remarked Garrett.

Waiting briefly at the entry to the fashion district area they sought, both checked the small status screens pinpointing Kaimi's location and rehearsed their movements. Will nodded his head and they burst into the open through the access door, again aware that the portal would be rendered inoperative by its use. Running helter-skelter through the assembled crowd, Will had his eyes fixed on Kaimi. She was pirouetting in a slinky evening gown. The distinctive whump of Garrett's weapon suggested that robots were already moving in on them. He drew his own magnetic blaster as the blue shimmer of a mechanical adversary moved between him and the girl. His first shot missed as he bumped into one of the crowd but his second removed the obstacle's threat.

Kaimi turned just as he arrived and immediately registered the plight she was in.

"I'm sorry. I just thought one outfit...and that somehow led to another and another." Will ignored her. Elimination was seconds away. He grasped her hand and dragged her off toward their escape route. A glance back had him fire several rounds of magnetic pulses at four bots encircling Garrett. The humanoids collapsed in angled petrification.

A squeal emanated from Kaimi as he used both arms to manhandle her away from reaching arms ahead. He swung her bodily across to the other side. Garrett, who had, as anticipated, shoved the two turncoats back into the throng, pulsed his weapon with exquisite timing and accuracy. Now the way ahead was clear. The countdown bar on Will's watch face was approaching red. The programmed restrictions of stilettos prompted Kaimi to discard the fashionable footwear and hoist the limiting parameters of the constricting dress. The three sprinted toward the shop front indicated by the red dot on Will's miniature screen.

"Quick!" he screamed. A panel slid back as he pressed against it. The timer was counting down as they piled into the newly arrived capsule.

"Hold on...we're going full speed," he yelled unnecessarily.

Jerking one way and then another the small pod hurtled along the track. They slid to a stop. The task had been completed within the barest of margins.

***

Chapter 4

"Time." The announcement resonated in his headset. The screen flickered. The world about him went dark. The soporific voice intoned. "Virtual Reality World will record your progress. Please come and see us soon. Thank you for gaming with Virtual Reality world...It's as good as being there."

Zac released himself from his alter ego, Will Durham, and considered the exceptional qualities of the game graphics and the distinctive science fiction world simulation of 'Great is the Mystery'.

He heard the door to his simulation cube swing open. "Time," insisted the attendant. "Come on...we have to prep the room for the next session."

Zac removed the headset and clambered forward out of a reclining position on the large padded seat of, what he assumed was, the travelling capsule. He unplugged two cables from the compact backpack processor—audio-vis and a compound neural stimulation controller for complex senses and muscle simulations. It detached from the high speed wireless link strapped to his waist. He removed that also and rose to his feet. Grasping the long robe from the hook, he exited.

Around him, the other hundred VR gamers on the ground floor were also emerging from the warren of simulation rooms. Most were in the eighteen to late twenties age group. In the three floors above them the same thing would be occurring. Four hundred players finishing a three hour session together and thirty minutes later another four hundred would begin another three hour session in the huge complex. Gaming continued twenty four seven. Five floors below them provided the space for the electronically woven three D tapestry that hosted the two or three action games. While the top two floors had more sedentary experiences, he had heard the other two levels had mobile cubes. He knew that most of the ground floor cubes were lowered to this vast space to accommodate the movement required. But he had never before experienced such a complete immersion into the phantom world of virtual reality.

He glanced around. About half the gamers were modest like he was and concealed the body hugging electronic suit. The others paraded unashamedly, even brazenly, hoping to draw admiring eyes. Some of these people were probably participants in his game. With the hoods of the body suits obscuring their faces it wasn't possible to identify anyone. And then, he was assuming that the software approximated an emulation of their facial features as the better game formats now did. There was no denying that it was the best graphic feed he had ever experienced; it was almost too real.

They made their way to the change rooms. The next crowd would arrive soon, so he hastened to his numbered cubical. Zac quickly divested himself of the all-covering suit. It was put into the sanitiser bin, and then he removed the highly conductive grapheme under-suit that had to be laundered. A short, pre-timed shower and blast of warm air left him refreshed. He retrieved his clothes from the locker and quickly dressed.

New gamers were already lining up for the next session when Zac entered the concourse from the change rooms. Attendants had checked the cubes and automatic sprays had disinfected the insides with volatile hydrocarbons that were evaporated dry with a stream of hot air. Up ahead he saw two girls walking together. He knew them! To begin with, Zac trailed them. He guessed their resemblance to the characters Keela and Kaimi couldn't be a coincidence. The similarity was uncanny. Had they found each other through happenstance or were they known to each other? Had they arrived at the gaming centre together and purposely connected in the game? He was too insecure to catch up and ask.

As he walked to his car, Zac reflected on the moribund life he lived. Having travelled to England for work, he had been gainfully employed writing computer applications for a big bank. When European federation was complete and all the banks had been nationalised and placed under the control of the Central bank, he lost his job. All financial organisation and electronic hardware were centralised in Brussels. Since then he had survived writing code for the last vestiges of independent businesses and working in a London café as a part time barista. International travel had been restricted to the very elite so going home to Australia became problematic.

Life had become a drudge. If it wasn't for the distraction of VR gaming, he was sure, he'd go crazy. He hated the mindless conformity of the populace. Edicts came from Rome and everyone fell into line on the pretext that to register dissent was tantamount to a violent uprising and met with legal censure and custodial consequences. Free thinkers had gone underground.

He tried to recall how this latest episode in his life had eventuated. It had been at a late night get together at the café he worked at that a number of dissenters harked back to Judeo Christian beliefs. The manager told him that he tolerated the group because any customers were good customers; a contention that Zac knew was open to contradiction. Many of these customers still paid in illegal currencies and that was how he was paid. A member of the believer group asked him his opinion, and warily he had replied that the church had a history of endlessly hoping in the future. Didn't he know the future was always the future? Zac had been pleased that he could engage with his pat answer to religious nuts.

In his car, his mind again went back to that night and what the man had replied.

"You, of all people..." he had said poking him in the chest with his finger."... in the software business should know that times are different now...How do you keep sane?" he had asked.

"VR gaming." Zac had replied, trying to work out what he had said in their short conversation that disclosed his occupation.

"Just so happens I have a five game action pass for Virtual World. Do you want it?"

The young barista had been astounded. "That's worth over five hundred Euros...what's the catch?"

"No catch...The game is unique...called 'Great is the Mystery'...Put the card in...When asked for the game code put seven zero x seven. It will assign you a game identity and you're in. It's five three hour sessions over five weeks...same time each week."

"Why are you doing this...How can you do this?" Zac had stared at the hooded stranger whose shaded face remained indistinct.

"Let's just say that lives are more important than money." He handed over the pass. Zac examined it to see if it was genuine. He wondered if it was some practical joke that would culminate in his embarrassment when he tried to register his pass. It looked legitimate. The man stood and patted him on the back. "Oh...make sure you read the handbook on this data key." He handed over the small solid state device. "It explains your role, the realm's history and geography and the artefacts you'll use. Good luck with the game. It's not easy to succeed."

***

That had been a week ago. He had read the manual twice. He had completed the first session. Now he was caught up in this virtual cosmic struggle, albeit in a virtual world, that invaded his waking thoughts. He shivered as he considered the subliminal parallels to the real world. Real! He snorted as he wondered what was real and what was intentional obscuring of truth and authentic life. The game was a miasma of inferential evil. People were cavorting in personal freedoms; all the while they were enslaved in their addiction of self. Like a bootlegger offering alcohol to native populations, like a casino offering free chips to a gambling addict; the insidious programmed robotic intervention anaesthetised the inhabitants to the damage they were doing to their moral understanding.

Zac assumed that the character Kaimi was a gamer who had been lured into the tantalising world of fashion. The effects were that realistic. Players could get so involved that they lost sight of the goal of the game.

The diagnosis of the psycho scientist had appalled him. Driscoll had said they were lepers, inured to the pain of conscience and unresponsive when their ethical being was seared by endless selfish gratification. There was no patience, no endurance, no learning the harsh lessons of experience and logical consequences. The quagmire of indulgence had swamped the striving for excellence. It had removed any possibility of generosity, of self-sacrifice and preferring the well-being of others. It had obliterated hope, for in their minds there was nothing to hope for. Everything was provided on a silver platter, for the taking, and there was no good because good things had become evil due to the ravenous exploitation and insatiable consumption of the blinded populace.

The drive to his third story flat ended his discontented remembrance of the session. He parked in his normal place, behind the dumper in the cul-de-sac, and climbed the stairs as a sort of concession that exercise would do him good. It would be the last time he drove unless he paid a ridiculous price through the black market. All service stations were mandated to use Federation credit. He paused in the corridor. The setting was dismal but it was his home, his refuge.

Inside, he lay on his bed and reflected. Somehow he had succeeded in winning through the first stage. He, Keela, Kaimi, Cecilia, Garrett and Doyle had worked together and managed to rescue six citizens of Theos1. Two other players had frustrated their team and tended to confuse the issues. Teagan had continued to insist that none of the inhabitants were worth the effort— "they were too far gone," she said. And Mallory had argued that the citizens were happy and he saw no point in disturbing their life of revelry. "What harm?" he kept on saying, seemingly totally ignorant that their whole existence was founded on a lie.

Zac wondered about his own character, Will Durham. How could he be so compelling and assertive in drawing a team of players around him in this VR world and he be so ineffectual in life? He daydreamed about meeting the players in real life and having the same effect on them. To have friends like Garrett and Doyle, to be respected and listened to, and work together for a substantive goal rather than exist in this world of superficial personalities and experiences; they were his inner yearnings. That intangible quality of hope teased his consciousness.

That characters like Keela and Kaimi had anything to do with him, sadly, reinforced to him the inescapable fact that the game wasn't real; it was an illusion. It was an absurdity to him that they portrayed themselves as genuine, or being honest in their interactions, as if a game enabled them to discard their facile pretensions. The anomaly was that the conversations in the game were more unaffected and weighty than any he had ever had with a flesh and blood girl. They actually appreciated his direct candour and admitting to his vulnerabilities. The game was as near as he'd come to experiencing sincere affection. Why was it the case?

The imponderable premise about human nature and the gravitas of the human condition conveyed by the game unsettled Zac. Maybe it was an allegory of reality. Maybe it wanted him to discover something about himself or the meaninglessness of his existence; he speculated on the possibilities. The hour of mulling brought little to light. He lethargically strolled to a corner fish and chip shop and satisfied a more immediate emptiness.

***

The week intervening was one of uninspiring coding. He problem solved some trialling glitches in wearable personalised banking IDs for a rogue, un-subsumed, unregistered bank. Rings, smart watches and even implants were on the agenda. It was work that didn't take all his focus. The 'Great is the Mystery' game remained at the forefront of his thinking. He still had four more sessions. Being preoccupied with such an epic theme had an unprecedented effect on the habituated gamer. Zac abstained from his regular evening doses of virtual reality. Instead, he read for the first time since his schooling had required it. He read quotes about the meaning of life. The electronic media had somehow plotted to codify the mores expounded by the Theos1 world. It was all about self-definition, all about the freedom to make it what you will. The absence of absolutes was devastating.

Zac was aware that 'civilised sensibilities' had banned any reference to a unique, all-powerful deity. It was considered intolerant to promulgate 'a definitive answer' when popular discourse demanded that each person was entitled to their own meaning. The quotes enshrined the primacy of human wisdom in stark contradiction to the state the world was in. It left Zac feeling without hope because the offerings were hopeless. There were appeals to achievement, to service and altruism that appeared to emulate some divine standard but the objectives were merely self-fulfilment and personal satisfaction for one's praiseworthy benevolence. The motivation was personal aggrandisement, feeding egos and inflating prestige and perception.

Legislative and public punitive pressure had driven the 'faithful' underground. It wasn't as if Zac had displayed any empathy for religious movements, it was only that it raised his suspicions. Logically, if the movement was wishful thinking or delusion, if there was no substance to it, then why oppose it? Almost everything else he saw in the approved dynamics of society was wishful thinking and delusion and, if the Theos1 allegory was any indication, rife with deception, using articulate promotors spouting humanistic homilies. Maybe he could find out more about the banned movement that claimed truth as its mantra.

Zac also knew that what the ruling bodies called the church was merely an acceptable vehicle for propounding psychological philosophies and presumptions that conformed to a humanistic model. It propounded that man was his own god. It was a model based on the principles of self-esteem, self-actuation and self-fulfilment.

Whatever the truth, his preoccupation was the next session of the weird VR game and how the plot would unfold in the next world they had to enter. Toward the end of the week, Zac went to an Internet café and did a search for the virtual reality game authors of 'Great is the Mystery'. There was no mention of the game at all. He had thought the opening warning in the game had been a plot device. Now he wasn't so sure. The words were etched in his memory:

'You have been exclusively selected to play 'Great is the Mystery'. It has been banned. The game contravenes communication and gaming guidelines. It is said to foment antipathy to government, engender opposition to peace through unified thought, and induce resistance to the harm reduction moral code. Please keep your participation secret. Admitting to illicit gaming may result in penalties. This game is designed to revolutionise your understanding of yourself. Keeping it secret will open minds to a revelation of truth that is not virtual but real.'

Zac decided that, with no reference to the game being found in any of his network searches, its claim to be an anti-establishment simulation might prove to be correct. He was conscious that playing the game would be considered a subversive act and yet the lure of heroic acts, even if they were virtual, had him waiting eagerly. It was virtual but it still had an echo of truth. His own defiance and rebellion made him feel more alive than ever before. It was dangerous and exhilarating.

By the time Friday came he was toey. He was sitting in a café wondering why he had lost his appetite for run-of-the-mill video gaming, when a hand tapped his shoulder. He jerked around. It was Alan.

"You're Will aren't you? I mean...I know that's not your real name...I'm Bevan by the way." He thrust out his hand.

"Zac," he returned as an obligatory custom took precedence over considering what he was doing.

"Listen...in the game...I never got around to thanking you. I'm going back in next week as part of a five series rescue team." He shook his head. "The way I got lured into Theos1. It was just that offer of free movies...I was at a theatre and a guy offered me a VR pass...But I couldn't get out once I was in. It was like I was trapped for the three hour session."

"You're welcome...but I..." He was cut off.

"And heaven knows how many other players get hoodwinked...I can't thank you enough...Anyway, I have to run...thanks again." Bevan thudded him once on his back before he retreated away and wove between the tables and out. 'He was a whirlwind', thought Zac. That's why he didn't explain that he was only playing a game too. There was nothing meritorious in what he had done. So why did he say 'you're welcome'?

And what was it with all this tactile greeting stuff? He wasn't one for demonstrative physical touching and, of late, it had seemed his world had been populated with the emotionally unrestrained. Even total strangers felt compelled to make physical contact with him.

***

On the way in to the VR mega complex, Zac again caught sight of the girl everyone called KC. He started jogging to catch up to her. He wanted to say something clever, like: "You look exactly the same as an attractive character in a game I'm playing." Zac got close and then he baulked when she waved a greeting at someone metres away. His eyes followed her. It couldn't be a coincidence. The other character, Kaimi, acknowledged her.

"Ashe, you're back for another round too?" she squealed excitedly.

"Yeah...I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's good fun."

"You mean exciting... And with my parents away...well, let's say our home is a big lonely place."

"I wonder what will happen this time."

Kaimi leaned closer, "I tried to look it up...It doesn't seem to exist."

"They say it's a secret," replied Keela.

"Uh huh...you know, everyone I've asked haven't heard of it."

"You're not supposed to say anything."

They were just turning into the female changing area when the one he knew as Kaimi looked at him. Her eyes bulged with recognition. The two disappeared through the doorway, but he heard a few more words.

"Guess what," she blurted. "I just saw..." The words faded into the background hubbub of the next session crowd.

Chapter 5

Will was disoriented to begin with. The starting scene was a restaurant and all the key players were there. His first confrontation occurred as he surveyed his team, Meagan and Mallory were at the end of the table having a sotto-voce interchange.

"I don't want you two on my team," he announced point blank. All the other team members looked from Will to the two latecomers.

"We'll find our own way there then," countered Mallory.

"To do what?" he returned with an interrogatory stare.

"Whatever we want," inserted Teagan with a smarmy smile. "We might decide to recruit some of your target group."

They left then. Will wondered what possible role they had. He looked at the group. Keela and Kaimi studied him with almost comic expressions. It made him glance at his CGI outfit to ensure there was nothing amiss. It looked like a regular jeans and tee-shirt. He recovered quickly. Will was determined that he wouldn't press the deadline so closely this time.

There was a puzzle on the table. Arranged in a pyramid form, the layers grew: 1. 100, 1001, 10000. Loose blocks had been added to the pattern: 100001, 1000000 and 10000001. Will rearranged the rows of loose blocks: 11001, and then the next two rows: 100100 and 110001.

"So...has anyone heard from Driscoll?"

The vacant expressions and questioning gazes told him that the next step was a mystery to all. He was about to suggest that they make their way to the spaceport and play it by ear from there, even to the theft of a space cruiser if need be, when Kevalin walked in through the doors.

"Come," he ordered succinctly.

Unquestioningly, those sitting at the large wooden table got up and followed. Will, who had been standing since he'd arrived, was the last to leave. He hated acting without first knowing the why and where of what lay ahead. Outside was a hover bus. The sleek silver transporter that looked like a giant medicinal capsule with a flat base, bobbled as the team of six boarded. Without ceremony, Kevalin engaged the forward drive as the induced magnetic field kept them clear of the bus track. Guide wheels protruding out the sides managed to confine them to the track whenever a curve or deviation, accompanied by course control walls, were encountered.

A smooth, rapid transit had their pilot bundling them onto the private space cruiser. The hyper jump was still unnerving and movements were uncoordinated as the interspace region was crossed. Briefly, he envisaged being inside a gyroscopic device that created the gluey movements of the players. The emergence near Theos2 was sensation filled as the blue seas and rich green lands passed beneath them. This planet was mainly ocean with small clusters of verdant islands still offering significant areas for habitation. The realism still astonished him.

Kevalin took the craft down through the atmosphere and, unexpectedly, submerged the ship near the largest of the islands. As they were steered toward a subterranean base, myriads of exotic sea creatures swam by, keeping them riveted to the observation panels. Surfacing, the craft was plucked by robotic arms and drawn into an immense dome. Driscoll was awaiting them. He was standing and behind him was a huge, curved glass window that again revealed a superabundance of marine biodiversity.

"Welcome again. Your second task may seem similar to the first, but there are subtle differences in the robotic control of this world. People's requests are met and the environment is still benign. Yet benevolent control will not intervene against the natural consequences of human actions. Human greed, human desire and human pride will have deleterious effects on their fellows. Individuals will suffer because of the selfish behaviours of others."

He went on to inform them of the target group to be recovered from this world. Warnings about the importance of maintaining the whole team together, to get through the whole mission, seemed extraneous to Will, but he, in turn, when Driscoll was done, also emphasised the strategy of minimal risk and supporting each other at all times He emphasised teamwork was especially necessary if the going got tough. His competitive nature had him, repetitively, advising them about reconnoitring the scene and identifying robotic opposition before advancing. He then assigned his team to the particular person Driscoll had allocated. Unnecessarily, he reminded each player that being eliminated was a greater risk on this world because citizens weren't strait-jacketed by robotic stipulations and laws. A certain level of citizen belligerence had been described to them and it was mostly due to the increased level of personal wilfulness permitted by robotic controls.

This time Will was the last to leave the facility. Each team member took a subterranean access tunnel and emerged in the vicinity of their target. Will found himself in a medical centre where people sought cosmetic surgery to enhance their physical beauty. His target character, Kael, was with two other friends who were pressing her. He wondered why one of the girls hadn't been given the task of extricating a girl from a web of conceit and vanity that the superficial realm of physical beauty and exacting body images promoted. He felt least able to address the vagaries of a girl's appearance.

He rehearsed inane sentences trying to identify a cogent line of reasoning that would sway Kael away from the facile, 'pleasing-others' dogma. As he moved toward the entry where clumps of people hovered, hoping to be recipients of the community subsidised procedures, a strident voice drew everyone's attention.

"Don't be fooled by appearances," a man declared. He stood opposite the entry on a bench seat so everyone could see him. There was an undiluted earnestness in his face, though his physique and dress were unremarkable.

"It's what's in the heart that counts, not what you look like. Even the most beautiful rose will wilt and wither, what lasts is kindness and caring—how you treat others. Inner beauty lasts. Life is not about gratifying your every whim. Do you want to be valued by external appearance or your inner qualities?"

He went on fixing his gaze on different individuals and asking searching questions about the fickleness of fashion and appealing to eye rather than the heart and mind. Some people taunted him, berated him and even threatened him.

"What would you know Eli Benn? To be aesthetically pleasing is pleasing others," contradicted one.

"We're free to do as we please," berated another.

As calls were made to remove him bodily, Will saw the shimmer of robotic minders weaving through the gathering crowd. To Will's amazement, when he reverted his gaze to the bench, Eli Benn was nowhere to be seen.

He used the distraction to draw near Kael. Her companions were stretching their necks trying to get a better view of the action as he edged alongside the girl.

"He's right you know...You don't need enhancement. You just need to be yourself."

"Who are you?" Kael queried, matching his whispered voice.

"A friend who'll help you get away from this artificial world to a place where inner beauty is valued."

"What do you call inner beauty?"

"Didn't you hear what Eli said, what lasts is kindness and caring." Even as he said it, Will felt like a hypocrite. "Anyone can be cosmetically attractive, but it's only skin deep...good character, loyalty, reliable support and friendship in the face of adversity, they're the things we remember, that last...that have true value." The words surprised Will. Had he spoken them? Were they the percolating notions that simmered deep within him because of the written lessons of Eli Benn and now emerged in this realm where political correctness could be challenged without authoritarian intervention?

Kael grinned at his earnestness. She was pleased by his attention and delighted that someone would take such risks to offer a way out. This young man was jeopardising his safety for a noble cause and his interest in her was exciting. Will shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

"We need to go before we get noticed."

The girl was shrewd and perceptive regarding what would be anomalous behaviour with this permissive crowd. She grasped his arm and cooed with delight as she led him away. Will's bewildered expression didn't help her ruse.

"Laugh...lighten up or they'll know something is wrong."

He complied and nudged her in his preferred direction, pleased that the exit point was nearing quickly.

A shout of challenge tensed his whole body and he clutched his magnetic pulse device. Several other shouts made him swivel his head. The ruckus was centred some distance away. Kaimi was stealing a pod car and had immobilised two humanoid robots in the process. Her human mark, a girl called Ivy, was huddled in the car. Five bots and an automated vehicle had then cut off her escape. Will was hesitating about whether to assist when Garrett appeared and leapt across from an access point discharging his magnetic pulses with uncanny accuracy. He cleared an escape route for the pod car before darting through the gathering crowd.

He dispensed with several more of the mechanical foe, wending this way and then that, before it became clear the energy status on his magnetic weapon failed. The odds of him making the next closest exit point suddenly diminished.

"Don't move," Will instructed Kael forcefully, standing her near the sliding panel highlighted on his mapping display. "Won't be long." Will threaded his way through, the now bustling throng, on an intersecting course to Garrett. Two shimmering forms approaching he stopped dead in their tracks as he neared his teammate.

"Follow me," he commanded, grasping the other's arm. Several more bursts of his weapon were required before they managed to reach the girl and the sliding panel.

Nothing was said until the panel had permitted a hasty ingress and closed to become inoperable. "Where's your escapee?" Will asked a little breathlessly.

"Quickest evac on record, I reckon," crowed Garrett. "Gordon was at a gym doing some body building routine. I asked him if he wanted out. He said yes...and we walked through an out in the steam room."

"So..."

"So how did I get back in?" His colleague interrupted. "I did what you did last time...watched the screens and saw that Kaimi was in trouble.

Kael was a bit bemused. "Does that mean I'm out of Theos?... I mean, I couldn't figure out how to disengage so I thought I'd join in the beauty enhancements just to see what the computer program concluded my best adjustment would look like. You know it's based on actual cosmetic surgery."

The statement shook Will and for a brief second he disentangled his psyche from the game and, as Zac, confronted the possibility that the target rescue-ees were game players as well, trapped in a virtual reality.

"You should be free to emerge," he stated uncertainly. "Though you might use your time exploring Teleo. It's very scenic." He looked at her wondering whether he would recognise her outside the game. He almost asked whether she was a player but it was a clear rule to adhere to the virtual realm within the game and not mention the game or the real world.

"Thanks," she replied. "But I'm way overdue already."

As they sped back to Driscoll's command centre, Kael then went on to describe the attraction of investigating how glamorous you could become through the computer modelling provided by cosmetic surgery. Her doubts arose as she realised that ideas, opinions and values all were considered inconsequential in comparison to physical beauty.

Back at the centre, stories were shared. Keela told how she had stood next to her mark, Harvey, as they listened to Eli Benn speak of values that would last. She used that to convince Harvey that nothing in his world appeared to have lasting substance. It was all transient, it was momentary pleasure and grasping consumerism. He enthusiastically opted to abandon Theos2. She said, guiltily, that her own obsession with creating a screen image in social media, before the purge, had rebounded on her then and she felt like a fraud.

Cecilia likewise spoke of hearing Eli Benn and his message of the futile pursuit of possessions, wealth or popularity and not understanding their inner need for meaningful relationships. This world was being exposed to an alternative but the inhabitant's lives were so sheltered, so shielded and pandered with their wants that almost all were blind to anything other than their own gratification. Anesthetised by the lack of challenge, the absence of perceived need, most of the people ignored Eli as the purveyor of quaint syllogisms, not recognising the description of the bondage of self-absorption.

Will mused on the concurrent appearances of Eli Benn. He was an insertion into this world that was an exception. Maybe the hint about the game's rationale was in his message. He conveyed to the others that the game had an agenda. It was as if there was something unseen, something more, maybe something transcendental that was worth finding.

Doyle hadn't arrived back yet. The timer showed plenty of scope for completing the mission and he had a vague idea that the narrative had been too straight forward. He switched their attention to the screens while the five absconders from the world—Gordon, Harvey, Ivy, Jenna and Kael were versed in what their translation from the laissez faire, faux world of Ubel Day into the totalitarian regime of Taleo, would look like. Driscoll suggested that they could resume their previous roles till session's end. It twisted Will's mind that somehow there was a game within a game. He wondered, whether these players were being recruited to take on the role that his team had, as were the previous six? How did it work? What was the game they originally joined? Or had they been diverted by Ubel day. Could it be that they were very convincing avatars?

"What do we do?" It was Keela demanding his attention. He was shamefaced. He rarely lost a second's concentration in a VR setting and here he was contemplating some higher plane for this odd game.

"Sorry...It looks like Doyle has been foiled by Mallory and Teagan. I'll go in and see what the problem is."

"You'll need help," stipulated Garrett.

"He's right," agreed Keela. "We should go in as a whole team...have members in reserve...I think Mallory and Teagan will be expecting us. We need to be careful."

Will couldn't help thinking that Keela should be the leader. She was more logical and more decisive. He nodded as all faces were turned to him.

"Okay...I'll sound out Doyle and then we'll come up with a strategy. I think the degree of difficulty is going to continue to increase."

He had a feeling the others restrained themselves from quipping some sarcasm to his patently obvious summation. It was a game after all.

They travelled in three pods to a resort setting where Doyle's target, Larkin, was poised in a cross-legged meditation pose, next to several other chanters and being led by Teagan. They were dressed in flowing cloaks of pale green cotton. Some had discarded the heavier over cloak and put them in a pile. The short sleeved, three quarter length, tunics they wore were of the same vapid shade of green. In contrast, fresh verdant lawns surrounded a dribbling fountain, and manicured shrubbery formed a corralling backdrop. Incense was wafting from several smouldering sticks. As Will edged nearer through the wooded periphery and scanned for robotic sentinels, Teagan's words became audible.

"You all seek religious peace. Peace is found in being one with the world. Crystals vibrate, the air has energy. You are all part of God and God is part of you. Do what pleases you because you are in control. Deprive yourself to purify yourself. Indulge yourself to awaken your senses. Feel the power that you are in control." The words sounded like genuine convictions but were actually streaming across the building behind the acolytes.

The mindset was so alien to Will that he was trying to grasp a contrary position, something that would deconstruct what seemed like some sort of valid belief system. Scanning the area, he saw Keela and Kaimi filtering through swaying dancers on the left of him. Cecelia had joined a small group weaving daisy chains. It occurred to him then that the age demographic of the world reflected the gaming fraternity. Yet he was certain that many, even most, of the characters, though convincing, were computer generated. Garrett was nowhere to be seen. He wondered where his ace marksman was hiding. He looked to the right. There was an architecturally concise greenery filled with rotund statues which featured jowly stone faces.

Will was startled by a grunt close by his ear. It was Doyle. He had been watching from a garden to the right. He stood behind Will, who was still obscured from the resort side by the trunk of an ancient gnarled oak.

"I almost had Larkin. When I spoke with him he said he was looking for a spiritual experience because he was tired of this physical world that promised so much but didn't deliver. That's when these two pests intervened with their mumbo jumbo."

"What makes it mumbo jumbo?" asked Will out the side of his mouth.

"You're joking aren't you?" began Doyle. "Their cultish brood exalt feelings over logic, reason and conscience, and ignore the contorted history of human morality."

Will turned and stared at him in disbelief. His tall, dark companion had just revealed unseen facets of his intellect. In gaming, to encounter such insight was rare. What was it about this game that prompted Doyle to display previously unfathomed depths to his understanding?

"Where did that come from?" muttered Will.

"In the real world I dabbled in ethics and philosophy," he replied with a squinty look.

'There it was again,' thought Will. Someone ignoring the boundaries between gaming and who they really were. Playing the fictional theme and sticking to it was meant to be sacrosanct. He couldn't let go of it. It was something with this game that compelled participants to divest their illusory persona and divulge something of their actual identity?

While they watched and speculated on a plan, like hesitant bridge players fumbling to declare a viable suit, a clear voice resonated across the grassed area from a broad staircase of the resort's administration building. They recognised Eli Benn.

"Be careful of persuasive words that have no substance. They will lead you into an enticing maze that will enthral the senses but leave you lost. Examine your inner longings. If you seek truth, if you want to break the shackles of moral failure and self-indulgence, I can show you the way. It is a way of mourning for past deeds, a way of humility and service for others..."

As if igniting a chain of firecrackers, Teagan raised the tempo of her chanting and Mallory challenged the man with taunts.

"Would you deprive all of pleasure? What right do you have to sway the will of these people?"

"If they are swayed by truth then their souls are illuminated from a dark place," countered Benn.

The interchange became more intense and Will noticed robotic forms, both humanoid and machine-like, beginning to infiltrate the growing crowd.

"We need to act now, while they're distracted," he proposed firmly to Doyle.

"You're right. Larkin is standing and trying to take in what Eli is saying. Should we try and save the preacher as well?"

"Preacher?"

"Eli!" grunted Doyle insistently, as if Will's turbid mind was bothersome.

"Let's worry about Larkin first. If I get clear without getting detected, you can go for Eli. Don't risk being caught though. He's not on our list." Will gave the other a stern look. "There must be twenty bots closing in on him now. Even Garrett couldn't take out that many."

Doyle grinned. "Well, we'll soon see. I can see Garrett lurking near the side of the building there." He tilted his head to the left.

Will snorted. "Let's move before he ruins everything." He scuttled from behind the large oak to the low hedge. From there he edged close to a gap and set himself for a slow, inconspicuous stroll to Larkin's side. To overcome his reticence to move, he lunged through the gap and angled his pathway to the pile of cloaks. A quick duck and twist and he had managed to put on the pale green costume. Now he blended with the robed acolytes and continued on his way.

A scream pierced the growing unrest. Teagan had spotted Garrett and was drawing attention to his presence. At the same instant, the whump of Garrett's magnetic discharger took out the nearest machines to Eli Benn. Even as the swarm turned their attention to him, the two girls joined the fray. Keela cleared away two humanoids that had been stalking Garrett. Doyle also was caught up in the mechanical mayhem and was mowing down the shimmering, blue hued attackers.

Using the chaos that had erupted, Will had drawn next to Larkin. He said the first thing that came into his head. "Larkin, if you're not convinced by this mumbo jumbo you can escape with me to a place that values personal responsibility, overcoming challenges and the truth that Eli Benn talks about." The young man spun around.

"Who are you?"

The question shook Will. What right did he have to spout values that he doubted? What a fraud he was.

"I'm a friend of Doyle's." It was his only come back. His counterpart had related, communicated to a point of trust, while he had only bold claims. It was enough.

"Where do we go?"

The abrupt transformation of his attitude caught Will by surprise.

"This way," he directed. He pulled Larkin's arm and strode toward the trees behind them. Halfway there, four magnetic pulses throbbed about them. Will twirled around with his weapon raised. Behind were two petrified humanoid forms. A distance farther back, Cecilia stood, grinned and gave a jaunty salute. She then melted into the crowd. Will reassessed the value of first impressions. How little did he know any of these players? How little did he know anyone in the real world?

Two more automatons were disabled by Will before he got Larkin into the relative safety of the wooded area. Instead of evacuating the scene when he had the chance, he searched the area for his team. Garrett, with the help of the two girls and Doyle had nullified the immediate threat from machines. They were making their way to two other exit points. There was no sign of Cecilia. He checked his screen but her signal was absent. Had he lost his first team member?

There was a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. The loss had hit him harder than in any other gaming scenario he had been part of. He knew he should depart straight away or risk another casualty, but the need to know her fate kept him scrutinising each cluster of people. There had to be some evidence of her capture, some alert to inform him of the team's reduced status.

Will juddered with fright when a hand gripped his arm.

"Are you coming or are you waiting to be caught?" Cecilia asked almost haughtily.

"Uh...er...coming." He turned and the three quickly found the tree stump exit he had been heading for. He was in a daze trying to grasp the girl's evasive skills and berating himself for the way he had underestimated her. His hesitant delay meant several more pulses from his magnetic gun were required because their escape was hindered by rushing humanoids directed as late reinforcements to thwart their raid.

Larkin looked at him as they returned in the speeding pod. "You know I never would have ended up in there if I hadn't made some bad choices...and once I was in there I couldn't work out how to get out."

"You didn't realise Ubel Day has manipulated Theos2 to control the environment?"

"It was promoted as a sort of utopia. I only understood later that we lost the power to decide to free ourselves once we were in."

"We?"

"There were six of us. We were separated to pursue our own interests. And, being isolated, actually weakened us."

Arriving at the headquarters' terminus Larkin was summoned by Driscoll with the other five. He spoke to them briefly before he pointed to a doorway. Will moved as if to follow. He had questions to ask. He wanted to broach the subject of the game. It seemed he too had lost all respect for the inviolability of the storyline. Driscoll halted his progress with a traffic cop's stop hand signal.

As the former residents of Theos2 appeared to be diverted to another section of the base, Will was compelled to muse on their role. Were they algorithmically generated beings for the purpose of his game or were they like members of his team, actual players, but in some parallel storyline? The intricacy of the program and the realism of the graphics played with his mind. So much had happened in this session and yet there was still time.

Chapter 6

The jubilant group was congregating in the operations centre with Driscoll. He was in the process of telling them of an impending threat.

"I was wondering why we had had such a swift victory," murmured Garrett. "There's another complication to this plot."

Will was secretly pleased—or at least his alter ego, Zac Gould was happy that there would be more action. The idea that the game session might be finished before the three hour duration, would have him feeling cheated, even though the game was gratis.

"Ubel Day is sending a force of underwater drones to demolish this base. The first attack will come in ten minutes. You will have only succeeded when you neutralise each wave of drones. They will be sent in patterns and you will have to match his patterns with our own drone squadrons. Each pattern will have a fixed rule and there will be ten waves in all for each pattern. Five minutes warning is all you'll get once each wave is detected. Having three pairs of operators should be enough to counteract the threat. Some overlap may occur, so be ready." He appeared to measure the team. "Do you wish me to repeat the instructions or do you want to trial the drone controls to attempt to create defensive pattern configurations?"

"We'll practise thanks Driscoll," replied Will instantly.

"I'm not sure I understand," declared Keela.

Some mumbles from the others prompted Will to take control of the situation.

"It's a puzzle challenge," he announced. "Come around here and I'll show you. I've confronted invader simulations like this before." He went to the first set of controls and waited for the others to gather around. "When you think you get it, pair off male and female, and go to another set of controls to practise. We don't have long."

"Why male and female?" asked Doyle.

"Different skills, different strengths and different ideas. A broad base of experience is best." Will surprised himself. He would have been more comfortable with Garrett or Doyle alongside him.

Jiggling and toggling the levers, he soon had a simple arrow configuration of drones on the screen. Ignoring the option to launch he hit reset and created a formation of three concentric expanding circles.

"This should be easy," said Kaimi.

Driscoll, who was in the background observing, answered. "You won't see the pattern graphics only number data. You'll be shown the numbers and how many rows each wave has."

"What? How will that help?" Keela quizzed.

"Watch. I told you, I've done this sort of thing before," averred Will. "So, for example, we get the numbers '1,3,5,7...10 rows what do we do?"

"Odd numbers," stated Doyle.

"To what?"

"Twenty one." The others nodded. Cecilia already had started moving to the next console and Garrett joined her. Doyle and Kaimi went to the remaining console when it was clear that Keela had partnered with Will.

Stepping back, Will relinquished the controls to Keela. He gave some number patterns. Simple multiples were easy, the Fibonacci sequence required a hint and primes had her stumped.

"How is that a pattern?" she argued.

"It's just practice. I don't know what sort of numbers they'll use."

They stood next to each other, both with a set of hand controls and buttons. A simple trial sent a diamond of four drones that they had to replicate and then position in direct opposition. The result was mutual obliteration. The paradox of having old fashioned game controls in a state of the art VR game struck Will at the instant when the first sequence of numbers started feeding into the display screen.

It took no time for someone with his mathematical bent to determine a sequence of successive square numbers. He fed the numbers into the console and then oriented them into squares of increasing size.

"That's a strange way to send an attack formation," concluded Cecilia loudly across the space.

The observation shook him from his mental stagnation. "You're right. We should brainstorm alternate configurations because it's only the ones that match theirs that will destroy the attackers.

"What about triangles then? You know...one three, then one three five, one three five seven and so on" offered Keela.

"Sure...everyone okay with that?" questioned Will.

"What about orienting them in reverse order?" suggested Doyle.

"Okay, but I think they'd still mutually disintegrate that way because the numbers will match in the direction they're heading."

All of them were hastily setting up what looked like digital forces but were representative of the drone squadrons when Garrett piped up. "I think we should do straight lines as well, both lateral and lengthwise."

"Good idea." Will was agitated that he didn't consider that but in retrospect, that was the advantage of a team—you didn't have to do everything yourself.

"Keep all those ideas in mind for each pattern and remind us all," he directed, sure that some of the raids would try and vary the formation.

When Ubel Day's drones appeared, it was in the square arrays that Will had initially proposed. Watching the drones erupt in multi-coloured explosions of flame and expanding eruptions of bubbles in the underwater battle was riveting for the players.

The next pattern was also predictable and easily recognised. Triangular numbers beginning at six going through to twenty one was sufficient to extrapolate the rest of the ten waves. After the five minute preparation period the formations appeared as two sorts of diamond. Only Kaimi and Doyle had covered that possibility. As they launched their counterattacks the others furiously assembled the larger wave formations.

Will began to congratulate their teamwork and was interrupted by another stream of numbers. This time some puckered expressions and perplexed glances toward Will displayed their puzzlement. 5, 9, 13, 21, 25, 33... The numbers were suggestive of fours and eights and they were all odd but the lack of certainty troubled Will.

"We only need another four...It shouldn't be too hard to get them," declared Keela cautiously. Seconds ticked by as they argued whether the pattern was adding four then four then eight each time or if it was symmetrical and adding 4,4,8,4,8,4,4 and then going back up again adding four twice. The last two digits were pure speculation

Will decisively committed Garrett and Cecelia to try out as many configurations of that sequence as they could. He had his doubts about it.

Doyle and Kaimi were asked to pursue the numbers generated by adding successively 4,4,8,4,8,4,8,4,8. Will's justification was that every second number of the series was a multiple of three. But he still wasn't convinced because the first one was inconsistent with a pattern.

"It's too erratic," he complained to Keela.

"That's what I said about prime numbers."

His eyes opened wide. There was a minute to go when he made the link. "Doubling primes and subtracting one," he hissed. Then he half shouted, the last four are 37, 45, 57 and 61."

"That's eight and then twelve," objected Garrett.

"They're primes!" Will insisted.

"What are?" Garrett was confused.

"The base numbers are doubled and one is subtracted," he elaborated hastily. "Everybody try and construct some patterns...If in doubt start with lateral and lengthwise."

Keela bumped into Will as she tensed for the last minute frenzy to repel Ubel Day's drones.

"There are several multiples of three but not all so that won't work." She stared at him trying to garner some inspiration.

"A single rule for what appears to be prime generated odd numbers," said Will, thinking aloud.

"If we put one at the start then two is a common factor," she detailed.

"You do twos I'll do fours," he ordered as the possibility struck him.

He had only configured one, four and one, four, four when the drones appeared on the detectors and in the very order he was setting up. "You launch them Keela and I'll do the next. Doyle, do one and five fours and launch when necessary," he shouted louder than he meant to. "Kaimi, one and six fours and launch..."

"I know," interjected Garrett. "One and eight fours and Cecilia will do one and nine fours."

Already, Keela had destroyed the first two waves. The next was perilously close when Will's third set were sent to intercept. Doyle and Kaimi followed up in a more timely interception giving Keela and him time to assemble one and eleven fours and one and fourteen fours. Resisting the remaining drones proved to be less rushed. Even as Cecilia was constructing the one and fifteen fours the others relaxed a little and observed their handiwork in the fluorescing, polychromatic bursts of energy.

Surprisingly, the last raid was solved quickly. Rapidly increasing multiples of six—6, 18, 36, 60...—were recognised as triangular numbers multiplied by six and organised as hexagons. Though they had time to prepare some alternate shapes just in case the numbers were large and the arranging tedious; their early solution meant that all the waves were ready prior to the attack. Victory was accompanied by brilliant pyrotechnics as the closely arrayed craft were annihilated by the matched defending formations.

***

A momentary hush preceded the players being summoned to the transporter and a return journey to Teleo. As each readied for the flight, the surrounding lights dimmed. Will had to remind himself that his real name was Zac and this was merely a game, a very convincing VR game but a game nonetheless. 'Who were the five members of his team in real life? What was their story?' The nauseating motion of emulating hyper-drive began when a voice interrupted Zac's train of thought.

"Time...Virtual Reality World will record your progress. Please come and see us soon. Thank you for gaming with Virtual Reality world...It's as good as being there."

Again he was dumbfounded by the rapid transition from sharing a transporter with his team to sitting alone in the player's seat and being returned to the starting cube. Was this world real? His was such a desolate life that he thought he preferred Teleo. The challenges there made the digitally generated environment tangible and his existence there was full of meaning. His pondering had him, much like last time, receive the ire of the attendant for not vacating the room in reasonable time. Zac made a move and disengaged himself from the gaming paraphernalia. He hustled to the change rooms with a determination that he would try and find his team members as they left.

Studying the streaming gamers, Zac tried to zero in on their facial features. All were clad in robes or body hugging suits and hoods. He would have to get ready quickly to ensure he could see them as they left. This time his tardy exit from the cube paid against him. He waited impatiently as the queue slowly fed into the warren of personal locker rooms. Normally, he used the communal rooms but his donated five game pass came with access to an individual cubicle. It was a luxury that came at a premium cost but now the sluggish movement of the line as gamers nattered about their experiences chafed at him.

Zac was delayed further as he groped through the tiny storage pouch in the suit for his cubicle key. For a dreadful moment he thought he had lost it but it had worked its way around to the corner of the pocket. By the time he was showering he had abandoned any hope of intercepting his team. Annoyed and promising himself that next week he would be at the forefront of the departing gamers, he dressed at a leisurely pace and was preoccupied with the significance of this unique game. An attendant hurried him up with a warning that the cubicle was booked for the next session.

Eventually leaving the changing area, still musing on Great is the Mystery, two strangers collided with him coming around a corner. Their effusive apologies and vigorous grasping to steady his teetering body initially made him fear being assaulted but it ended abruptly with them rushing off with expressions of regret. He was still in a vortex of jumbled thoughts when Zac saw five people standing near the two sets of automatic exit doors. Two were pointing at him. His team had wanted the same thing he had, to get together after the game and relate in a more relaxed, actual reality. As he approached, there were some sidelong comments. His defensive nature immediately imagined some pejorative slight about his leadership or his appearance. In fact they were reckoning on his rakish, spiked hair as the reason for his lateness. Kaimi decided he'd probably shaved and doused himself in cologne while Keela added that the other two males might benefit from a little extra grooming.

When he drew near, his first thought was that Keela, especially, surpassed his version of attractiveness. She had made up with a touch of bluish eye shadow and a hint of pink lipstick and it accentuated what he had appreciated of her almost identical avatar. With a nonchalant browse, Zac reassessed his opinion of all five. They were more impressive, having that essential indefinable element that corporeality imbued them with.

"What took you so long?" Garrett inquired.

"I guess I was daydreaming...and...and then I got caught at the end of the personal cubical queue," he answered candidly, much to his own surprise.

"That's a newbie mistake. I thought you were a gamer." Keela was looking at him askance.

"I am...but you're right." Her nonplussed response made him expand his reply. "It was a silly mistake."

Zac left it at that. He was not going to say that he was mulling over ontological paradoxes created by immersion in a VR realm and that was why he failed to move out with the other gamers. Instead, he changed the subject. "I suppose you lot are as curious as I am about this game. Is that why you're here waiting?"

"Well...we thought it would be good to meet up...and...you know find out about each other" said Kaimi uncertainly. Sharing personal details was not exactly something he was comfortable with.

"Sure..." he replied hesitantly. "And maybe we can find out why we were chosen for this game." He was spelling out what his priorities were, but from the look on their faces their level of inquisitiveness appeared to be purely social. The situation needed rescuing.

"My name's Zac by the way. I guess we should use real names if we want to get to know each other...even though gaming companies advise against it."

Garrett, saying his name was Chris, moved first and shook his hand firmly and then there were handshakes all round as each introduced themselves. Kaimi, Cecilia and Doyle were Stephanie, Renee and Curtis respectively. It was no surprise when Keela introduced herself as Ashley; he recalled overhearing Stephanie call her Ashe the last time they left the VR precinct.

"Why don't we get a coffee and see if we can make sense of this game," Zac suggested, again trying to steer the topic to safer ground.

***

Small talk dominated the walk through the carpark to a nearby shopping mall. On the way Zac had learned that some were reasonably local and some lived closer to central London, but all had been unknown to each other prior to the game. A short distance past the mall was their destination. A café with some padded benches at the rear, rows of rough-hewn tables and a glass counter with delectable cakes and pastries. It provided the quiet they sought. The café was one of the dozen or so remaining, Zac knew about, that didn't insist on International Community registration and Central Bank credit. It was called Davidson's. Six virtual strangers congregated uneasily. They sat at the back in a darkened corner. There was a nervous stir among them when it became obvious that none of them were IC members. Zac also found out, as they waited for their orders to be filled that, not only were they all in the shrinking minority of objectors, their game roles, like his, were nothing like their real life occupations. He also learned that each had received free passes from different people who intimated that they knew something of their personal history. Zac had gleaned that by careful questioning, but it only resonated with the others when they heard each story being recited. He didn't share a consolidating notion about what he feared they had in common with his own situation. It was the realisation that his benefactor knew about his software writing, and the more shocking knowledge that somehow the game controllers themselves had determined his fascination with mathematics and his penchant for solving number patterns. The idea still disturbed him greatly.

The proprietor appeared to shield the group from exposure to some of the other patrons. She knew that in not conforming to Central Bank requirements of trading only through the bank's credit they were defying recently tightened strictures about financial dealings. So, cash exchanged hands surreptitiously in the gloom. When she had gone, Chris remarked that it was getting harder to find non-conforming businesses.

"We might have to join the underground economy," quipped Stephanie with a wry grin.

"What do you call this?" put in Curtis opening his palms, indicating the present arrangement.

"I was thinking of the Fellowship."

"Christians? You're joking aren't you?" scoffed Chris. "They're still fantasising that the federation is some sort of prophesised end of the world."

Zac coughed repeatedly as if clearing his throat. He pressed his hands down as if testing a mattress. "Guys...keep it down. The walls have ears." All stopped and looked at him. They expected him to make a statement. He was the leader. Feeling the expectation, Zac turned to Stephanie. "Are you serious about using the Christian network?"

"Terry—the man that gave me the pass...he said they were the only ones who had the most precious commodity available." He made a clenched teeth grimace.

"What's that?"

"Hope."

Sarah, the proprietor, delivered the coffees herself. She reinforced what Zac had feared—their voices had carried across to the counter. She recommended that they talk quietly about the Fellowship. She slipped a card onto the table and then placed their orders before them. There was an address marked in pencil on his serviette. The others had other bits of information. They must have been written separately to prevent detection. The card said 'they meet'.

Zac was quick to dissociate himself from her assumption.

"Oh...we're not really interested in them...thanks," the return sounded lame. Sarah rolled her eyes and picked up the card. A squinty, in-the-know smile lingered momentarily before she walked away.

Zac looked at the message on his serviette as he sipped froth off his cappuccino; 'the Carson' was on written on the corner, 'basement' was spelled out on Ashley's and '7pm' was on Renee's. The pause was unnerving. The unease palpable. Each of the six appeared to digest the information; Stephanie's bottom teeth chewed her upper lip; Ashley's lips appeared to rehearse the words and eyes flashed around each other weighing reactions.

"It's not important for us," Zac equivocated. He was unsure how to proceed. It was almost as if the game was infecting their real world. Letting the words imprint on his memory, he slowly picked up a teaspoon and obliterated writing with the dark chocolate sprinkles before stirring the rest in a swirling spiral of dissolution. Chris sighed breathily.

"You had me going for a minute. I thought you were actually contemplating signing up with those relics of past mythologies."

"Relics of past mythologies? Where'd you dig that up from?" sneered Curtis.

"My old man...he is a rabid atheist blogger. He has some great put downs."

"That's all atheists have isn't it?" opined Renee. "...Put downs," she clarified. "There's nothing of substance they have to say. If they were truly intellectually honest, they would admit they don't have the answers...and they wouldn't be so hateful and aggressive."

"Spoken like a true believer," sniped Chris.

"Haven't the words of Eli Benn struck a chord with you?" she replied. "They're like a parallel version of what my Nan, who is a Christian, says about being humble, and that actions, not things, are what define us."

There were retaliatory barbs about sentimentalism blurring logic and refutations that there was nothing illogical about values. Zac refereed the growing unrest of, what he now considered, his crew.

"How about we confine our discussion to the game 'Great is the Mystery'? It really is what drew us together. It's what we have in common." Again, the additional correlations between them tugged at him—free passes, handed by Fellowship agents, none were registered—but he refrained from spelling the similarities out.

"What do you want to discuss?" responded Ashley. Her gaze unsettled him.

"What do think the purpose of the game is? And what's the significance of this emphasis on values?"

Chris offered, "To defeat Ubel Day...you know...get through all his synthetic worlds and rescue the targets."

"Ye...s...I get that. What about why...and this character Eli Benn?" prompted Zac. He had again withheld a sarcastic retort about superficial explanations, and marvelled that his behaviour was somehow being modified by his role in the game.

"Since when do games have to make sense," Chris adjudged weakly.

Stephanie ummed softly and gained their attention. "I think it is likely that the whole game is a communication or even propaganda from the Fellowship. Think about it. We all were given passes from people we didn't know, who seemed to be connected or sympathetic to believers." The words echoed what Zac had thought. He was glad someone else had said it.

"So you think they're trying to recruit us?" probed Curtis.

"Or rescue us," returned Renee.

Ashley had a quizzical expression. "Rescue us? From what?"

Renee crinkled her nose. It was the first time Zac had seen her smile. "From ourselves...from this world...from the future?" she shrugged. "I just know their values are sounding much more attractive than the European Federation and they are much better than what the Theos worlds offer."

"What? That's crazy!" interjected Chris. "It's only a game...We've made it through two levels and we have three more. Let's keep doing what we have been doing and we'll win...Then it'll be all over."

"Only a game?" questioned Renee sceptically.

"All right...A very high definition, convincing, pretty exciting game...but it's still only a game."

The verbal hostilities were tempered as Sarah delivered some tasty muffins, 'courtesy of a friend', she quoted. There was some speculation and craning of necks to locate their muffin supplier before the delicious fare was consumed. Tentative suggestions regarding further gatherings during the week were submitted by Stephanie and Ashley. Zac rationalised that the team was, for him, a safe social gathering. Because they were all non-conformists, there was no need to conceal their dissatisfaction with the authoritarian regime and the topic of the game was a haven for conversation so that, hopefully, other contentious ideas weren't unearthed. One area he wanted to avoid was the subject of the Fellowship, which he wasn't keen on at all. Another of the things Zac wanted to keep buried was his nascent scheme to return to Australia. It would be dangerous. Such a journey was prohibited by law, and planning was still in the early stages. If interactions became familiar, he might let something slip and that could only jeopardise his escape.

Would they meet on Sunday? Zac didn't have anything planned but he didn't want to seem eager either. Chris said point blank that his place was out. The vehemence of his stance was intriguing, but no one pushed the point. Curtis said he lived near a security centre and it increased the risk of having identity papers checked.

"How do you get away with it then?" asked Chris.

His face lit up with a broad grin. "They know me. I deliver meals from Dad's shop...They just assume I'm legit."

Stephanie volunteered, "We could have it at my Nan's place...It's not big but she's a believer so it'd be safe."

Chris groaned at the mention but said nothing more.

Eyes turned to Zac. He was the leader. Avoiding the possibility that he should host them, since he didn't want to admit that his place was little more than a hovel, he turned to the player he was most acquainted with.

"What about your place Ashe? Your parents are away...It's big...It'd be ideal."

"Well...I suppose...They didn't want me entertaining or anything but...if we meet for a coffee, it should be okay."

"Sounds like a solution," posited Zac brightly. "What time and where?"

"Er...How about eleven?" She gave a Notting Hill address and Chris whistled.

"Notting Hill...La-de-da." What lacked in eloquence was thoroughly understood as 'from the snobby part of town'.

"So it's agreed...Ashe's place at eleven," concluded Zac decisively.

"Eleven on a Sunday? That's unchartered territory," grated Curtis with a pained expression.

Ashley gave an amused tilt of her head at his casual use of her name. He gave a sheepish grin in return. Chatter tapered after that and team members peeled off almost as one for various destinations. While on the way to his small flat in a row house in Earl's Court, Zac saw Stephanie and Ashley heading for the Hammersmith tube station. He figured he'd take the tube too instead of walking the two and a half kilometres to his home. He ran up to them and explained.

"I'm getting off at Earl's Court."

"Of course," chuckled Ashley, "Australian."

Chapter 7

Instead of playing video games, Zac readied himself to go out for the night. The address for the night's meeting was etched in his memory. He was reluctantly drawn because of the allusions to 'the game' being a digital artefact of the Fellowship, and a suspicion that somehow there was a devious program to condition the players for conversion. Whether he wanted to expose the scheme or was hungering for something 'other' than what he already knew, he wasn't sure. He adjudged that fact finding wouldn't harm him.

He sat in the second back row, behind everyone else, in what was usually the basement, breakfast dining area of the Carson Hotel in Paddington. A youthful looking man, probably in his late forties, with short fair hair stood at the front. He welcomed everyone saying that, no doubt, they came for a number of reasons. He enumerated them and included, pointedly, some stranger telling you that you needed to be here. Zac squirmed. Then a touch on his shoulder made him jerk forward with a start. He turned to see Stephanie, Renee, Ashley and Curtis sitting behind him.

"I thought you said this wasn't important for us," teased Ashley in a hushed voice.

"I changed my mind."

He tried to focus on the front but was strangely warmed that his team, minus Chris who had been vitriolic in his antagonism, was also there. The speaker started with a prayer. Zac looked around and saw others, like him, unaccustomed to religious practices, gazing about.

With a smile, the speaker began. "Jesus," he said. Not as an epithet but contemplatively. "No one has affected human history like this man. He lived. He died...and, if you believe the accounts in the Bible, he came alive from the dead. Sounds preposterous doesn't it? Yet, if Jesus is God, as he claims to be, then it would be preposterous if death could keep hold of him. And if he has power over death then he is someone worth knowing. The Bible says: 'There is no other name under heaven, given among men, by which we must be saved.' But what do we need to be saved from?"

Then precisely, he detailed the very things that beset Zac. "Your meaningless existence without God, habits that trap you, a self-concept chained to the evaluations of others, the pursuit of material possessions that are never enough and the constricting concept of mortality when, within you, an eternal soul searches in hope."

It seemed he was successively proposing and answering every query that entered Zac's head as it occurred to him. Was it possible that Jesus, someone he had thought of as a Jewish mystic, could somehow hold the key to existence?

The speaker referred to a famous oratorio—The Messiah—and read the scriptures of the third and final stanza. He explained that Handel had communicated in the first two parts the prophecies concerning Jesus and the historical birth, life, death and resurrection of this Messiah. Everything preceding Christ's advent had been setting the scene for the ultimate act of grace. The young speaker went on. Everything that occurred in that central location, in that central epoch in human history was central to restoring the relationship with God for everlasting man. Then, in the last part, he elaborated the hope within every Christian—the consummation of all things, the final victory over death, hell and the grave, and the glorious restoration of our relationship with the creator God.

"What hope do you have?" He personalised the sermon. "Is your hope in things, in other people or in experiences?" He paused. "I can tell you...unless God is at the centre...all these things will let you down. Accepting Christ will change you, transform you...make you new."

Zac didn't want to think about it. The world was bleak. He knew that human history, like the present world, appeared to be in a downward spiral. It was the second law of thermodynamics. Entropy would increase. Luring people with the idea that things could be better was the enticement of successful advertising. He didn't see how it could be. And yet...and yet the game, Eli Benn? He was starting to wonder again what was real. And if things were spiralling down, how did they begin? Was that a contradiction to the humanist philosophy of the ascent of man?

The service ended. The three girls went and spoke with the preacher. Curtis hung back and talked with him.

"Makes you think doesn't it?"

Zac pulled a face. "You know this is illegal...right?"

"That's what I mean. Why is it illegal? What do Christians do that's so different from all the other religions?"

Zac entertained some thoughts—opposition to the federation, not accepting other beliefs as credible, intolerant of permissive lifestyles? He didn't know which one had blacklisted them.

"You tell me."

Curtis scanned the basement as if fearful he would be overheard. "Maybe they know the truth."

Zac's eyebrows went up but he said nothing. Was Curtis becoming a proselyte? Maybe this was why Chris was absent, the fear of being swayed and, maybe also, the play of conscience. Zac was aware of it now. There was a niggling possibility that the age old story was true. The whole plot line of evil and good was, not merely an instrument for game programmers, but a portrayal of life itself. The whole world was engaged in the struggle. Not only that; he, Zac Gould, was enmeshed in his own personal brawl with evil inclinations that beat him into submission.

Curtis had been watching him internalise the statement with a glazed expression.

"You're still sceptical after all we've seen?"

"Let's say I've heard enough about subliminal suggestion to be wary of digital media."

His new friend's dark eyes peered at Zac from a lowered head as if trying to gauge his mental acuity. "Don't you get what this game is trying to tell us?"

"That people are hard to please?"

"No...These worlds please people...but none of them are satisfied."

"So...what is the message?" the words were delivered with a pout.

"Exactly that...that no matter what the intervention of a benevolent power, people aren't satisfied."

"What? You're saying that if people were exposed to threats and danger and deprivation they'd be happier?"

The other looked pensive. A squint and a twitch of his mouth indicated the words didn't come easily. "I think it's more about the values Eli Benn is talking about. Everything else is peripheral." His head dipped. "Then again...I might have it all wrong. Maybe it is only a weirdly unique game, unknown to any of our friends, where six total strangers happen to have similar philosophies, are rejecting this so-called utopian regime and are somehow guilt-ridden about their own lives."

His blatant satire irked Zac. Was he in denial? "You feeling guilt ridden?" He smirked as if he was above trite accusations proffered by the do-gooder set.

"And...you're entirely satisfied with your squalid existence?"

Zac ground his teeth. He hated his life. He wanted to go home to Australia. Then again, maybe home wasn't the same as he remembered it to be.

"So...are you going to join up?"

"You sound like you hate them...just like the federation...Why?" Curtis' quiet response defused some of his anger. Maybe he hated the guilt he felt, the challenge to examine his motives, his direction and what he believed.

"No...I don't hate them...Maybe I hate being told I'm wrong." The lapse in is defensive front, the momentary candour, caught him by surprise.

Zac tried to change the subject and gazed across at the three girls. "What can they possibly be talking about for all this time?"

Curtis chuckled. He patted Zac's back. "I'd say they're asking the questions you're keeping to yourself." They both watched as Renee lifted her arm and pointed in their direction.

"Oh oh," rasped Zac under his breath.

"Give him the benefit of the doubt...at least hear him out," muttered Curtis as the speaker and the three girls came across to them.

The smiling preacher reached out his hand and introduced himself as Andrew. Curtis reciprocated and also introduced Zac. It wasn't something his game leader was entirely comfortable with. Instead of pushing the 'what-did-you-think' inquisition about his sermon, Andrew made small talk about their jobs, the hard times experienced by their Fellowship group and how they had been forced to hold clandestine meetings in secret places.

"Why would you risk having people invite strangers like us to your meeting?" posed Zac.

"You're non-conformists, unregistered, virtually in rebellion to the EF. We're a place of sanctuary for people like you."

He refrained from asking how he knew. The cafés they went to, the eateries, the use of cash and their remnant niche occupations all testified against them. It was a wonder security police hadn't already paid a visit.

"So, how often do you meet here?"

Andrew snorted, partly in disbelief. "Sorry...that sounded a bit derisive. No...we meet irregularly in different venues. People come by invitation...You may never hear of us again...or, we might see you next time we meet." The preacher had an enigmatic smile.

It was all too much for Zac. All these 'coincidences' were making him feel like a pawn in someone else's game.

"What do you know about 'Great is the Mystery'?" he insisted.

"Godliness?" His answer baffled Zac and his face clearly showed it. Andrew registered his puzzlement. "It's a verse in the Bible. It tells how Jesus is central to the gospel...the revelation of God as man...the one we believe and how his return into glory precedes our own. Believers will all follow his path."

"No...I mean the game."

"The game?" The flicker of a smile played on his lips.

Zac withheld his elaboration, not because of a desire to keep confidential an experience which was rattling his cage but because he suddenly perceived that the churchman knew exactly what he was talking about. His chest felt tight. He despised being swept helplessly by circumstances. Were they all powerless? Was someone playing with their lives as if they were characters in some reality show? He hated this constant pressure, this cornering to introspection. The inward view was repulsive to him. He was flotsam, hoping to avoid detection, distracting himself with gaming and aimlessly scrabbling his living writing code for non-conformists.

"You okay?" Ashley had a furrowed brow. She was reacting to his goldfish expression.

He shivered involuntarily. "Yeah...Listen I've gotta go. I'm working tomorrow."

"See you during the week? We'll be dropping in to Davidson's." Ashley sounded hopeful. It was like the camaraderie from the game had become a substantial element in her life.

"Don't know." He waved and left.

On the way home it occurred to him that he would have said he was working whether he was or not. It just so happened that on this rare occasion he actually had a job lined up.

***

Monday morning, early, being on a job was a fairly unusual experience for Zac. He had picked up the work through a friend of a friend. After taking the tube all the way to Barking, he followed the instructions he'd been given. Small offices at the rear of a huge, grimy warehouse and segmented from huge stocks of cocoa by a pressed board wall that rose from floor to ceiling, was a distinctive locale for his work. The wall didn't prevent the voluptuous cocoa aroma invading his workspace. Despite the constant temptation to indulge in chocolate, Zac took no time to gather that the task was illegal under the current government ordinances. He was directed to code computers to run investment routines on the dark web. It took some time, through the first few days, to read up on the proscribed protocols and develop the algorithms. Digital currencies were the assets, and the idea was to follow historical trends and buy below a specific margin and sell above a specific margin, keeping the asset total at, or above, a certain critical mass. The buried nature of cryptocurrencies made them attractive for illegal activities.

By the Thursday, Zac was prepared to state that it was ready to run and sought payment for four intense days of software development. The customer was shrewd. He berated himself for not receiving an up-front fee. He was paid in Bitcoin. It riled him initially. Zac then reassessed. If he used the software. Tweaked it to be less conservative and monitor his minimal base investment, it might turn out to be much more lucrative than anything he had earned in the last year. He would set it up so that it would keep rolling over the investment until it, too, reached a minimum level that made it a viable income. Then it would sell off any additional gains and put them in his black economy bank account.

The process took all of Friday. At the conclusion, tired and dispirited he resigned himself to the fact that if the ploy failed he wouldn't be much worse off. Almost unconsciously, Zac made his way to a small unregistered, safe eatery not too distant from his flat. Work proved to be an effective diversion from the parlous future he faced. Stopping now, and not having every conscious thought aimed at negotiating the logic maze of computer code, he recalled that level three of the game was scheduled for the next day. Maybe he should have reconnected with his team and discussed strategies. It was possible they would be at Davidson's.

He rejected the idea. He wasn't that needy was he? They could seek him out if they were desperate for fraternal company. Eating a Moroccan curried chicken panini, his, now unoccupied, mind drifted back to the game. He pictured his team members and decided he would identify with Chris more. He wasn't gullible. There was no grasping for the anaesthetising effect of religious belief to deaden the harsh realities of the world they lived in. Zac admired the self-assured, in control demeanour of his new acquaintance.

His thoughts went to the girls. In a different time and place Ashley, and to a lesser extent Stephanie, would have gained a significant amount of his attention. Now, daily needs, survival and the exigencies of remaining anonymous in an increasingly monitored and orchestrated world dominated his life. In the game Ashley, as Keela, had related to him, even hinted at affection. He had to remind himself that it was a game.

A voice from the restaurant kitchen struck a chord. He craned his neck to see who was speaking. At that precise moment the waitress turned and their eyes locked. It was Teagan, the girl from the game. He had thought that maybe she had been a CGI avatar. Surely her role as a spoiler was part of the game. Her flashing pale eyes quickly averted and she retreated into the back of the kitchen. Spontaneously, Zac left his half-finished meal and dashed into the kitchen. Cries of protest and complaints at his trespass didn't deter his pursuit. The girl slid out a back door and he barged after her, bumping an attempted hindering body check, by a grizzled cook, aside. Zac baulked another obstructing waitress and flung the door open.

He sprinted down the alley. The girl he had known as Teagan was running, for some reason trying to elude him. Noting the chase was on, after a fleeting glance behind her, she redoubled her efforts and took off with a burst of speed. She darted around the corner and Zac, puffing hard, started to regret his sedentary life style. At the brick corner of the building he saw Teagan dash into another building. With a concerted effort, he dashed to the closing door. Dragging it open, he saw her sprawled on the floor. A chair leg had caught her foot as she had made toward the corridor of the row house apartment.

Zac leaned over her as she whimpered, clutching her wrist. Teagan twisted into a sitting position with a grimace. Her eyes were glistening with moisture.

"You okay?" Zac's voice was husky with emotion. He couldn't handle tears.

"I'm fine...no thanks to you."

"You ran, so I chased." It had made sense in his mind, but hearing the words made him sound like an imbecile.

"That's what you do is it...chase girls?"

This time he thought first. "I do if I think they're trying to sabotage a game I'm in...if I don't understand their role...so, what's the go?"

Teagan looked up at him clearly distressed. She rubbed her wrist again. He began to feel like an insensitive cad. He offered two hands. "Can I help you up?"

She acquiesced with a cordial thank you. Zac raised her up gently and faced her. She looked down at his hold on her and he released his grip.

"So...are you going to tell me what your purpose is in the game? I mean, I can clearly see now you're not a programmed opposition character...you're a player. What are you meant to achieve?"

"I'm not allowed to say."

The answer told him a great deal. Confidentiality meant that she was either in an opposing team whose aim he couldn't yet determine, or, she was a facilitator in the game, having an active role at the behest of the provider. He understood game protocols. It would be unfair to press the issue. He looked at the girl who appeared to be peering about as if considering her next move. He took a punt.

"You live here don't you?"

A wide eyed response suggested she was weighing up the ramifications. Her flashing, light coloured eyes fascinated him.

"I shouldn't be talking to you," she declared flatly.

Zac couldn't help smiling. She was facing him, talking. She could have turned and left.

"So, you're Teagan in the game. What's your real name?"

The girl flinched. "I have to go...I...I'm sorry."

"Just your name...Surely you can tell me that." He smiled persuasively and touched her arm. A smile snuck onto her lips.

"Georgia," she answered softly. "I have to go Zac...Don't follow me...please." She spun around and walked down the corridor and up the stairs.

Zac stood motionless. The Machiavellian intricacies of the game appalled him. She knew his name. He walked slowly back. His composure eroded further when he went back in to ask about the waitress in the restaurant and the proprietor met him.

"Do not speak of this to anyone or you will be barred from the game. Players are to remain anonymous." The stern warning, given tight lipped, sent a tremor up his spine. Did everyone know? Had he been marked with an indelible stamp? If they knew this much then they must know that his team had been socialising, against the game guidelines. He would go and warn them.

***

Davidson's was abuzz with a Friday night crowd. The pulsating vibrancy of the nearby mall was a main contributor but there were also those select groups that were regulars. He thought he was becoming adept at identifying them. They huddled around, their interactions were subdued and they glanced about discreetly. He saw his team. Chris was absent. Perhaps neither of them belonged. He suspected the game analysts had made a mistake and misidentified them as in accord with their philosophy, their movement.

Halfway to the rear of the café, Ashley spotted him weaving between the tables. Unnecessarily, she beckoned him over. An undercurrent of murmured comments ceased as he drew near. Sarah, the café owner, tapped him on the arm as he was about to greet them. He lurched with fright. Taking a deep breath when he saw who it was, Zac sighed, "Don't do that Sarah, my nerves are frazzled at the moment."

She beamed. "Would you like a large latte?"

He nodded. She had remembered his order from last time. Did they have a dossier on his every move? He pinched his nose. He was becoming paranoid. She probably had a good memory.

"Why so jumpy?" It was Renee that made the observation. Zac was about to vent his anxieties when he recalled Georgia's plea. He would avoid getting her into trouble and at the same time prevent himself from being ejected from the game.

He sat down and changed the subject. "So...what sort of week did you have?" He gazed at their faces.

"Looks like you had a rough week," said Curtis pointedly.

"Why?" He tried to be bland and sound disinterested.

"You look harassed, man."

"I've had a busy week...a contract job." His eyes closed as he endured the memory of being duped over payment.

"What went wrong?" Ashley prodded perceptively. Zac's head began to shake. His mouth pulled up. He was clearly disgruntled. "The customer reneged on payment...It was my own fault...too trusting." He snorted at that. Him, trusting? That was an oxymoron. He didn't mention the scheme by which he hoped to obtain an alternative compensation, paid in a circuitous fashion, by the merit of his own labours.

"So you don't get paid?" There was a note of sympathy from Ashley. Her head tilt added to the sentiment.

"I'll manage..." His voice tightened. Zac's constricted throat made him unable to explain further.

For the next half hour their game leader tried to heighten their awareness that all of them might be victims of some entrapment set-up. He didn't call the game controllers deceivers in so many words but his constant articulation of obscure motives, covert intelligence gathering and undercover personnel painted an alarming picture.

"You're jumping at phantoms," concluded Curtis. "They're only characters in a game. Some are probably employed to frustrate us...It adds to its unpredictability...I like it."

Zac looked for support from the others citing the weird way they were recruited for the game. He surprised them by suggesting they pull out of the next round.

Stephanie disclosed thoughtfully, "I'll admit it's totally different from any game I've played before...but I think that's what makes it so good."

"What about you Ashe?" Zac sought some support.

"The sub-text has got me hooked," she conceded. "It's scary...it's challenging...but I think it's also trying to tell us something."

"Why not be up front about it then?" he objected.

"Look at the way you and Chris treat the church ideas...and in some ways the values aren't that different." Ashley gazed at him. "There's something else that's got you worried isn't there?"

He remembered Georgia's plea again. "I think we'll regret it...but if you guys are up for it then... I suppose we'll see where it leads."

Chapter 8

Teleo spaceport was busy. The six recruits were again looking for an opportunity to board the private space cruiser. There was no sign of Kevalin. Security appeared to be more vigilant and only ticketed departures were allowed. A call for Cecilia to go to the information desk had each team member alert for action. She came back nonplussed at the supply of a locker key.

"The girl said 'only perfection will gain you entry'...but there was no number supplied."

"Another puzzle," decided Will confidently. "Let's go to the lockers."

The locker area was patrolled and so it wouldn't do for them all to congregate around each locker attempted. Under instruction Cecilia tried number six. She fiddled briefly as the dispersed individuals watched from a distance.

"Didn't fit," she announced superfluously.

Doyle went to number twenty-eight and also returned unsuccessfully.

When Kaimi was asked to try four hundred and ninety-six, she looked at Will dubiously.

He shrugged. "They know I like numbers. These are perfect numbers. The factors, excluding the number itself, add up to the number...'perfection will get us through'" he repeated.

"How do you know all this?" quizzed Keela.

"Numbers fascinate me...What can I say...it's quirky and a real conversation stopper at parties...not much good for anything...except, maybe, game puzzles like this."

"You're saying the key will open four nine six?" fished Kaimi, unwilling to venture out without some assurance.

"That's my guess...unless there's a locker number eight one two eight...which I very much doubt."

They sat some way off and watched as Kaimi went with an affected air of nonchalance and tried the locker. It opened. She withdrew a small booklet and returned. Flipping through the pages revealed a code of conduct for the spaceport workers and orientation information.

"What good is this?" she complained.

Garrett snatched it from her. He opened to a dog-eared back page. It was a map of several basement passages. On the opposite page was a handwritten note: 'Last digits are important'.

"Another puzzle," he moaned. "What does this one mean Einstein?"

Will couldn't help grinning. "We'll see."

In deference to his leadership, Garrett handed the booklet to Will. It reflected their growing acknowledgement that the game facilitators had known what they were doing. Though Garrett was far more charismatic, Will had come through when it mattered.

Once he had oriented their position on the map, he set off. They followed an indirect route to a stairwell. Going down two levels they were confronted with an electronically locked security door. 'No Access' was in bold print, and below that, 'Authorised Personnel only'. The key pad gave no clue as to how many numbers he would have to input. He opted for the first four of the sequence. Six eight six eight were punched in. The door clicked loudly and he cautiously nudged it open.

"Last digits of the perfect numbers!" exhaled Doyle triumphantly.

"All perfect numbers end with a six or an eight," expounded Will a little too eagerly. "The next eight end six six eight eight six six eight eight. I've failed miserably to work out a pattern of the numbers in the sequence after that."

"You need to get a life," adjudicated Garrett as they all edged into the dark corridor ahead.

"Yeah."

Winding through an access corridor that ostensibly was designed for high level dignitaries evading media reception, they arrived in the launch area for private cruisers. Kevalin was waiting with a broad grin and an encouraging word. "You people are getting good at this."

"You gonna tell us what we're up against this time?" asked Cecilia cheekily.

The pilot humoured her with a grunt. "I'll leave it up to Driscoll."

***

Theos3 was less ideal than the preceding worlds. The environment was still pleasant and largely benign but robotic intervention was confined to petitions for help. Conflicting petitions from citizens resulted in no action. Snow-capped mountains bordered a large river valley with a concentration of medium size townships on the shores of the broad river. Driscoll informed them that evil was more apparent, the populace was increasingly free to defy robotic control and spiritual movements proliferated with superstitions and charms. It was their way of rationalising robotic interventions. Autonomy had increased with entrepreneurial opportunities for advancement, productive occupations and disadvantages for the slothful. Meaningful work meant people were engaged and gained self-esteem through promotion and achievements, though Driscoll suggested that it did also distract them from meditating on the deeper, existential issues of life.

Once again they were presented their target objectors to the system. Driscoll instructed Will to allot them. These were individuals who wanted to opt out of what had previously been portrayed as an attractive world. Not for the first time, Will mulled over the conundrum the game posed. Were the beneficiaries of their rescues role playing participants acting on behalf of the game architects or were they players trapped in some kind of parallel version of the game? He had met one player outside. That didn't mean they were all real people. He guessed most were digital avatars.

"Who did you say you wanted me to retrieve?" Garrett's words shook him out of his ruminations.

They were all looking at the six screens that depicted six different individuals. As before, the name and a brief rundown of each evacuee's situation was itemised. A computerised whole-realm status screen had reddish glows which indicated each target person.

As he scanned the individual screens, Will identified Teagan interacting with one of the defined non-compliant citizens. He checked the name, Nerida. That would be his target. Quickly he allocated tasks for his crew by assigning them each one of the potential defectors. The others wasted no time in hiving off, aware that successive levels of the game were becoming more complex to negotiate and opposing forces were more challenging. Time would be against them. Robot surveillance and hostility was still the main threat but Driscoll had suggested that the inhabitants of this world were more likely to contribute to the opposition. This was possibly because they were less coddled and more in charge of their own destiny. Their code was that life was what you made it. Get rich, have fun and be ruthless, if necessary, to get your own way.

It was night time. The synthetic constellations in the night sky intrigued Will. The realism, the sense of depth, as if he was in another galaxy or a different universe, diverted his attention. Each team member had travelled secretly down the river from Driscoll's camouflaged shoreline base. Handling the narrow kayaks in the swiftly flowing current, in the dimness, was a challenge in itself. It also chewed into a tight schedule. The suits replicated the cold of splashing water and he even imagined they had placed them in a flow tank, such was the realism of the experience. An added complication was that all exits were from a central point on this world. The players would have to synchronise the time of their escape so that all exited together.

Will's destination was an office building. He gathered from the intel' that Nerida was working late, trading stock in an effort to boost her financial status. Her heart wasn't in it. She had been on the verge of turning her back on the pursuit of wealth when Teagan had intervened and spurred her on to be loyal to the company. It made her feel guilty. She didn't want to let the others down and so she renewed her drive for the next high yield transaction.

Going into a sparsely staffed office building at night was tricky. Will realised that he wouldn't be screened by thronging crowds or concealed by vegetation, so his planning had to be slick. Would his contact with Teagan outside the game give him an advantage? He wondered if he could use exposing her as leverage to defuse her obstructive tactics. And even if he could, would he? There was a niggling feeling that appealing to an outside game line of attack was unethical as well as jeopardising her livelihood. The best course would be to avoid encountering Teagan at all.

***

Blue auras of light, seen through the special glasses, clearly identified the humanoid sentinels casually patrolling the streets. If he kept out of line of sight, the machines would have no cause to carry out an identity check on him. Will scampered from one recessed doorway to the next carrying a briefcase that was the prop for his subterfuge. He sought refuge in narrow alleys and hunkered down behind parked vehicles, trying to hurry while all the time remaining undetected.

Pausing under the arches of a large road bridge across the river, his small screen updated him on the progress of the others. It concerned him that Keela and Kaimi had deviated from their proposed paths and joined a crowd listening to Eli Benn. No doubt he would hear the philosophical gems they had gleaned from the teacher when they later regurgitated them for his benefit. Thankfully, Garrett and Doyle were on task.

"Oh no," he uttered impulsively as he saw that Cecilia was conversing with Mallory Keres. They were laughing. He was luring her into a casino. Will had remembered what she said about gambling. This would hamper their chances of success. Was Cecilia projecting the real fallibilities that Renee was prone to? He was beginning to suspect the game was more dangerous in terms of their personal vulnerabilities and confronting their own intemperate realities than the definition of the game implied.

He would take note of the progress of the others and then assign them a rescue task for Cecilia. It made his actions all the more urgent. Sauntering over to the office building he rehearsed his ploy to gain entry. "Be the role...be the role," he chanted to himself quietly as he entered the building.

"Can I help you sir?" a female at a reception desk looked at him directly.

"Name's Will Durham, IT specialist. I've come to help Nerida Homes. She has some issues I need to sort out. I believe her office is on the twenty second floor. And I need to hurry." His words carried an edge of annoyance.

The bluff and bluster proved to be effective. She waved him on, in no mood to hassle the already aggravated technician. Will took the elevator and checked again the relayed pictures from Driscoll's base. To him, if one thing gave it away that this was a computer generated environment, it was the relayed footage of all the players fully monitored with the embellishment of CGI. He wondered what the props and space of the huge basement play arena looked like. He knew that the nerve stimulators in the suit made him feel breezes, hot and cold, the emulation of sweat and even the sensation of wetness produced by water. Was he now going up, accelerating on a platform or were they electrical impulses telling feet and leg muscles and body mass that he was moving?

Will cast aside the conjecturing. The elevator door slid open. Three things made him wary: one, Teagan was there because she knew Nerida was targeted for rescue, two, she would have organised robot back-up but he hadn't detected any yet, and three, tall buildings were difficult to escape from. His approach would be unconventional in a game setting. He would allude to the game in his conversation while all the time being consistent to the context of the situation. The other aspect of his plan troubled him. Though physical violence in VR games was absolutely forbidden—each participant having a panic button to trigger instant cessation of play when threatened, hurt or disoriented by the convincing CGI effects—Will could still envisage how it would be possible to restrain Teagan without her calling in the referees.

With cat-like vigilance, he moved toward the office where the two young women were engrossed in accumulating a positive balance of trading. The office had several computer terminals. They were working on the two end ones. Seeing their heads bowed over the screens before them, he called out across the room.

"You know you can't win Nerida. Whatever profits you gain, whatever rewards they promise, they'll always want more. Teagan wants you to stay here for the duration but I can get you out."

"Don't listen to him Nerida. Theos3 is a closed world. You'll get caught and they'll eliminate you." The girl's head pivoted from one to the other as they spoke.

"What she's saying is that she'll call in the robot patrols if you seek to escape to Teleo. But she's working for Ubal Day...He's the one who's controlling what you do...making you think you're achieving something."

"Look at the money we've made just tonight. Think what you can do with it. You can't give that up."

"That's where she's wrong. Nerida...it's only money...not love or affection, not security, not inner peace...it's only stuff, materialism...You can give it up so that it doesn't rule your life." The words were like a sounding gong in his head, hollow echoes of words he'd heard but hadn't applied to himself.

"You can't take notice of a total stranger. We've been together on this for well over an hour...and he comes in here spouting this guff. You'd be crazy to take any notice."

"Yet Teagan knows me and knows I've come to rescue you from being a slave to greed. Are you satisfied here...with this?" His sweeping arm took in the array of computers.

The woman began to waver. There was no joy, no fulfilment and no end point to the task. It was too much like a treadmill, working hard yet never being satisfied.

"Okay...I'll go with you. How do we do this?"

"We run."

"The bots are already coming. You won't get away this time," cried Teagan as they left the office.

Will grabbed Nerida's hand and raced up to the elevators. He pressed the down buttons on all three lifts. And then led the girl to the stairwell.

"I hope you're fit," gasped Will, already tiring.

"I do all right...At least I'm not puffing yet," she threw back.

Down two levels they cantered. At the fringes of his mind, Will hypothesised that stairs were simulated by some sort of mini escalator, stopping whenever you stopped and matching your downward speed. The next level descent was at a more moderate pace with Nerida leading him. It was there, he detoured back onto a floor with cloned décor. They went to the elevators and punched the buttons again before returning to the stairwell.

After repeating this twice the third return had them confront four humanoid robots coming up. Nerida squealed. He rapidly immobilised them with magnetic pulses before any had a chance to aim lasers. With renewed urgency, Will dragged the poor girl down two more levels before returning to the elevators. This time they waited for one to arrive, assuming that four deactivated robots would draw the attention of others. The seconds delay, waiting, added to the tension.

The empty lift took them down to the first floor where they exited and took the stairs down to the ground floor. Breaching a fire exit door had them scampering down a dark street. Even as he ran, Teagan's role in the game confused him. Had she quietly acquiesced to his audacious escape? Did she harbour some growing sentiment for him in the game or was it all some convoluted trickery to lull him into being caught? He had never played a game for so long and still been unsure what it was he was meant to achieve. Six rescues for each round, that's all that was evident so far. If it wasn't for the incredible realism and camaraderie that the game engendered, he felt sure he would have abandoned the game, deigning it plotless or at best indecipherable.

What he didn't know was that Teagan had anticipated his exit by taking the lifts straight down to the ground floor, going across the street and keeping watch there. From there she followed at a distance.

His half-witted introspection prevented him from being alert to the possibility of having a tail, and it was almost the cause of their demise since their rapid retreat from the building took them into a crowd swarming with humanoids. As subtly as he could, Will decommissioned those that passed nearby. Teagan watched. The press of bodies masked the origin of his energy bursts and allowed them to drift near to the front of the swelling gathering. It wasn't far from their proposed rendezvous in the botanical gardens. He considered preferring being hidden by the mass of people than trying to remain unseen in the park, flitting from tree to tree.

Before he had a chance to communicate to his crew the change of plans, Will saw Garrett and Keela, with their respective recruits for freedom, in a cluster of spectators. Concealed by the corner of a building, Teagan continued to watch.

Wending their way between the onlookers, he became aware that Eli Benn was the attraction. His drawing power had increased in this world. He stood, prominent on a raised wall. The teacher scrutinised the milling multitude. As in the past, the populace wanted to hear of a way of life in unambiguous antipathy to their 'merit' based profligacy. Drawing near to the four already there, small nods of greeting accompanied his. Will spoke confidentially, "This is a better place to meet...we can blend in."

Garrett murmured assent and Keela whispered, "Doyle and Kaimi have left us with Owen and Mandy." She indicated the two farthest from him. He deduced that the other two were Peter and Quinn. She went on, "They've gone to get Cecilia...She's been caught up at the casino...that Mallory fellow must have known her weakness to gambling."

Will was encouraged by the initiative shown by his team. "Do you think they need me to help?" He had to ask. It was his responsibility.

"No...In fact, I was waiting for you to arrive so I can get Rosie, Cecilia's rescue target...I didn't want to leave Garrett with four people to protect in case they meet opposition." His open-mouthed realisation that there were other stakeholders was greeted with a fluttering wave and a chirpy, "Bye-ee..."

There was nothing for it but to try and be inconspicuous and listen to Eli Benn. In a change from previous orations, he told a story of a boy who was vexed by his shadow. No matter where he went his shadow was always with him. He complained to the town wise man. With a smile, the wise man told him that it was a good thing to have a shadow because that meant he was walking in the light. But he was troubled by the shadow because it was always before him. The wise man told him he was walking in the wrong direction.

"When you walk toward the light, you leave the shadow behind; when you walk toward the shadow, you leave the light behind." His voice rang loudly, emphasising his point.

"Be careful," warned Eli. "If you chase the shadow long enough you won't see it. You won't see anything. You'll be in the dark. Darkness will overwhelm you."

Eli continued his parable saying that the boy was sad that he'd always have a shadow. "Not so," the wise man replied. "When you get to the light...when the light surrounds you, there will be no shadow." A lengthy hiatus, where murmurs revealed some consternation, was ended when Benn made a proclamation.

"So you all will leave behind the guilt and murkiness of indulgent lives when you follow the path of light, the path of truth...the path to God."

The impression that Eli Benn was speaking directly to him made Will cringe inside. Why did he have to mention God? Couldn't there be some sort of moral, some life lesson application, without appealing to an almighty infinite?

"Search the truth out for yourself," he cried. "Those who seek will find...All good is of God. The imprint of his creative spirit on your lives is the source of every kind and generous and selfless act, whether you acknowledge it or not. You cannot dissociate yourself from the influence of his image on your life. It is your conscience, your hope for a brighter future, your sense of an infinite, inner being, your appreciation of beauty, and your affinity with altruistic love...These things are God's breath in your life."

There was an audible sigh as Eli Benn held up a hand and waved it across the crowd in a sweeping motion. "Bless you," he called. Then he stepped down from the wall like podium and mysteriously dissolved into the midst, unobserved. An ache in the pit of Will's stomach quarrelled between hearing more and fleeing the stirring words. He glanced at the others. There was a mutual discomfort. A wordless, reflection had arrested them as if caught up in awe by the profound power of the words. Slowly, individuals began to peel away.

Will, with a gesture, summoned the remaining rescued four with Garrett and they wandered toward their departure point where they would make a concerted effort to access the one way out they had been provided.

Garrett began fidgeting impatiently, flicking on his screen trying to determine the status of the others. "They need to come soon or we'll risk timing out." He tapped more controls then mumbled. "I can't get this thing to work...Can you get a visual?"

Owen, his target was looking over his shoulder. "We're still getting out aren't we?" The other three also voiced concern. Nerida peered at Will questioningly.

Time wasn't critical yet. Will kept his calm.

"We lost the signal when they went inside the casino." It was an unemotional statement.

"Do you want me to go get them?" Garrett looked hopeful.

A short humorous sniff preceded Will's answer. "No...If worst comes to worst, we cut our losses and deliver these people to Driscoll."

"That's the end of our..." He stopped short. Gaming protocols intervened. "That's the end for us then...We can't complete the mission with only two of us."

"Be a lot harder if there's only one." A ping on his screen drew his attention. "Ahh...good. Keela's out with Rosie. They're on their way."

Garrett was also watching their progress now on his screen. Unknown to the small group, Teagan drew nearer.

"Do we go when those two arrive?" It was Quinn, Keela's assignment. It seemed they were all getting anxious, as if a vital portal out of this dark world was closing.

"We'll wait to the last minute...They can still make it." Will spoke hopefully but within, despair prevailed. They were over halfway through the five levels and now it was falling apart. What could he have done differently? Maybe, as before, he should have taken the responsibility to intervene with Cecilia. But they had already gone so it was out of his hands.

Taking a deep breath, Will scanned the area. They would have to breach the cordon of humanoids around their designated exit. With fewer in the team he considered trying a less conspicuous approach. Their initial strategy had been to rush the defences with every team member taking out a thirty degree sector. Maybe now they should consider a diversion. Perhaps they could go around that building on the right. His eyes were suddenly riveted to the corner of the building. Had he seen Teagan's face looking in their direction? It had disappeared at the moment he thought he recognised her. Now things were complicated.

"Yes!" Garrett's spirited utterance told of his allayed fears. "They're out and coming this way."

"They won't have long to get organised...so we'll get into position." Even as Will said it, Keela and Rosie arrived on the scene. Both were panting.

"I have a feeling Mallory is marshalling a chase," commentated Garrett as he studied his screen. "There are robots streaming toward us."

Clenching his jaw, Will weighed up their chances. Doyle, Kaimi and Cecilia would have to go directly into action against the line of defenders to evade their pursuers. If his assumption was correct and he had seen Teagan, then a whole range of unpredictable counter measures could abruptly halt their escape.

An alternative then dawned on Will. He would go around the side entrance, by himself, and create as much mayhem amongst the robots as he could. The probability that he would be eliminated was high, but his team would have a much greater chance. He couldn't ask someone else to do it. He was basically choosing to be removed from the game by carrying out a reckless attack. He knew it was the timing that would have to be exactly right. He announced his intentions.

"I'm going around to the side entrance when the others are almost here. When you see the humanoids rush to the side, go for it. There's no way we'll get through otherwise."

"You'll be eliminated," rasped Keela, still breathing hard. The distress was apparent in her voice.

"We can do this together," she insisted. "And if we don't, we fail together."

"No." He left it at that.

Bewilderment among the group was escalating. They were now aware that there would be casualties in the coming affray. Will couldn't determine whether the rescued members exhibited programmed reactions or whether they were players anticipating that some would drop out of the competition. It was only a game, he reminded himself. Maybe it was an amazing, exhilarating, realistic computer simulation, but it was still a game. He could live with being eliminated even though his competitive nature rebelled at the idea.

Having committed to his course of action, Will stole away the moment the others were in sight. Rounding the corner of the building, he saw that access to the small side entrance was nominally protected. Its narrowness precluded the whole cohort of twelve getting through easily whereas the front entry, with multiple double doors already open, required, as an essential element, that they dispense with the troop of humanoid sentries. If most were diverted it should be achievable for eleven to get through unscathed.

He checked his screen, assuring himself the others were in position and then he ran with all the energy he could muster. One, two, three and then four robots were immobilised as he ran past the entry. Two emerged from the side and already five more jogged around the corner. He had fled to a heavy hedge to recover and psyche himself up for a second, and probably last, foray. Others were now flooding the area. This was to be one glorious charge hoping for maximum effect. Will selected five defenders to take out initially with the plan to wing it from there.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

"Don't go." He spun around and was shocked to see Teagan. She aimed a laser at him. Surely that breached some code of ethics? Will reconsidered. If she was a player and her task was to combat his team then she was within her rights.

"I may as well. I'll be eliminated one way or the other," he droned a little dejected that the final act failed miserably in terms of spectacle.

"No...look." Teagan pointed to the entrance.

A crowd was forming. At the head was Eli Benn. He strode resolutely up the steps and the bots were powerless to obstruct him. He raised his arms and declared loudly, "It is for freedom that you are set free...Do not think you can work your way to contentment, to fulfilment...What do temporary labours achieve in a finite session? Only invisible qualities last for ever. Your world is temporary, your essence is infinite...That's where your values, your life should be centred." Cheers went up amongst the swell. Humanoids poured into the area trying to locate the one who had attacked their ranks.

"The main entry should be clear now." Teagan grasped his elbow and pulled him away, leading him back to the almost deserted terrace of stairs.

Will was vigilant, fearing there was a trap. The incongruity of Teagan's behaviour had befuddled him and his dazed submission to comply with her nudging him to hasten up to the flight of treads confounded him. The stairs themselves had a slight give, anomalous for concrete, which suggested the VR stage props were not entirely convincing. It was eerie, and the first time he was unconvinced about the virtual reality scene.

"Come on," urged Teagan, turning to him and failing to see two humanoids, lasers in hand, launch themselves around the corner. Still having his wits about him sufficiently, Will swung his arm around the girl and pulsed several bursts of magnetic energy from his weapon. The cold laser directional beam help correct his initial misalignment.

"Will...I hardly know you," was the flippant response from Teagan, now leaning right up against him. It gave away the less than critical game circumstances when personal asides took precedence over competitive desperation. Her teasing expression gnawed at him. What side was she on? Why was he so disoriented by her?

They continued the rush inside as more enemy robots appeared. The interior of the building morphed into a tunnel. They boarded the now familiar pod and were rapidly transported, somewhat akin to a rollercoaster ride. Arriving in the riverside mountain retreat, his team were agog, firstly that Will had survived the onslaught of rushing human like machines, avatars or whatever, and then that he had brought Teagan with him.

"What's she doing here?" the sharp enquiry came from Cecilia.

"Teagan helped me escape." The words came easily enough but the concept was hard to assimilate. "And...Eli Benn played a pretty big part too."

"I don't trust her after...after what she did to me in in session one," denounced Kaimi. "I was almost timed out trying on clothes."

Teagan, defensively, drew nearer to Will, as if somehow he was a shield fending off the barbs of her detractors. He glanced at her, recalling their unexpected meeting during the week.

"Maybe she's changed sides...I can't work out how this game works," he added wearily.

Chapter 9

Driscoll came in then and, as was his custom, he sought to address the escapees of Theos3. He called them over as Will's team began to congregate near a picture window with the river and a valley vista before them. Will, however, chose to tag along with the six delivered players. To his discomfit, Teagan trailed close behind.

Driscoll explained that whatever had prompted them to join the game, some distorted desire to indulge in utopian fantasies or sate some whim, they were now in the proactive mode—no longer recipients but game-changers. When they returned they too could be part of a rescue team that promoted self-responsibility, resistance to authoritarian manipulation and values of truth, kindness and transparency.

"This world advocated that you are the master of your own destiny...that by work, shrewd decision making and ruthless determination you can get what you want."

"So hard work is bad?" responded Nerida.

"Not at all. Hard work, in context, can keep you from evil, be productive and benefit society. The lie of Theos3 is that it surpasses relationships and honesty and that the only treasures worth having are material possessions, ease and pleasure."

Driscoll went on to suggest that their choice of game participation may have seemed to be based on admirable motives but the achievement promised consistently appealed to pride. It was their pride that captivated participants.

"I was only chasing my dream of being a tennis pro," demurred Owen, the target Doyle had retrieved from an elite sports centre. "Surely we should get reward for effort?"

"And yet you were not satisfied?" Driscoll squinted slightly, emphasising the interrogative.

"Well...It's only a game in the end."

"Yes...in some ways, life is only a game in the end...a shadow. It will all fade...And...you're right...work and effort should get reward...The reward is as ephemeral as the endeavour...Bodily exercise profits a little...What did Eli Benn say? 'Only invisible qualities last for ever.' Do not believe the lies of the material world. Fame, wealth and pleasure are transient vapours; Love, faith and joy, though immaterial, are enduring and more substantial, having eternal effects on people's lives. It is in such a reality you should place your hope."

Several other questions from the small group followed. They clarified their future roles and tried to ascertain how it was possible to be recruited for a game within the game. Driscoll divulged nothing. He merely cited that as past games rewarded successful participants, they too would benefit from discerning decisions that opened a path to future learning and could very well reveal the truth about themselves.

Will had been listening on the fringes, and Teagan, who sensed the rejection of his team, hung by his side. When the six dispersed to another station under Kevalin's direction, he approached Driscoll.

"I think I get Theos1 and 2. It seems to be all about indulgence and free will and the controlling machines not interfering in what the people wanted...They were always safe, desires were always assuaged, they were even spoiled, but there was no satisfaction in pleasure, no contentment in hedonism...But Theos3? What's the point? The people worked, they encountered struggles there was a sense of achievement...at least for those that applied themselves."

"I'm glad you asked. Theos3 is an allegory of self-deception. The people think they are in control but, as in the other worlds, and, as it must be in Ubel Day's machinations, the robots have total control. Sure, they consistently meet the requests of the inhabitants so that individuals believe the machines serve them...but they are mired in their own foolishness—in a pit of their own making. Getting what you think you want is ignorance. Getting what you need is wisdom."

"So...this is meant to answer a big question. Is it, 'who is in control?'"

"No...The question is, do you have the god you want or do you have the God who is?"

The words were almost too erudite for Will. Was it about choice? What were the ramifications? He looked at Driscoll. He had to remind himself that he was an avatar. It wouldn't do to engage him as a confidante when there was no certainty that he was real. There were more questions but he curtailed his desire to open up. Did everything have to be about God? And, what about his own shadow of guilt, shame, failure and inadequacy; had that become more apparent in the light radiated by Eli Benn? What sort of God existed, was real? Maybe that was the purpose of the game.

Will stepped back to join his team and inadvertently collided into Teagan as he turned. A clunk of VR headsets was barely discernible with the overriding nerve stimulators. It was enough, however, to quickly dispel any illusion that he had of the world's authenticity.

"Sorry," he blurted as he watched her hand go to her face. He assumed that maybe her gear had been knocked and the undetectable, low profile, headset required readjusting. It was just as likely that the suit had given her a jolt to approximate a head bump.

"We keep bumping into each other don't we?" she sniggered.

"Come and I'll introduce you to the crew," offered Will, conscious she had been shunned by the others.

"Er...not yet. I need to talk to Driscoll. There are some things I need to sort out." She pulled a crooked smile, and for the umpteenth time he marvelled at the precision and responsiveness of the VR suit.

"Sure."

When he came close to the inquisitive, clustered crew, the interrogation began.

"Remember she started off by joining us. She probably thinks she'll be more destructive pretending to change sides," Kaimi railed.

"She was very chummy," sniped Garrett. "You a bit fond of her?"

"What! She helped me. I'd be eliminated now if it wasn't for her. You need to cut her some slack. At least see what Driscoll says."

"We've got through three levels already...We don't need her," asserted Keela.

"I'm not sure that's in the spirit of this game." Will swung about and monitored Driscoll's exchange with the girl. She was clearly persona non grata among his team.

Driscoll was speaking softly and Teagan was nodding pensively. Will got the impression that weighty issues were being addressed. He wanted to be there to hear what was being said. He would ask Driscoll. The timer on his screen warned him that time was almost up. They were instructed by Kevalin, who had recently appeared, to board the return craft. It was clear the session was drawing to an end. Will would be unable to pursue answers to some other queries he had. Keela moved with the others to the futuristic spacecraft as he saw Teagan exit through the same door the rescued players had used. A small flutter of Teagan's hand toward him acknowledged that she was aware of his scrutiny.

***

On this occasion Zac didn't dither around. He had disconnected and left before any reprimand. As usual the VR centre was a hive of commuting players with feeble attempts by the establishment to divide the ins and the outs. A rapid divesting of his form fitting, perspiration moist, VR suit and an equally hurried shower had transformed him, refreshed and eager to associate with his new acquaintances. There were things he wanted to discuss. He felt a growing kinship to the group who were, each one, acutely affected by the wisdom of Eli Benn.

He assumed it was his haste that resulted in him being pummelled by several players bouncing off him as their paths met. Repeated beg pardons did little to prevent him wondering why bodily contact was so unavoidable of late. Was the world becoming so crowded that crashing into people would become a recurring hazard?

His early exit meant he was peevishly waiting at the entry, wishing he hadn't been so keen. Other early finishers were pouring out of the change rooms but there was no sight of his new friends. A voice nearby jolted him.

"Hi...waiting for your team?" He pivoted and was confronted by the fresh faced Teagan. That wasn't her real name though, he disabused himself mentally. He suddenly felt under pressure to recall her name. He opted to play for time.

"Hi...Didn't expect to see you...thought you didn't believe in fraternising with other players."

"A lot's changed since I started the game." She seemed subdued. "Do you want me to go? Your team pretty much despise me."

"No...You should stay...Georgia." Her name crystallised at the last second.

"Georgie...My friends call me Georgie. Why do you want me to stay?" Her demure smile disarmed him. He took a steadying breath. "It would be good to get your perspective of the game...tell us what has changed for you...I mean...I'm struggling to get hold of what it's all about."

"Really?"

"Well...okay...Driscoll's explanation seems to suggest that it's some sort of message from the Fellowship."

She nodded.

"But...But I think there's more to it...It's as if life itself depends on the outcome."

Georgia stood statue like. Had she heard him? Was she looking at him or through him?

"Are you okay?"

"Mm...yes...I think you're right." The girl looked around nervously. "Maybe I should go."

"No...wait...They won't be long." Zac decided then that he was coming across as a weirdo, trying to tease out his tangled thoughts and dabbling in esoteric philosophies. He didn't want to come across as haunted so he ventured into social chitchat. He needed a safe topic. What was she doing for the remainder of the weekend?

***

Zac had almost run out of small talk, asking Georgia about family, occupation and past VR experiences and was considering the hazardous course of asking her out for a coffee when the others became visible amidst the remnant departures. They were clearly ill at ease with their team captain's questionable new liaison. Perhaps they had been watching from a distance.

"So...you're still here?" opened Curtis, clearly having been appointed group spokesperson as they murmured amongst each other. "What's your game? Have you been sent to sabotage our team?"

Zac interrupted him before he had a chance to become more hostile.

"I'd say we do Georgie the courtesy of hearing her out before we make any arbitrary judgements. It's the least we can do, considering, because of her, our group is still intact and we'll be advancing to level four next week."

Glances were exchanged. An eye roll, a tongue distorted cheek and a couple sighs implied resistance to Zac's recommendation.

"Let's hear what she has to say," conceded Chris. "Maybe she knows something that will help us in the next level." He pulled an insincere smile.

"Coffee anyone?" prompted Renee attempting to ease the tension. There was sufficient support for the idea and so they headed to their, now, customary café. For the first time Zac took note of the Café's name—Davidson's Mimetes. He could only conclude that Davidson was the owner, but he had no idea about the other word. Maybe he would ask Sarah.

There was little ceremony settling in before Stephanie began the inquisition.

"Why were you trying to ruin our chances in the game?"

"That was my role."

"Who gave it to you?" inserted Zac in a gentler tone.

She made eye contact with him. "Ubel Day...I was given a ticket at a Global Unity rally by some guy. I was asked if I supported the Federation and, of course, I said yes. Even if I didn't, I'm not crazy enough to admit it. I wasn't going to say that I'm not a registered member. He said this game would allow me to find out more about it."

"Do you support them?" Chris was also moderating. It was like the act of conversing, of being face to face, humanised a categorised foe.

"Well...not full blown...I mean they're good on law and order."

"Not too good on freedom," remarked Ashley.

'So, what did Ubel Day tell you?" Zac continued.

"It was in the game," she qualified. "He said infiltrators were about to disrupt harmony in his ideal community. And that their incursion was designed to sow discontent and agitate for defiance and desertion of the community."

"You believed him?" challenged Stephanie.

"It's only a game," she objected. "And...it's true isn't it...You were trying to convince people to leave?"

Coffees arrived without orders being placed. Wide eyes and nods of appreciation toward Sarah hindered their cross-examination of the girl. Somehow, they had been incorporated into the inner sanctum and were privileged regulars of the café.

"I think Sarah is in on the game," mused Curtis. It had the effect of redirecting their focus onto Georgia's statement. The fact that it was a game and it was true that they were raiding, what appeared to be, passive recipients of pleasures and desires, lodged in their thoughts. Suddenly it was no longer untenable that a game player would commit to their task in a competitive mode, seeking success and victory.

Chris returned to the core issue, the question that bothered them all.

"Okay...You were playing a game. What happened? Why did you change sides?"

"I heard Eli Benn speak. His words seemed to drill into me so that I couldn't ignore them. I had to speak to him...and...and that changed everything."

"What did he say?" It was Zac again. He was not alone in his esteem for the words of Eli Benn.

"One of the things I remember was this...It's like a riddle...I memorised it...He told me there were two sides in life, right and wrong, good and evil; one side did what they ought to do, the other side did what they wanted to do...He said one gains contentment and the other is never satisfied...It ends with those doing right wanting to do what they ought to do and those doing wrong not wanting to do what they habitually do."

"What?" protested Curtis.

"I think I get it," said Ashley. Zac nodded. Renee requested a repeat. So Georgia said it again slowly.

When the repetition was finished there was some silent analysis of the apparent ambiguity.

"Two sides...two choices...This so smacks of the Fellowship," grumbled Chris.

"What have you got against the Fellowship?" asked Ashley.

He looked around, leaned forward and hissed, "My dad's an informer...He reports to the secret police anything he hears about the Fellowship. He gets favoured treatment. That's why I can't have anything to do with it. If he found out..."

"Do you agree with him?" probed Zac.

"No...But you don't understand...He asks me to tell him if I hear anything...I'd be lying to him...and...he'd know. I'm a terrible liar."

"You should move out...You're an adult, make your own decisions." Ashley looked around for agreement.

"Would you move out from your parents?" he retaliated.

"Maybe...If they sided with the Federation...They're a totalitarian regime!"

"That's enough," Zac intervened. He didn't think sniping at each other would achieve anything. And they needed to be a cohesive group if they were to progress. "If we've learnt anything from Eli Benn, it's to think of others...each other...Isn't that what you said Renee...relationships are more important. We should at least imagine what it's like to be in someone else's shoes before we criticise."

There were some surprised looks, muttered apologies and awkward coffee consumption while they scrabbled around to restart the conversation. Zac was first with another question.

"So, Georgie, did Driscoll tell you when your session starts?"

"Yes, but he said not to share it...He said I'd meet a team and I'd be given a mission then."

"Then you're not in our game anymore?" Stephanie ventured, clearly not convinced about Georgia's remarkable turnaround.

"He didn't say...He just gave me a time and said I'd be given a pass."

"Weren't you given a five game pass like us?" Chris was curious.

"The guy that gave me a ticket said to meet him after the game and he'd tell me if I'd earned another one."

"So, the first two times he gave you another ticket," concluded Zac. "Should you go now and get another one?"

"Driscoll said no." A spilt coffee at a nearby table kindled a rousing cheer and diverted further questioning for a time

After some lighter conversation triggered by Zac's recollections of recent barista mishaps, Georgia, who quietly spectated, excused herself.

Tactlessly Stephanie bid her farewell. "I'm glad we don't have to worry about you fouling up our game plans anymore."

"No...I guess you don't."

"What about Mallory Keres?" questioned Chris. "Where did you meet him?" She was standing and decidedly disconcerted by the last minute re-examination.

"I met him in the game...He had the same instructions from Ubel Day that I got." She scrunched her small carry bag in her hand fretfully. "Look, I have to go...I'm sorry I almost ruined your game...but I'm not sorry it happened." Georgia left then and had them trying to process her last statement as she merged with the pavement crowd.

Zac thought he understood. She too was applying the words of Eli Benn to her real life, current situation. The enigma was that there was an authenticity, a reality, describing the human condition in a virtual reality game. While the others commented on the strange twist of events and increasing influence the game was having on their lives, Zac pondered the origin, the source of the perplexing game. What coding would be required to override the security features of the VR gaming centre? How many on-site support staff would be required to enable such a VR game to succeed? He knew there were multiple play levels below ground; he suspected they would need a whole level dedicated to their game to support the distance and action he had been part of.

"Where are you?" It was Ashley seeing his distant expression. "You thinking of that girl?"

He detected some irritation in her query.

"No..." he smiled. "Not then...maybe at the start...I think she is happy that Eli Benn has changed her thinking about a few things."

"Like what?"

"Like the Federation...like her values...instead of being apathetic the game has forced her to choose...I sort of get it."

"Sounds like you've changed a bit too...Does that include the Fellowship?"

He hemmed. "I'm not sure...I'll grant you there seems to be a fair correlation."

It was at that juncture that Sarah delivered another round of coffees, unsolicited. With these there was, again, a time and an address for a meeting marked on paper serviettes delivered to each one.

"Thank you. Exactly what we wanted," confirmed Stephanie, giving the proprietor a smile and nose twitch that communicated a fraternal affiliation beyond the brews.

"So who's coming tomorrow?" She scanned the group. "If you think they're connected in some way you have to go," she contended.

The girls were the first to arrange a rendezvous, Curtis followed and Zac scrunched his face before acceding to the request. "If I'm honest, I'm really curious about how the game, the church and this café are all colluding somehow."

Attention then turned on Chris. "You making it unanimous?" prodded Ashley. He shook his head.

"You know my situation...I'm as intrigued as the rest of you...Maybe that's why we were all selected...but I can't."

***

On the following day, Zac came away from church deep in thought. What was purportedly, a book fair at a junior school had really been a cover for a church service. There had been a token display of books with a couple of attendants but the gymnasium had been crowded with the Fellowship congregation. His team had been there too. Greetings were almost affectionate and reflected the amity developing due to relying on each other in stressful situations, albeit simulated crises in a game scenario. The big surprise was seeing Chris there. For the first time he confessed to being at odds with his father's politics. He was now boarding with his sister and her husband. Strangely, the couple had been sympathetic to his new interest in religion. In truth, Tina, his sister had been sharing her Christian leanings for over a year already. It had been their constant reference to the choice between soulless conformity and real individual freedom of belief centred on biblical principles that had nudged him along.

In the service, the same young preacher—Zac decided he was probably older than he looked, maybe mid-forties—seemed to be contextual with the game. He hammered on the error of self-sufficiency. Whether it was the secular atheist who sought the plaudits of others for their achievements, the undecided agnostic who thought their humanitarian deeds would somehow score them points or the pious theist resting on their good works; they were all wrong. It was a gift. It was grace. He articulated several times, that it was mercy and grace; it was truth and freedom and it was logic and reason that would describe the real situation. He emphasised that it was the Spirit that would allow people to accept the good news of Jesus' provision. And his deliverance was available for all mankind.

The sermon had the effect of ruining Zac's sleep. Along with visions of his shadow growing bigger and blacker and darkening his own image, there was a recurring episode of him rejecting a gift. The gift was indistinct. He was aware, though, that the gift was precious and he didn't understand why he was saying no. He woke up sweat soaked and wondering if he should get hold of a Bible and give himself time to logically dismantle any possibility that it was a reasonable course to take.

***

The week was busier than usual with several call-ins to relief barista on top of software writing for an underground bartering concern. Some referrals from café co-workers to his suddenly hectic schedule, backfired. A new co-worker had joined the ranks of the back slappers who admired his independence. His aggravated reaction to the focused attention produced muted apology from the youth about only trying to encourage. It made Zac feel bad and had him accept the cheering of the other.

On the Wednesday a delivery slip arrived. He was to pick up his first instalment of black market cash generated by his bitcoin trading program. With a few tweaks added from monitoring the performance of his contracted application he was maximising his returns by preceding the larger operator's transactions by one minute. Zac was stunned by how much he had accrued. Immediately, the money created worries. How would he collect it safely? Where would he keep it? And, if he spent it, he knew it would draw the scrutiny of the authorities or adherents of the Federation. The one positive he could identify was that with a pile of cash, getting out of England suddenly became a possibility. The unaligned community would do anything for appropriate compensation.

Zac took the tube to Tower Hill. At the ticket office he waited till the girl with the nametag 'Janice' was free. He handed in his cash slip. She read the note. Her eyes darted about. She chewed her bottom lip and then spoke privately, "I'll get back to you in a minute." Janice went through a doorway. He was tapped on the back.

"What was that all about?" A man with Yorkshire accent grumbled, annoyed he wasn't being served.

"Er...Someone's left a package for me...I guess she's going back to look for it." He gave a cheery smile. "Visiting the Tower of London?"

"That's right...If girly ever gets back," he grumped.

It was then Janice appeared. She had a souvenir bag with her. "Here it is sir...You'll find that it's all there."

"Thank you." He took the bag. He turned to the tourist from the northern country. "Have a good day." The moment he said it he thought how cheesy it sounded. The sour look from the greeting recipient suggested he should have said nothing.

Back at his flat, Zac secreted the several thousand euros in a cavity behind the refrigerator. The old physical currency of pounds Stirling was no longer accepted in exchange for digital credit. Illegals had opted for the more common euro. And, even though digital credit was the only legal tender recognised in the Federation, Zac knew the black economy was alive and thriving. It still had considerable purchasing power amongst the non-conformists and objectors. The words of Eli Benn remained with him however. Materialism was no succour for one who was awakening to his essentially spiritual dimension.

His preoccupation with the game continued to infect his sub-conscious. His fitful sleep was littered with images of shadows and scenes of fearful abandonment as other members of his team became acolytes of Eli Benn, leaving him floundering with indecision. In one dream, life itself was virtual reality and he couldn't escape; he couldn't end the game. It proved to be a trying week and Zac hoped that the game would bring some sort of resolution.

Chapter 10

It had seemed to Will that the facilitators were losing interest in the puzzle aspect of game entry. They had set him the task of proving the Pythagorean Theorem in two ways. He knew of several but chose the two simplest. Pythagoras' own proof of making a square by adding the two side lengths and placing a hypotenuse sized square inside and using President Garfield's trapezoid proof. Both required simple algebra to complete. He decided it was the only reason he was made leader of the group.

Theos4 was a challenge for the inhabitants. If any world was akin to the Wild West it was this one. The semi-arid, harsh environment portrayed a detached even callous creator. The economy hinged on accumulating precious gemstones, mined or fossicked in stream beds. Crime proliferated as claims were breached, thievery and robbery lined the pockets of the unscrupulous and the profits of others relied on outrageous charges for everyday necessities. There were stringent guidelines—some would call them laws or commandments—but humanoid or mechanical supervision, even though present, was nowhere to be seen. Participants in this world had to complete tasks, work together and provide their own rough justice. It was more like traditional gaming than any of the previous versions.

Will viewed the screen of the various roles their targets had. He asked Driscoll how this world differed from the historical frontier town.

"Ah...It does appear to be similar doesn't it? And yet even in the outlaw infested west there was a clear understanding of right and wrong, of justice and injustice and of actions inevitably leading to consequences. In this world a small pile of jewels can obviate any consequence. A tithe can cleanse a conscience, redemption can be bought and punishment can be placated with a bribe. The visible religion holds sway by deeming what is condemned and what is absolved."

"So...what you're saying is that it's the religious leaders who are the problem in this world?" It was confusing to him since he thought the whole experience was a religious enterprise.

"That might be a touch simplistic," responded Driscoll. "They certainly contribute, though."

Further questioning didn't result in any elaboration of the crucial factors they had to take into account. He warned them that humanoids were present and represented a threat of elimination but their actions would be in context. When asked what that meant, he said, "They will be part of the community, indistinguishable to the inhabitants."

"We'll be able to recognise them though," adduced Doyle. "So, what does it matter?"

"Think about it," returned Will. "They may be upstanding citizens, lawmen or any other respected community members. Our opposition would be considered a crime against them by the populace."

"Instead of being disinterested in our presence they'll be actively opposing us," added Garrett.

The rugged landscape and inhospitable conditions also brought to mind some parody of a John Wayne movie. "We all ready to mosey on down to Dry Gulch," quipped Will to his team when they had finally exhausted all their questions for Driscoll.

They spent more time than usual discussing tactics and selecting individual targets. The various roles were, at first impression, benign compared to previous sessions. A storekeeper, an entertainer, a miner, a lawman, a religious leader and a huckster with doubtful principles. This time Will took the one that no one else had selected. Ulrich was a middle level church officer. He oversaw the dispensation of penance and set the fees that would pardon the guilty. Those that failed to seek absolution he would report to higher authorities who would ensure that punishment was meted out directly or indirectly and then proclaim impending eternal doom for the recalcitrant.

The entry was prosaic, to say the least. All six boarded a bus driven by Driscoll and each was deposited in the vicinity of their target. Will felt ill-equipped to trade philosophies with Ulrich. He was still sorting out, within his own mind, what the divine character was like as described by the Fellowship preacher and alluded to in the words of Eli Benn. How would he persuade another when the religious theme he was encountering was merely a desperate grasp for some universal explanation? He could only hope for some inspiration when it came to the crunch.

***

Will was sitting in a cathedral with vaulted ceilings. He watched as the parishioners came to appease the wrath of a vengeful god. Monetary transactions and promises of devotion to the institution and its office bearers were like vows of fealty. All in the cause of quelling the angst of impending doom. Each were constantly reminded of their shortcomings, how inadequate their lives were and how ineffective they were without the mediator priests who interceded on their behalf.

When Ulrich came into view he was deep in conversation with a more senior cleric. They sat in the front pew. Will edged closer along the wall hoping to listen in.

"...But Arthur, who can keep these commands, to not covet, to not hate, to forgive others, to always be devout and...and to love unconditionally..."

The other chuckled. "Why, of course, no one can. That is why we are here. We are here to exculpate their sins, to bring release from the burden of guilt. We are the necessary means of easing the conscience of all those tormented by their faults."

"What do we achieve apart from the enrichment of the clergy?"

"Are you complaining? Do you not, too, get well compensated? Surely...everyone is happy."

Ulrich heaved his shoulders. "I cannot complain...And yet there is something wrong here."

The senior man's expression became severe. "If I were you, I would not say this too loudly. It may be that the prelate will find a penance suitable to straighten your crooked path." The man stood up as if any more discussion might infect him with a trace of conscience. Ulrich was left alone there then, and his head went into his hands as the hopelessness of his situation was reinforced by the threat of censure.

Will came out of the shadows and sat down beside Ulrich. The ginger haired young man gave a sidelong glance.

"Absolutions and penances are in the foyer cloisters. I need a bit of time alone."

"How did you get stuck in here? What made you want to become a part of this?" Will was speaking with his voice and his hands.

"Who are you?" probed the priest cagily.

"I'm here to help. I can get you away from this."

"That's easy to say. I haven't found a way."

Will reiterated his query. "What made you choose this place?"

"Take control of the world, he said...Money, power and rapid progress...None of that is true...And now I'm stuck here trying to work out how to get out. The problem is, it's one big deception."

"I can get you out," announced Will plainly. Ulrich studied him intently for the first time.

"Are you part of the game?" he whispered.

"Kind of...This is what I do...get people out of dead end roles."

"Dead end role...That's a good way of describing it."

It was then, Will brought to mind the intimations of Eli Benn and the words of the Fellowship preacher. "Yes...dead end...probably more so than you realise."

Ulrich cast his eyes about apprehensively. He moved closer unaware that it created an even greater appearance of conspiracy.

"How are we going to do this?"

"Well, don't laugh but the plan is to catch a bus. I don't really like it and... we just have to time it right."

"A bus is going to get us out of this world? You're joking. I know it's a game but I came in on an interstellar cruiser?"

"Ulrich, run with it...We haven't failed yet."

"We?"

"There are a few of us doing this. You're not the only one trapped here wanting to get out before they're timed out."

Ulrich wanted more details. It took some explanation from Will that ultimately he would have to trust him.

They moved slowly out of the impressive structure with Ulrich under instruction to appear to counsel the penitent with him. Will warned him that opposition would come from unlikely sources and that though he hadn't seen the tell-tale signs of adversaries, he had been assured that they would turn up.

Out a side door, the two managed to avoid any unwanted encounters. A raucous, swelling, crowd roar from the front of the building gave Will a feeling of déjà vu. With some trepidation, they worked their way to the roadway. It was as Will had supposed. Eli Benn was preparing his address. He stood on a pillar of the fence near the corner of the property. His voice boomed.

"They are hypocrites, these so-called church men. They do not practise what they preach. They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people's shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them. Everything they do is done for people to see. They love the place of honour at banquets and the most important seats. They love to be greeted with respect...These are words from ancient scriptures but they are just as true today."

The crowd cheered approval. A group of clergy decried his words as the rantings of a madman. What was his authority? What were his qualifications? Eli called back, "You promise freedom and yet enslave your followers. You offer a salve for the conscience but line your pockets and leave the supplicants guilt ridden. You people...see what they have done. They have manufactured a false god. The Mighty God is not at the beck and call of men. He doesn't require any material gifts...or deeds of service...or acts of deprivation and sacrifice to help you assuage your guilt and transform your lives. All he requires is a humble and remorseful attitude, an about face and the desire to trust and follow his direction."

The church officers had stirred up a mob with promises of monetary gain. The unruly rabble began forging forward like a wedge toward the speaker. For the first time, Will saw the distinctive blue shimmer through his glasses.

"Stay close," he commanded his target. He gripped the magnetic pulse device that was in his pocket and edged around the perimeter of the heaving mass of bodies that was beginning to resist the aggressive plunge of the mercenary antagonists. Amongst the swarming people he could no longer make out where Eli Benn was.

"That guy is amazing how he disappears," he remarked to Ulrich glancing about and was dismayed to see no one behind him. He examined the route he had taken. There, beside the huge church noticeboard, stood Ulrich. His back was to Will and he was in conversation with someone.

Will became highly agitated. A persuasive cleric or some pseudo-scholar could be swaying him back with mystical words of unattainable religious fervour. The lure of piety and zeal with the sense of pride and achievement it encapsulated could wrench Ulrich away from that narrow path to liberty. He rushed back rehearsing some of the words of Eli Benn he considered most apt; 'they enslave their followers.' These men will shackle you to a false god. He grew in confidence as the ideas flooded his mind.

Almost sprinting the last several paces, Will pulled Ulrich's shoulder to confront him with his choice. Amazingly, Eli Benn stood before him. He smiled.

"It is good you are here, Will. I fear you may have doubted the message I was giving Ulrich." He looked about briefly. "You cannot take the bus. It is a trap."

"Then how do we get to...to the exit?" Will, by now, had assumed that Benn was totally aware of all that he was involved in, but it still felt strange sharing a confidence.

He placed his hand on Will's shoulder, "You will have to walk."

"But...but that's a long way...and we have limited time."

"Then you will have to walk fast." His head pivoted as if he'd been called. "Go now before you are discovered."

***

Trudging along, what appeared to be, a narrow valley parallel to the bus route, Will again speculated on how the environment was programmed. Did they have heat lamps simulating the burning sun they were experiencing or was it the nerve sensors in the suit? The visuals were so convincing, the ancillary effects of feeling a breeze on his face, smelling the dry, dusty air and the sensation of a rough surface made him consider once more how easy it would be to become confused about what was real.

With all the running about he was doing in the game, he was sure his fitness was improving. The glow he felt after each session made him reckon that a regime of exercises might be of benefit.

"How much further?" grumbled Ulrich. "I'm dying in this heat."

"Still a fair way...according to the map." He glanced again at the small screen. "We better get a move on." Will accelerated his pace. His companion groaned.

The incline increased and he decided it was time to cross the ridge and join the roadway. Forcing his calf muscles and quadriceps to take the strain, Will propelled his body up the hill. Short of the brow of the hill, he stopped. Ulrich was only halfway up. Breathing heavily, Will checked his screen for the status of the others. To his relief, they were nearby, walking together on the road verge and all were accompanied with their assigned, fleeing game players. He watched Ulrich struggle up to him.

"Almost there," he encouraged.

They climbed to the ridge together. It seemed the instant their heads reached the crest things went awry. There was a tumult below. Humanoids were pouring out of a bus driven by Mallory Keres. In a frightening innovation, Keres helped raise a mesh barrier behind which his squad of robots were free from the effects of the magnetic pulses his team were directing at them.

"Stay here," he instructed. Ulrich was puffing and had no intention of doing anything but recover. Skirting to the left behind the enemy phalanx he figured that they would be vulnerable, unshielded from the back.

The descent was steeper than he had thought and Will lost his footing. Sliding down on his rear, the simulated game environment was more evident. It was the second clear instance when he judged the effect as feeling artificial. The scraping sounds, the lumpy friction of the scree and rubble tumbling around him initially distracted him from the opposition below. What was to be a sneak attack, became a helpless slide into danger. Already several of the lifelike machines had turned their attention toward him. Strategically, he first picked off the humanoids most likely to target him with their lasers. By the time he immobilised five he'd shuddered to a halt at the foot of the dusty slope. Then picking off the two outliers, the mesh collapsed and, what had been ineffective random bursts from his team in panicky flight became a concerted barrage of magnetic pulses.

The remainder of the attackers took refuge behind boulders and caused the rescue team to also find safety among the rocks from the lancing beams of lasers. Rather than risk elimination they concealed themselves. This stand-off was ominous. Clearly Mallory's intent was to take members of his team out of the game either by timing them out or by laser hits. Will assumed that a laser hit would result in instant elimination—as in many other games. On an impulse, Will ran back to the bus. He hailed Ulrich, who was now making his way down, to join him. The bus was still running. It was a gift. When both Ulrich and he were in the vehicle, Will accelerated toward the fray. He passed and a spray of laser beams were unleashed. What the programming parameters were he didn't know but it was clear the lasers weren't assigned much penetration power. Perhaps the scenario hadn't occurred to them.

Now he could use the bus to block the humanoid's shots at the others. They would have to run in front of the bus for a distance before it would be safe to swing the doorway entry to an obverse position allowing them to board. He hoped they were quick on the uptake. Any hesitation and the horde behind them would rush at them. He drew level with the group members hiding among the boulders and swung off the roadway as close as he could. He opened the door and shouted, "Run in front of the bus. When we're clear you can get on." A couple of repetitions were required.

Keela was first to catch on and ran with her partner across the short gap.

"Come on...Everyone!" yelled Will. Thankfully there was a quick reaction and eight more players dashed across the exposed space and then they all started jogging ahead. Will took no time to swing back to the road and drive behind them. He pushed them to jog faster, so to enlarge the gap between them and the chasing humanoids. Fortunately, Mallory had insisted they cart the mesh to shield themselves, otherwise their foes would easily overrun them. As it was, by forcing the pace on the hapless escapees, he had increased the safety margin. When it was clear they were flagging, he swung the bus so the door was facing away from the pursuers.

Tumbling on board, there were numerous scowls and gasping groans. Will lurched the bus faster and a number of the new occupants staggered and stumbled. Garrett was the first to regain his breath.

"You tryin' to kill us?" Will couldn't conceal his pleased expression. If they got through this they would only have one more level to conquer.

"You sadist," rebuked Kaimi. "You're enjoying this!"

"I'm enjoying the fact that we all made it," he replied calmly.

Keela punched him in the arm. "Thanks a heap." She stretched back holding her side. "I think I'd better join a gym before the next session...How far did we walk...and then you make us sprint in front of a bus?"

Checking his rear vision mirrors informed Will that the implacable forces of Ubel Day were diminishing into the distance. His curiosity had been aroused.

"What caused you to walk instead of taking the bus?" he asked Keela.

"Eli Benn...He caused a bit of an uproar by saying that any god that did what they wanted, that was programmed to please them and that could be rationalised by human reasoning so that sovereignty was questioned, was a god of their own making...And by all accounts not godlike." She hesitated at Will's pinch-faced expression....What's wrong?"

"Nothing...go on..."

"Well he warned me not to use the bus. He's got pretty good form...so I listened to him."

There was a chorus of concordant statements. Each pair had an analogous experience. Eli Benn gave the warning. They had felt compelled to heed it.

The constant negative jiggle of Will's head sparked more fluster.

"What?" interjected Doyle.

Will had halted the bus at the entry to Driscoll's Theos4 base entry. It presented as a disused mine tunnel with clichéd warnings of danger upon entry. "Let's go in...we'll talk about it there." There was some reluctance among the escaping players. It took Kaimi to go in and then return before they trod the dusty mine floor into the darkness. A door opened into Driscoll's Theos4 base.

Once inside, Cecilia accosted him directly. "What's eating you?"

"I'm trying to figure out how Eli Benn could be at all those different places at once."

"You don't think it's just a programmed avatar?"

"Well, yours may have been, but the Eli Benn I saw seemed like a real player."

"That's why it's called virtual reality," said Doyle with some disdain.

"No...He touched me...I felt it."

Garrett grunted. "These suits transfer all the touch sensations to the nerves. You know that."

Will's mouth distorted to the side. He briefly considered the possibility. "It was different...Nerve stimulation is convincing but somehow...I don't know...I think it was a physical touch...Can't you tell?"

"I can't...These suits are amazing," contributed Kaimi.

Keela touched his arm. "I'm with you. I think you can tell."

The comment was ambiguous and Will's face started to glow as he suspected the attention of the group was on him and they had picked up on the alternative meaning. Did the suit transmit his emotions? It probably did. Every nuance, every blink and twitch was relayed to the avatar. He saw no reason to believe that his blushing face wasn't also depicted.

"Hmm...I believe Will could tell the difference between me and Keela touching him too," sniggered Cecilia.

Attempting to regain some measure of equanimity, Will cut back. "Okay...let's get serious. Eli Benn is a key player...He appears simultaneously in a variety of settings so he's either a very convincing CGI avatar or they have multiple players playing him...Whatever it is, he seems to be on our side and he seems to be the key to this whole game...What do you think?"

"In what way is he key?...I mean he obviously has a consistent role but it may be merely a plot device." It was Garrett verbalising his reservations.

"Think about it," submitted Will. "His message is totally aligned with what we're trying to do. He turns up and helps us out when we need it most and Driscoll seems to quote him at regular intervals. The other thing is that the people who have recruited us for this game seem to be in tune with Eli Benn. He may be a Fellowship player."

"What?" exclaimed Garrett. "The Fellowship behind this game?"

"It's possible. Some of us got a book of Eli Benn sayings" mused Doyle.

"It is weird how it all ties in with Fellowship contacts," added Kaimi.

That left Garrett speculating on the dangers of subversives and being linked with a rebellion.

Again there was a brief period of debriefing. Cecilia had experienced the greatest challenge. Tori, her mark, kept claiming an obligation to perform for the casino crowd. The applause, the bright lights and the surge of adrenalin when she stepped up to the microphone was intoxicating. Sure, the costumes were unseemly and exploited her, the entertainment was tawdry and the treatment of the performers was offensive but her identity was becoming tied to her celebrity status. Tori shared how the lure to the program was to perform as a star before adoring crowds. The experience spiralled down after the initial thrill. The game exposed the seedier side of the entertainment world, instead of presenting an idealised wish fulfilment. When she realised it was reflecting the flaws of the real world and there was no clear exit, Tori began to conform to the role and accept the meagre upside of being a show-biz celebrity. When Cecilia had almost persuaded her to leave, her agent came and told her of an offer to sing in the premier club in the city. She had virtually refused to listen to Cecilia when the words of Eli Benn shook her. He had sounded like an old-time preacher standing at the entry to the casino.

Cecilia cut in on her recounting of the events. "He said there were three kinds of lost-ness Jesus talked about. Lost in ignorance: people can be lost and don't know it...Jesus is looking for you. He explained that the lost coin story suggests the coin is found but clearly oblivious to its situation. Then he spoke of the person who is lost because of their own stupidity. They follow this trail and that just like the lost sheep...Jesus is looking for you. Lastly, he said there are the wilfully lost, those that ignore the right way and live selfishly and indulgently...enter the prodigal son. He chose to rebel, to flout the kindness and provision of his father...Jesus is looking for you. Guys...you won't believe it...dozens of people left the slot machines and gambling tables...They just walked out."

Tori piped up, "And that's when I realised I needed to get out of the game, I mean it was my fourth session...it wasn't real." Tori turned and spoke uncertainly to Cecilia, "...You know, while I was performing it felt real" Cecilia took her aside and reassured her once more. She told her they would soon get out of the game.

Garrett related that Warren, his mark, was a detective in the town. He relished the challenges of logical deductions thrust into his path as he negotiated the game. Together, the two of them told how Warren had blamed God for the state of his real world after seeing how the game programmers had constructed opportunities for corruption. He surmised that God was responsible in the same way. Garrett had been struggling to rationalise the concept of free will when Eli Benn arrived and individually counselled Warren.

"What did he say?" asked Will.

"He gave him the glasses we use and made it clear that the humanoids with the blue aura were incapable of good or evil; they had no free will." Will listened as they retold the words of Eli Benn. He said the humanoids were programmed to follow instructions. People were not like that. Having free will enabled them to perform heroic acts of selfless good and, conversely, atrocities of pure evil. It was this ability to choose that was a gift. The 'image of God' template in a person was an inbuilt testimony to what is right and the origin of their longing for restoration to the initial design. It is the source of all hope and the reason for a conception of a better world, a brighter future. The problem is that that inner conscience is muffled by the notion that individuals are in charge—answerable to themselves, the god of their own universe. They conclude, there couldn't be another god since things would be done differently, to suit their own needs and their own idea of how things should be.

Garrett looked around slowly to the group and spoke as if the message had altered his perspective. "Eli said that by defining their own god, people were making themselves god. They somehow assume that an infinite, all powerful creative being can be instructed on what he ought to do. They think this without realising that the concept of 'ought' originates from God and is meaningless without him."

"What are we meant to do then?" It was a rare request for clarification from Keela.

"Benn said the only way to get onto his side is to surrender...It makes sense. Why fight an all-knowing, all-powerful infinite, who actually has your best interests at heart?"

"You took all that on board?" Doyle was impressed.

Will, again, felt uncomfortable at the inference that Garrett was being influenced much the same as the others. That left him alone as the sceptic. The claims that he had to relinquish command of his life to a higher authority frightened him. Because she noticed his withdrawn mulling over the constant pressure to evaluate his beliefs, Keela asked if he was okay.

He was reprieved by Driscoll. The man had been watching from the doorway leading to the room with the screens that provided status images from Theos4. He cleared his throat as an attention getting device. His half smile made Will wonder. It defied interpretation. Many possibilities swamped Will's mind.

"Don't just stand there. Everyone is here. We have to get you back to Teleo."

A number of the retrieved players and some of his team pressed Driscoll for some clarification about the game. Driscoll was more forthright than he had been in the past. He reviewed how Ubel Day's world four had few interventions. People sought to navigate their own paths directed by their own ethics or lack of them. He asked if the messages from Eli challenged their perceptions of meaning and life and the dangers of defining your own god. It was a pointed precis of their experiences and an examination of Will's own moral foundation.

This notion that the game was shaping the perception each had of Theos worlds in contrast to their own and how it aimed to manipulate their understandings of existence, troubled Will more than the others. He was relieved when they boarded the interstellar craft, anticipating a quick exit from the oppression of conscience. He was sorely tested, however, by one after another of his fellow players seeking his viewpoint on a rationale for life, on a moral stand, in conflict to the bleak uniformity of federation propaganda. It was a paradox that the escapism of game playing should mutate into inflaming the sharp edge of his conscience.

***

Chapter 11

More than ever, work poured in for Zac. It was only in the solitude of night that issues of a greater reality gnawed at his inner being. It bothered him that Christian beliefs and the Christian community, which he had discounted as in error but harmless, were treated as anything but benign by the Federation. For some indiscernible reason, they were fanatical about its extinction. Was failure to dilute their monotheistic dogma such a crime? One didn't punish children for believing fairy tales and, if anything, the Fellowship were compassionate do-gooders, not a rebellion threat. It was incomprehensible to him. His sleep was also disrupted by echoes of the words of Eli Benn and Driscoll Ryder and fears that his reticence to take their philosophies on board would alienate him from a group of people he was becoming quite fond of.

Twice in the early part of the week, Zac glimpsed someone that looked like Kevalin Adamson. The concern that he was being followed, that somehow the virtual game was impinging on his everyday life, distressed him. He was a non-conformist and they were trying to make him take sides, reject the humanist mantras of the Federation and grapple with the revolutionary concept that a divine being once intervened in human history and wanted to interpose in every aspect of his life. The preacher had said Jesus transformed people. And Eli Benn had said much the same. He didn't see that he needed to be transformed. He didn't want to be transformed, did he?

By midweek he'd completed two engrossing software contracts and found his barista work a welcome release because it comprised of busy artistry rather than labouring with intense, complex logic code. Coming home late on the Wednesday night, a pick up note awaited him. For a second week in a row Zac reaped the benefit of his cryptocurrency investing program. It was late afternoon, Thursday, when he got to the pickup. Janice greeted him with a smile and a convincing pretence that she had never seen him before.

On his way from the Tower of London ticket office a voice called his name. Carrying a souvenir bag full of euros, Zac was unwilling to stop and socialise until he could find a place to stow his cash in his backpack. The call was insistent however. Slowing and gathering himself for the encounter, Georgia pre-empted his planned prevarication. She grasped his sleeve, pulling him about.

"Zac...you have to help me. Brayden has told the authorities that I'm an agent of the Fellowship. I only just made it out of my flat before the secret police arrived."

Zac looked blankly. The mention of the secret police clouded his thought processes. His 'don't make waves...take the course of least resistance philosophy' was more under threat than ever. He said the one thing that occurred to him.

"Brayden?"

"Okay...In the game he's Mallory. He's blaming me for ruining his chances...you know, in the game...I don't know how he found out I was attending Fellowship meetings." There was anguish in her voice.

"What's with his obsession of winning the game?"

"He told me, when we teamed up, that he was offered a big cash prize if he won the game."

"By whom?"

"He said he told his zone representative about the game. The guy offered him money."

"So...What are you going to do?" Zac asked haltingly. The words conveyed a weakness and apathy in his own ears. He knew he had been taught better manners by his parents. Middle class morals that at the very least came to the aid of women in distress and more often were demonstrative in chivalry, were neglected as he shrank back in shame.

"I was hoping you could help...You're with the Fellowship aren't you?"

He shushed her harshly. Looking around guiltily, he drew Georgia to the sheltered display boards apart from the tourists heading to and from the entry.

"Don't talk about them in public...Anyone could betray us."

"I can't go home, they'll be watching...All my friends are federationists. Can't I stay with you?"

Zac was at a loss. Even six weeks ago an offer such as that from an attractive girl would have been accepted with a certain libertine glee. Not now. Now fear encroached. And, difficult as it was to define, he knew that the 'ought' that Garrett had related from Benn's homily, the ethic that portrayed respect and sought the welfare of others, had infiltrated his inner self. He had seen the contrast between hedonism and decency in the game and the analogy of light and dark had penetrated his heart. Now he had a greater sense of right and wrong. He knew he ought to act quickly before his baser instincts mounted an offensive. The thoughts had flitted through his brain.

"Let's meet with the others. We'll work out something."

He surveyed the area before nudging her with his hand in the small of her back. Directing her across the road to the Tower Hill tube station. His loping strides had her scampering beside him. It was only a minute before the train to Hammersmith Broadway arrived but it was an anxious minute. Zac had watched for peering eyes, for aimless sauntering and shadowing or suspicious hovering. They had shuffled to three different positions while they waited. He had always tried to keep a low profile when it came to the Federation security or secret police. That Georgia was reported to the authorities made her a liability to be with but the suggestion that he should be thinking of others had embedded in his mind. He would stick by her.

Standing on the crowded train, Georgia wanted clarification.

"Are we going to your place?"

"No." The hissed word was more emphatic than he had intended. He looked around before mitigating his harsh response. "I'd rather discuss it with the others. I'm hoping you can stay with one of the girls."

"You still don't trust me?"

"It's not that...You'd be safer with one of them." In his head he was thinking that he didn't trust anyone including himself...and Zac was ashamed of his grotty flat and also knew that she wouldn't blend in in a community of ex-pat Australians.

Zac looked down and realised he was still holding the bag with thousands of euros in it. Georgia noticed his glance. "What's in there?"

"Oh...just some stuff I picked up from the souvenir shop." Trying to appear nonchalant, he slipped off his backpack and put it in there before zipping it up securely.

"Why are you picking up souvenirs?" Her face altered with a realisation. "You're hoping to go to Australia soon."

"Ye...es." His drawn out answer was partly relief that he didn't have to fabricate an explanation about the bag. Yet he also felt a twinge of guilt in confirming her deduction given that it was misleading to allow her to think he was getting gifts for his family when the bag, hopefully, contained the means by which he could escape England. His respite was premature.

"What did you get?"

He fixed her with a steady gaze. He didn't know why but he was about to tell her the truth.

The train barrelled around a corner and Georgia bundled into him. His arm steadied her as she rocked back.

"Sorry," she chuckled. Zac couldn't help smiling.

"How are you going to get there?" She was still close and looking up into his face.

Putting a finger to his lips, he replied in a hushed voice.

"I haven't worked out all the details yet...I'm gathering funds...I mean it's not much better in Australia but I've heard that it's easier to avoid authorities."

"I don't suppose you want company?" Her direct approach rattled him.

"It...It'll be dangerous..."

"That's a no," she inserted brusquely. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No...no...It's only that I'm not sure how yet...I can't very well say...'sure, come' when I don't know what it'll involve."

"Well...after Mallory dobbed me in, I think anywhere would be safer than here."

The conversation drifted to family as the remaining few stations went by. Zac spoke of his two sisters and parents still on a family farm and a brother working in the city. Georgia shared her tale of divorced parents and the distance between her, an only child, and her parents who had both connected with new partners. She related how lost she was and how she had joined Federation Youth in desperation for meaning and friendship. She admitted, "Until I heard the words of Eli Benn I didn't understand why the Christian message is so important."

"It's a game," Zac declared once more. Each iteration of the statement was weaker than the preceding one.

"Is that what you think?" she retorted, more fired up than he thought was warranted.

"I guess there's more to it than other games," he offered feebly.

"Eli talked to me. He explained that it's a simulation game that's meant to reveal the truth."

"The truth about what?"

"Boy...You don't get it...the truth..." Her head swayed from side to side. "How come you're leader of that team and you don't know?"

The stop at Hammersmith Broadway saved him from further interrogation.

***

The walk through the shopping centre, past the other station entry and onto the road where the huge VR gaming centre was situated was punctuated with awkward observations framed as questions. What was he hoping to do? Why did he think the others would help? Who did he expect to find at the café? Zac had no answers. He was guided by the knowledge that help and support had always been on hand at the café.

When they arrived, he almost expected to see the others in his team. They weren't there. Their usual table was empty. Sitting toward the back, he ordered milkshakes for them both. For him, it was an attempt to avert the cycle of sleep disruption and troubling dreams that he attributed to caffeine consumption. For Georgia it was a case of taking the course of least resistance. Customers were few but every arrival was examined to determine the level of peril they may present. Unknowns were always suspect in this world of 'common good'; where 'common good' was a euphemism for conforming to Federation edicts.

Sarah delivered the drinks personally, remarking that perhaps they would have coffees later. It took a few moments for him to register that the suggestion was a hint that she had a message to pass on. He wanted to say that he would have none of it. It was all a mistake. Deep within, though, he knew that he was inexorably entangled with the game, with the fellowship and with his team, and also with the girl sitting opposite him. Whispered comments that he would find refuge for her didn't quell Georgia's fears. She argued that the others were antagonistic toward her. He was the only one who believed she'd changed.

Little was accomplished after an hour of delving into the mysteries of what the Fellowship and Eli Benn were propounding—a secret revolution of what one held to be true. Georgia couldn't convince him that the two—the game and the Fellowship—were entirely the same message. Eli Benn had told her the truth might soak into the heart and the head but eventually it had to work out in the hands and the feet. Zac still had misgivings about the motives of Benn and the fellowship and now he had reservations about the girl's intentions too.

When he rejected an offered round of coffees, Sarah came and settled the bill with them. Zac furtively extracted the prohibited currency from his wallet. He looked up to see the proprietor whispering in Georgia's ear. She nodded. Now he was irritated. He was being bypassed because of his reluctance to accede to their revolutionary program. He handed over the money unobtrusively.

"Is there something I should know?" he intruded pointedly. Sarah merely smiled graciously and left. Georgia rose and pecked him on the cheek as she communicated softly, "She told me where to get help." She continued walking and he found himself anxious to catch up.

His fast steps bridged the gap before she got to the door. Suddenly he was concerned. How did they know she was in trouble? Who could contend with the hazard of defying the Federation?

"Where are you going?"

"Come with me and you'll find out."

"You're crazy. Do you trust everybody?"

"I trust the people that help me."

It was late enough for the small shop lights and street lamps to dominate the illumination stakes. A cold gust induced Zac to secure his overcoat. His foggy breath was a graphic admission that the forecast cold snap had arrived. Walking alongside Georgia he noted her fashionable jeans and thin sweater were hardly appropriate for the weather.

"You want my coat?" he offered.

"I'll be fine."

Becoming more decisive he removed the coat and put it on her.

"What about you?" she queried as she wrapped the coat around her.

"I've got thicker clothes than you." He restrained himself from shivering.

They retraced their steps toward the station before veering left at a narrow park. Individual snowflakes were highlighted by the occasional streetlamp as they strode alongside the park on the darker route.

"You sure you know where you're going?"

"You're not big on trust are you?" Her turned up face refuted any disputation.

"I like to know where I'm going. Does that mean I'm distrusting?"

She smiled. "Sometimes...Eli Benn said the person you follow is the way."

"Eli Benn, Eli Benn...a figment of somebody's creative imagination has invaded my life."

"You still don't get it, do you...Follow the wrong person and you go the wrong way...Follow the right person and you go the right way."

"What if I don't follow anyone...I go my own way?"

"Do you know where you're going...where you'll end up?" His scrunched mouth said it all. "No, I didn't think so."

Having passed two side streets on the right, Georgia crossed the road and entered a large girls' school.

"What's here?"

"You'll see," answered Georgia, hesitating to get her bearings from the brief instructions she received.

***

In an assembly hall around the back, there was a church meeting going on. He saw in the back row were his teammates from the game. He sat next to Chris. Georgia sat by him.

"It's Wednesday. Why is there a meeting of the Fellowship?" Zac grated with an airy sigh.

"You've got a lot to learn about Christianity," said Chris out the side of his mouth. They listened to Andrew, who was again the preacher, speak of the importance of the resurrection of Jesus. It was testing everything Zac believed about the real world. While he was wishing that they would confine themselves to the moral teachings and values of Jesus and steer away from the miraculous, Andrew emphasised that defying the natural laws as we know them was not an issue for one who set them up in the first place. Every law, in that sense, was a miracle when they were first created. He made nature but he is far above it. He is supernatural. For Christ to rise from the dead was emblematic of victory over death and sin. It was also an indicator of what everyone who followed in his steps would do.

Zac rebuffed every word, convinced that if you looked hard enough there would be a natural explanation. It was only when Andrew declared that his present world, his life, was a shadow. It was like a virtual world that hinted at the hopes and aspirations which will be brought to fruition in an eternal future. Those words, the possibilities they offered, caused the annoying ache to return to his stomach. He knew his mind, the being inside him, had conveyed the longing for something more. Like a letter without an address, like a story without a climax; there was this meaningless, a directionless pall of gloom over his life.

Following the service, Zac explained the predicament that Georgia was in. Her fears that her small unit was being watched and that she was now on a list of sympathisers of the Fellowship rebellion. The threat had left her with nowhere to go.

"I was hoping she could stay with you Ashe...or maybe Steph." The non-committal glances around raised the level of discomfort. Zac was about to turn to Renee when Chris spoke up.

"You can come with me Georgie." Elaborating on the statement because of the doubtful looks on faces, Chris continued. "My sister and her husband run a halfway refuge for dissenters. There are country communities who hide them and...sometimes...they get those really at risk out of the country."

"That sounds exactly like what you need. What do you say?" Zac addressed her but was unable to use the same familiarity that Chris had used now that he was side stepping any responsibility.

"Yes...It does sound good. I really appreciate it. I don't know what else to do."

"I can give you some clothes, if you need them," offered Ashley.

"Me too," joined in Stephanie. "Between us you should have everything you need."

"I...I won't be able to use my Federation credit...I have no money...I don't want to be a burden." She slipped into the reluctance that comes when you recognise the sacrifices required of others for your benefit.

"We can cover your needs." Zac's boldness was greeted with curious looks. To their knowledge none of them were flush with funds. Unwilling to reveal his sudden affluence he turned to Ashley. "Together we should be able to manage...shouldn't we?"

Ashley was quick to set him straight. "Hey...that wealth thing is only a game role. I'm no better off than anyone else."

"Let's not worry about details," interrupted Chris as he noticed Georgia squirming. "My sister, Tina, and Jack manage to provide for all their clients...There are people who donate." His open palms declared 'don't ask me'. He left it at that.

The money in Zac's backpack felt particularly heavy at that moment. Maybe he could secretly direct some of his windfall to Georgia. Ideas began to aggregate.

"Why don't we meet at Davidson's at six tomorrow night with things we can give Georgie?" recommended Renee. The comment caused Zac to realise how much she had changed since being in the company of Eli Benn. Curtis shrugged with a comical grin but the other two girls conferred about the possibilities of what could be provided. In this era of tight Federation control over economic transactions, Zac knew that no one was capable of doing much and black market goods were pricey. If he intervened it had to be anonymous. A surfeit of illicit cash was not something one should advertise.

Almost as a matter of habit they headed to the café to end the night. It seemed now that Zac was the only one of the group not aligned with the dissenting believers' movement. It also occurred to him that their previous concerted efforts to convert him had ceased. Maybe they had given up. Was he beyond redemption?

The girls left Davidson's first. It took some rambling story about having some errands to attend to, to avoid travelling on the tube with Ashley and Stephanie. When Chris left with Georgia, Zac followed after, trying to look disinterested in the direction they were heading until Curtis was out of sight. Once the tall West Indian had gone, he scurried back to within sight of the strolling pair. He felt intrusive when it became clear that there was some mutual affection between the two. Hand in hand they walked along the main road before bearing left. It took a few minutes for Zac to determine that Goldhawk station was their initial destination. He maintained a safe distance and then stood back on the platform till the last few seconds before boarding a carriage up from them.

The train went several stops before they disembarked at Royal Oak. The wind had died. Scattered flakes drifted wildly, independently, yet corralled together by the slightest zephyr. He trailed the couple to a condominium of flats on Bourne Terrace. Zac got out his phone. The light was sufficient to record Chris' hand movements over the entry key buttons, even at the distance he had approached. Once they had gone in he quickly replayed the video for himself. Pressing the buttons he had already guessed was the correct combination, he gained access. Poking his head around the corner, he could see the lift doors closing. Fortunately, the lift had an indicator that showed the conveyance had risen to the top floor. That only meant two flights of stairs. He chose that rather than wait for the return of the lift.

He bounded up the stairs. It required him to walk past each of the two residences, at that level closest to the lift entry they had used, listening at each door, before he recognised Chris' voice. He took careful note of the location. It would require a return visit.

***

The next day, Zac returned. It was snowing steadily which enabled the concealing beanie and muffler to disguise his appearance. He convinced himself that bravado was all that was necessary for him to accomplish the charade. Walking up to the door, he pressed the buzzer. Nothing. An anxious glance up and down the hall preceded another vibrating summons. He had imagined a quick transfer of the package with minimal fuss but already the tension was rising within. After the third buzz there was a harried call, "Coming." Scuffing footsteps could be heard.

The door edged open. A pleasant, welcoming smile, appeared on the face of the young woman. Her mien was one of having engaged in some private activity then becoming the dedicated salesperson winning over a potential customer. "Yes...What can I do for you?"

His voice affected a gruff, husky tone. "This is for your work and the girl you are sheltering...Here." He thrust the package containing two thousand euro into her hands. She looked at it and at him.

"What is it...Who are you?"

"From a friend," he rasped. Feeling his face flush he about turned and marched off.

"Wait...How do you know?" Her voice was cut off.

"Tina...You don't have inform the world what we're doing."

As Zac went down the stairs he chortled to himself. Her husband's reprimand was incongruent to his words.

Inside the flat, eyes bulged as the package was opened and the wad of euros came into view.

He addressed his wife. "Get Georgie out of the attic. Maybe she knows what this is about."

"It could be one of Chris' friend's."

"One of his new friends...Certainly not any of that pub rabble."

"That's not the way we should think," she scolded playfully. He kissed her forehead.

"You're right...Go on...Get Chris' girl."

***

Davidson's was less boisterous than usual for a Thursday night. The twenty-four hours of snow had hindered the casual shoppers from going to the centre. When Zac drew near to their rear table, there was a lively discussion animating the group. He noted a couple of sports bags stuffed with clothes and the more evident affection between Chris and Georgia.

"Hey...did you hear," greeted Curtis. "Georgie has a benefactor..." He was shushed by some of the others, so the big man leaned forward and whispered, "Someone delivered a packet of money to Chris's place...enough to see her through for several months."

"Who?" Zac tried to sound casual but his words were synthetic to his ears.

He listened trying to restrain a self-satisfied smirk from giving him away as they speculated on possible supporters.

Chapter 12

A sense of heightened anticipation made Will apprehensive about what Theos5 was like. The transition from the origin cube to the Teleo start was like before, and similar to the past two sessions. They met up and went to the spaceport in preparation for the hyper jump to the last world. All were on edge. Sitting at a table waiting for the lead from Kevalin, there was a jittery tension. Garrett said what was the most likely consensus, "This is the climax. Something significant...maybe disturbing, given all the drama of moral discipline versus permissive liberty."

"Sounds like you've got an idea where it's heading," observed Will, wondering why Garrett's attitude had so radically changed.

"I think Eli Benn would say permissiveness is entrapment, not liberty." The unusual contribution came from Keela.

"What about just a harder rescue?" Will wanted to keep things in proportion. It didn't pay to create problems before they existed.

Garrett countered, "You're crazy if you still don't get it. Think about it. Progressively, each world has had less controlling intervention. I think this one will seem like there's none."

"You notice that in each successive one there was less willingness to acknowledge their world was being managed and regulated, but anyone who reflected on their condition was dissatisfied." Cecilia pronounced with a distant air.

Doyle pointed to no one in particular. "You're right. It's that Eli Benn; he's the key. He said people define their own gods not realising that they're making themselves god by doing it...You know..." He added, when some looks from the others were nonplussed, "...They say 'God should do this for me...or why doesn't God stop that' and then because God doesn't fit their definition, they say he doesn't exist." He then directed toward Will. "It's so obvious Za...oops, I mean Will."

"How did this get to be about religion," remonstrated Will, throwing up his arms. "It's a game...and we have one stage to finish to win...and then it will be all over...nothing more."

"You're in denial," claimed Kaimi. "This whole thing...the game, the Fellowship and the messages of Eli Benn and Andrew all point to a Divine purpose...You're just afraid to admit it to yourself."

Will was stunned. The team he thought respected him and followed him were basically calling him a fool. It was true, though, he didn't want to think about it the way they did. If there was an infinite, almighty God, how was it possible to know him?

"What do you think, Keela?" His eyes turned to the player he had known the longest. Her pursed smile was more patronising than any words she could have spoken.

"I'm serious," he blurted, more aggressively than he had meant.

"See what Driscoll says," she calmly replied.

Kevalin proposed the entry problem. He said the disciples caught one hundred and fifty three fish. "What is the shape and what is a simple calculation for the shape?" The group looked to Will. He wanted to say for them to attempt to solve it but he knew they didn't have time to delay. It was initially an unfamiliar number but the question gave him the clue. He quickly determined that it was a triangular number and an arithmetic progression of one to seventeen and then wrote a Gaussian elimination expression: ½ x17x(18) =153. They entered the space transporter.

***

Later, in their convocation, Driscoll told them that this would be the most challenging world yet. No screens, no identified targets; they would be left to their own devices. Same time limit and the same requirement to retrieve their marks.

"How do we know who to rescue?" complained Will.

"You'll know."

"How will we know where to go without the screens?" objected Garrett.

"You'll know." Driscoll began to shepherd them to the pod to take them into the world when Cecilia asked, "Where do we go to exit?" It was the most logical question. Without screens, no exits would be apparent.

Driscoll smiled. "Go back to where you entered, and bring your target person. That's the way out...and if that doesn't work, Eli Benn will show you the way."

It was small comfort to Will that the unknown was left in the hands of such an enigmatic character as Eli Benn.

The team piled into the pod and they were whisked away. The familiar swaying and rollicking of a rollercoaster passed quickly. Anxious to confront the next challenge, all of them scrambled through the doorway. The sight before them was bewildering.

"What's going on...Is that the end?" grumbled Doyle.

"Maybe that's all we needed," put in Kaimi. "Maybe we were meant to learn about values and what's important from the game, and now they're telling us it's done...it's enough."

Will roiled within. Absorbing the movements within the huge VR concourse, he talked slowly.

"This is weird...but I think...we're still in the game."

"What! What are you talking about?" jeered Garrett who had been huffing and snorting his disgust saying to Kaimi about it being so much for the big finale.

Will countered more firmly, "Look at the people leaving like the session just ended...We only just started! And...How did we get here without disconnecting from the Wi-Fi program or removing the sensor suits? This is the game!"

"What does it mean?" Cecilia looked wide-eyed at them all.

Multiple theories were imagined, mentally weighed, in their confused inertia. Will was coming to grips with some conclusions of his own. Keela had said nothing, as if the whole event was no surprise. He wanted to demand an answer when, almost presciently, Keela required an answer from him.

"What do you think, Will?"

At that juncture, Will thought it unsafe to say, candidly, what he thought. He took a deep breath.

"Even though it's very convincing...I think most of the characters are avatars."

"Couldn't we touch one and see?" It was Cecilia again. Will felt for her. She had been playing the game, like them all, and yet hadn't really grasped how the suits and effects worked. He spoke gently.

"Any contact with an avatar will feel like a physical touch. The suit sensors are geared to apply electro-stimulation to your nerves to simulate contact...I crunched into a robot avatar in game two and got an electrical thump from the suit that was like hitting a brick wall...The robot bounced off me as if I'd collided with a real object."

"So...they'll all seem real...I mean solid?"

"Virtual Reality," chanted Doyle unhelpfully. Will recalled it wasn't the first time he cited the phenomenon as if it was self-explanatory.

Several interchanges occurred at once then, between various members of the team. Why would they be deposited in a simulation of their own world? Who would be the beneficiaries of their rescue efforts? Maybe this was real and they somehow had lost track of time. The illogicality of identifying what was real clogged their minds. Will called their attention again.

"So...We have to act as if this is the game...When we see someone we recognise we have to assume that they may be our target. We will ask them if they want to get out of this world...Their answer should indicate whether they're the one we get out."

"Will there be humanoids?" prompted Kaimi.

"Unlikely...given it's a replica of our world...I think the threat will be the same as we face—security forces and secret police."

"And we bring them back here?"

"That was the instruction." Will licked his lower lip thoughtfully. "Wait here a second." Abruptly he left them and loped around the corner to the reception and ticketing counter. There he examined the gaming schedule. 'Today, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday' were listed. That meant in the game it was Monday! It would make sense for them to do the things they would typically do on a Monday.

He hastened back to the group.

"It's a Monday...We should do what we normally do on Mondays and see what happens."

"That means I have to go to work," groaned Doyle, "That should be fun."

The others all responded with similar sentiments; Mondays were not a great day. Will decided he'd go home and see if he had any contracts or requests from the café he helped out at. Their lingering wasn't achieving anything.

"Let's go," he commanded, as if stirring up a football team to run a lap. Will departed immediately and the others took his cue.

***

The virtual world was so convincing that Will soon forgot the illusion. Travelling on the underground, seeing the crowds, hearing the hubbub of commuters and even having his olfactory senses somehow emulating the unventilated, stale air of packed trains by the electronic stimulation programmed into the suit, transported him into a false reality. Making his way to his flat, an acquaintance waved from across the street. It triggered a recent memory. It was an exact replay of an occurrence a little more than a week ago. His technical mind screamed 'this is computer generated imagery'. They must have planted micro cameras on him to record his daily routines. Little vignettes of memories recurred to him, people slapping him on the back and pressing against his chest. Were they all colluding to compile a video record of his movements?

So, when he arrived, even though all his senses were telling him this was the genuine Earl's Court, his logic brain portion was continuously averring that he was in a simulation. To maintain equilibrium, he needed to be reminded that a powerful computer was feeding him all the relevant data. Will breathed deeply. He entered his building. The security code was the same. 'Great,' he thought. The game had recorded his code so now anyone could know. When he was almost at the door, he froze. Someone was inside his flat. An intruder, a thief, were his first deductions. Then, slipping back into game mode, he supposed that maybe it was his target. The person to be rescued could well be waiting for him. He marvelled at how easy it was for his senses to perpetuate the illusion that he was in the real world.

Opening the door quietly, he immediately saw a form hunched over his computer. The man's head turned. Will was transfixed. The other looked spellbound. They were looking at reflections of each other. The clone broke the frozen tableau.

"Who are you?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I was first." There was a temporary stasis. "Are you my twin?"

Will gathered his wits. This was a game. He was meant to rescue an avatar of himself. He knew how stubborn he could be so he hoped the avatar was not predisposed to similar recalcitrance.

"I'm Will...I'm not your twin. I've come to get you out of this terrible situation." He squinted uncertainly as he guessed his opposite's name. "...And I guess you're Zac?"

"That's right. How did you know?"

It was at that point that it dawned on Will that someone was playing the role of his avatar. This wasn't merely another player. This was an orchestrated narrative. The game was coming to a climax and this was the final hurdle. He almost felt like calling the character's bluff and opting out. The problem was that completing the task was the only way, he was aware of, to get out.

"Don't worry about that...What I want to know is...are you satisfied here? Do you want to get out?"

"Satisfied, Ha! I'm the sam e as every non-conformist, I want to get out...I want to go to Australia."

Will's stomach churned within. Did they know everything about him? How likely was he to succeed if his proposed venture was common knowledge?

"I'm not talking about that...I meant out of this system...to somewhere with values...with a purpose."

"What? End it all?"

"No...Don't be ridiculous...I'm talking about the game."

"This is no game...believe me."

Will hmphed. Talking to himself was really off-putting. "Look...You'll have to trust me. I can get you out...This world is screwed up. They're persecuting people for what they believe...what they think."

"I know...Politics is evil...At least in Australia I'll be able to find somewhere away from it all."

"You think so?" The instant he said it, Will realised that he was doubting his own grand plans. "Maybe I can take you to a Fellowship meeting and you can hear about another way...a way that puts people and God into perspective."

"I can't believe it...my doppelganger is a religious nut," said 'Zac'.

Will looked around. The absurdity of what he was doing started to grind into him. He was being duplicitous for the sole purpose of winning a game.

"Okay...I'm not religious...I'm more like you than you know...or maybe not," he added under his breath. "Let me ask you some questions and see if you can honestly answer me."

Zac rose from the swivel chair and sat on the edge of the desk. "Okay...go on."

Will imagined all his own insecurities, his own dissatisfaction and used those thoughts as fodder for his cross-examination. In a way he was imposing a therapy session on himself.

"So...all that money you're getting from your cryptocurrency transactions...does it satisfy you?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I know..." He stopped short. His interrogation was undermining everything he had put in place to survive. Almost as if Zac gauged that pursuing his outrage would result in Will becoming introspective, he tempered his response.

"It's not Utopia but it's better than having nothing."

"What about this refusal to conform to the Federation...Why do you do that? They want unity."

"No...they want uniformity. They hate disagreement, different ideas...and...well...we should be free to choose."

The words stung Will. He remembered. A team member had said something about the ability to choose was a gift. The humanoids did as programmed and the Federation wanted people to follow their instructions just like robots. In fact, they insisted on it. Politically, choice was being eliminated. But the mind, the inner being could always choose.

"I'm offering you a choice now. Come with me. See if we can make some sense out of an alternative to human rule...an alternative to man and his achievements being the pinnacle of human adulation. Let's see if we can look beyond the bleak hopelessness of humanism and material ambition where life is annihilated, sentience is obliterated and test the plausibility of an eternal man."

"Did you just say that?" Zac looked at him incredulous. Will got the feeling he was going off script.

"I feel a bit of a fraud...but I want to win this game."

Zac reverted to character. "It's not a game I tell you. If we get caught by security that's the end of us."

The interchange continued. It took a little while longer for Will to encourage Zac to go with him to find a Fellowship meeting. He said he was persuaded on the basis that this way he would find out what Will was actually trying to prove. Will had to admit that he was being true to emulating what he would do. He too would explore the possible chance of an alternative reality. And wasn't that what this game was about?

Leaving his home with Zac, it occurred to him that he had assumed the Fellowship existed here, and that the café where information about its whereabouts could be obtained was also included. Their arrival at Hammersmith suggested that all was as it should be in this mirrored world. But emerging from the station, crowds were heckling a speaker. It had a familiar feel about it. What Will saw then was confirmation that the game was consistent in its concentration on Eli Benn. He stood on a seat proclaiming his lessons about the Way.

The identical twins came within earshot. They listened as the orator described the plight of man. He spoke of souls lost in a dark world desperate for the distraction of material comforts, of physical pleasure, of intellectual pride and even the superficial satisfaction of occupational achievement. He decried the pursuit of self-flagellating disciplines which elevated conceit and an inflated self-image. Their attempt to create a god which suited them, be it self or the endless list of things that become an idol and a central object of devotion, left them denying the one who truly loves them beyond their comprehension. And with this antagonism to the Way, Will recognised that there was still a hopelessness—even in denial of his message there still was a constant, futile seeking of a better way.

Eli Benn ignored the threats of handing him over to the authorities. His words rose in volume.

"Your disenchantment stems from your inner being which desires to resonate with your Maker. You long for contentment and seek it in experiences and relationships and possessions and nothing brings you peace. When you're aligned with the will of your creator, then you have the perfect relationship, a fulfilling life and whatever you have, little or much, ease or hardship, it is more than enough. This is possible in the message of truth that I bring. This complete and purposeful life is available to all."

Hoots and a barrage of invective spewed from the mob. Those who were in sync with Benn's message were few and remained withdrawn and shadowy in the background. Zac turned to Will.

"I see what you mean. This is a way out isn't it?"

"So...you'll come with me?" Will thought that it was ironic that the avatar of him was the easiest rescue yet. The notion was battered by Zac's next statement.

"No...I want to speak to that guy...Find out what I have to do."

Will pushed his agenda. "And then you'll come?"

"We'll see. It depends on what he says."

Zac was being cagey. Talking with Benn didn't seem a bad idea since he had been the source of a number of reprieves for Will in previous sessions. The sage may well reveal the path they needed to exit Theos5. As the crowd dispersed, Eli Benn had once again managed to somehow dissolve into thin air. The two scouted the area before concluding that they had missed him. Davidson's, the café, was the place they had initially been going to, so they resumed the walk in that direction.

"You wanted to speak to me?" The sonorous voice from behind jolted them both. Trying to recover from being startled, neither could frame a reply. "I believe you have some questions for me."

There was an aura about the man. Possibly a mild neural stimulation. It presented as gentleness and restrained power, in one like a doting father to a little child. Will, deferred to Zac to begin, realising that asking how to get out would indicate that he had no idea what he was doing. It was not a good strategy for engendering trust. Zac began.

"So, what is this message of hope? How do people find this satisfaction you speak about?"

Will paid close attention. How specific would Benn be? If this whole thing was a device of the Fellowship then it would be a religious spiel.

"Jesus." That was all he said. The two lookalikes glanced at each other before Zac went on.

"Could you be a bit more specific? What about Jesus?"

Eli Benn smiled. "Jesus. If you believe in his intervention on your behalf...If you follow his teaching...If you recognise his deity...trusting that his actions restores a right relationship between God and you...Then, that is the message of hope...that is how you find satisfaction...how you can walk the Way."

Zac oscillated his head slowly up and down. He was taking it in, thought Will. Of course he would; he was part of the game. "I might give it a try," said Zac. "What about you Will?"

"Where do we go from here, Eli?" Will asked, ignoring Zac's prod.

"That's the question isn't it?"

"I mean...to get out...We have to get out, and we're running out of time." He said it and yet he knew there was still plenty of time.

"I know." Benn stared holding their attention. It was like the car had stalled and the next move was indeterminate. As the double meanings sank in with Will, the sage avatar concluded, "For you the Way is the opposite way you're going...It's called repentance...You'll find the others at the café." He turned around and walked away. Will squeezed his eyes. He didn't want to think about theology impinging onto his existential confusion. Benn's presence had warmed him. He had been moved by a compassion that had been palpable and a clarity of ideas that enlivened his mind. Was it another trick of the suit?

***

Davidson's was quiet. Sitting with Zac, he had time to examine the setting. The correlation of Will's world to his own was faultless. The recurring, niggling realisation came upon him. This world could only have been created with extensive three-D video imagery. The numerous times he had been patted and backslapped and bumped into, leapt from his memory again. He knew enough about micro cameras to suspect he had become a mobile digital feed for their databanks. The others probably had the same experience. He would ask.

Mid-afternoon was unlikely to provide many customers to their regular meeting place. Only Keela and her clone arrived soon after and joined them at their normal back table. Will pushed another against it to cater for the expected twelve that a successful mission would bring there.

"How'd you go?" He looked at the two identical avatars and versed himself about which was the actual player from the outfit she had been wearing at the start of the game.

Keela rolled her eyes up. "Bit of a shock trying to argue with a replica of yourself. I see you've managed fairly swiftly, bringing yours."

"Zac...was curious after hearing Benn preach."

"You heard him too...he gets around doesn't he?" Keela smiled and teased with a nodded indication at Zac, "He's kind of cute."

It was weird seeing Zac and Ashley—Keela's duplicate—conversing much the same as they were. It was doing Will's head in. Were they exceptional holograms or role players modified by CGI? Keela's hand touched his as she drew his attention from watching their alter egos discuss the idea that freedom from tyranny was an option to looking at her.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

"Why the names? Have you thought about that? Why did they give us character names instead of using our own?"

"Lots of games give character names. It can give anonymity." She crinkled her nose and scrunched her face. Will admired her attractive, cheery expression, and wondered, once again, why his most substantive relationship was in a virtual reality game.

"What...and then confront us with our namesakes?"

"Mm...I guess that does make it unusual."

"This whole game's bizarre...I've never been made to examine my personal philosophies or evaluate the reason for my life, let alone what direction I'm heading."

"I thought you kept insisting it's just a game."

"Hasn't it challenged you? Don't you feel reproached by all the homilies...the sermons that posit a rationale for moral living?"

She patted his hand. "Maybe...but I wouldn't admit it to anyone...not in a game anyway."

He suddenly saw how foolish he'd been, mesmerised by familiar surroundings, he'd declared his inner turmoil to all and sundry monitoring the game's progress. And who knew how many facilitators this game had?

"You're right...I should keep my mouth shut."

Chapter 13

Five pairs of lookalikes were there in the nether regions of the café. It was like a twins' convention. Again, all had stories of Eli Benn appearing and presenting his message of hope.

"He had the words of life," said one.

"I've never heard anyone speak like he did," said another.

"He spoke with authority," agreed a third. Garrett was regaling the group with his take on how the universe made sense through the Eli perspective. But the teacher's profound words also stirred angry opposition within Will. Benn was opening the wounds of guilt and, like most people, Will hated the proposition that the self-centred, personal gratification pathway was ultimately destructive.

Will muttered to Keela that their brief session, so far, didn't augur well. "This went too smoothly, especially since Doyle hasn't arrived back yet and there is no way to determine his situation." He went on, "I think the real challenge is yet to come."

"What do you suggest?" Keela had become used to accepting Will's leadership.

"I could go to Doyle's home and his workplace...and maybe we could choose someone else to check out the VR complex and recent Fellowship sites."

"That's a bit random. What are the chances of finding him?"

"Better than if we do nothing," he returned abrasively.

Before he had a chance to call the crew to attention, Doyle walked in...then another Doyle and then close behind, Mallory drew near.

"What's he doing here?" vented Kaimi spontaneously. Others joined in a chorus of dissent. Doyle held up a hand. "Take it easy...Mallory wants to join us...He was with us as we listened to Eli Benn talk about a new kingdom that's open to all."

Was this the twist that Will feared? Would their winning streak stumble in the last round? He remembered what Teagan had said about the cash prize Mallory had coveted. Had he abandoned his mercenary goals?

Will probed, "Have you seen Teagan at all?" He was addressing Mallory.

"No...but I sure would like to catch up with her...tell her I've changed sides too...Do you know where she is?"

"I'll tell you what...If I see her, I'll tell her you want to talk to her." Will had cut in before anyone had a chance to relay the information.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Should I? You have a bit of a track record don't you? Leaving your change of heart to this fifth session doesn't give us much to go on."

"No...I suppose you're right." He held up a phone and spoke into it. "You can come in now...they're up the back."

There was a ruckus at the entry and several armed security men stormed into the café. Will searched for a way out. There was none. He was bewildered by the sudden disappearance of the clones. Where had they gone? Were they merely strings of computer code hastily extracted from the program when defeat became inevitable? Perhaps there was a secret exit. After all, he had been convinced that the lookalikes had responded like human avatars. No matter; it did nothing to alter this depressing conclusion. They would be eliminated now. This was the end of their game.

Except. It didn't end there. The troop of security men wearing the Federation uniforms trampled past the few customers there and took hold of the team of players. Will recalled the gaming mantra of no violence, to ease his fears that the frightening raid was only a pantomime. But when rough hands started jostling the six of them he became befuddled. Had they somehow transferred back into the real world? Were they being arrested for rebellion?

Their antagonists began trussing their wrists. Will pressed his panic button. He had never done it before so he didn't know what to expect. Nothing happened. He pressed again and again, suspecting a malfunction, still nothing. The gamers were marched out of the café with Mallory jubilant at the fore. Bundled into a van they were driven off in the view of wary spectators.

"My panic button's not working," fussed Cecilia as she continuously pressed the device.

"Something's wrong," announced Will bleakly. "Gamers are not meant to be manhandled."

Cecilia said what he had avoided. "Do you think this is real London?"

"How could it be?" argued Doyle, clearly devastated at the possibility. It was bad enough that his actions led to ending their game, but if they were now back in reality, the consequences were too terrifying to think about. He sat dejected in the van. The mood of the six, seated alongside burley guards, was sombre.

The upsetting turn of events produced despairing sobs amongst his team. Will tried to remedy the situation.

"So...This game's been different at every level...this is probably one more challenge that we have to overcome."

"And how do we do that?" whimpered Kaimi.

"Well...every time things seemed hopeless, Eli Benn has intervened...maybe we should expect him to come."

***

The morbid journey didn't last long. The ensuing transfer to a large holding cell in a security centre proved to be even worse. It looked like one of the new prisons the Federation had set up to deal with 'agitators'—anyone who defied the edicts of the Federation. A snarling senior officer informed them that new Federation laws demanded summary execution of Fellowship sympathisers. Will tried to contest they had no evidence. The reply was that they had all the evidence they needed, a witness. Garrett blustered that they had gone too far and to stop the game there and then. It did little good. The security men ignored them. Garret's outburst had Will worrying about Teagan. If she had feigned her turnaround then he had been completely duped. Gaining access to their inner circle and getting lodging with Garrett's sister, would place her in an ideal position to betray them. She had been with them at the Fellowship service. Could that be construed as sedition?

A cry drew his notice to the barred window. His fears mounted exponentially when Kaimi drew their attention to a hanging scaffold being quickly rolled out and secured in the prison courtyard.

"This is a game isn't it?" quailed Cecilia, "...Well, isn't it?" She became slightly hysterical and her eyes flashed about when no one answered.

"I'm not so sure." Garrett had grabbed a bar in the window and tested its obstinate immovability.

"What do you think, Will?" Doyle was eyeing the team leader.

"What do you mean?"

"I know the suits are programmed to not allow us to sense the suits themselves or the small connector interface...but if we gouge our fingers around the approximate position on the side we should be able to disconnect the WiFi feed."

"Have you ever bailed out before?"

"No...As far as I know, no one has. It hasn't been necessary because the panic buttons have always worked."

Will studied the group. It felt like they were back in the real world. He decided, that was the intention. The enemy would break the cohesion in the team, have them quit the game; they would lose and any lesson that was to their benefit would be lost.

"I'm not going to discourage anyone who wants to opt out...but...I believe Eli Benn will intercede somehow...and I still want to win."

"What if it's real?" Keela's words were steady, detached as if they emanated from an indifferent observer.

"Well, then no amount of scrabbling against the suit will release you from this reality."

"You're saying you're willing to take the chance that this is all simulation and that Eli Benn will come to the rescue?"

"Yes." He looked about slowly. Kaimi was rubbing her side unobtrusively, clearly trying to dislodge her data feed.

"I can't feel anything," she whimpered. Will refrained from saying, 'that was how the suit was meant to work'.

Without warning the heavy cell door swung open.

"You're free to go," growled a beefy guard.

"Why...what's happened?" Two or three voices said much the same thing.

He responded as one who bore momentous news. "It seems Eli Benn has offered to exchange himself for your release."

"You'd take one of him for six of us?" questioned Doyle.

"He's worth far more than all of you. You have no idea the trouble we've gone through to try and trap him...for us, he's the perfect substitute."

"What's going to happen to him?" Will was suddenly overcome with dread. A darkness seeped into his mind.

"We need to go," exclaimed Kaimi abruptly. "We need to go to the VR centre...I'll be glad to see the end of this...It definitely is no game." She brushed past Will to the open door. Will hovered as the others trailed after Kaimi.

"Well..." repeated Will. "What will you do to Benn?" Keela grasped his arm and tried to lead him out but he resisted. The guard nodded his head toward the barred window and the construction beyond.

"It be the gallows for him, me matey," he parodied. "Then perhaps we'll get some peace and quiet around here."

"You can't be serious. He's done nothing wrong."

"He's stirred up the crowds, created dissention with his sermons and refuses to come under the authority of the Federation..."

Keela dragged at Will as the man took a breath, ready to add to the litany of charges deserving of death.

"Come on Will. Eli would want you to get away...that's why he's making the exchange."

His resolve to stay and defend Eli Benn weakened then. A flood of considerations muddled his thinking and he permitted Keela to lead him after the others. If it was just a game, this was a way to get a resolution; they would have succeeded. And, from what he'd seen, the man could extricate himself from impossible situations. If it was not a game, maybe they could do something outside of detention—certainly more than they could do imprisoned.

Once outside the prison walls the six almost immediately ran into Teagan. Will was wary of her.

"Are you the witness that betrayed us?" His blunt accusation stunned her. Her jaw dropped but no words escaped. Finally, she replied, "What?"

"They told us they had a witness of us attending a Fellowship meeting...are you that person?" His follow up wasn't as caustic.

"No...no...How could you think that? I came to warn you that Mallory was not to be trusted."

"How did you know about Mallory...I thought you were staying away from him?" It was Kaimi airing her suspicions.

"Driscoll told me that Mallory had joined up with you guys so I said I had to warn you."

"Well you're a bit late." Doyle butted in sardonically.

"Why...What's happened?"

"We were caught and gaoled," inserted Keela, "But Eli Benn has substituted himself for us."

"Oh no!" Teagan couldn't conceal her angst.

"What?... He'll find a way out won't he?" Will tried to sound positive.

Teagan gave a despairing look around.

"They wouldn't have made the swap unless he'd promised to not get away...They'll kill him now."

The words sounded so unreal. Nobody was harmed in a game, were they?

"It's a game," Will offered weakly, less certain than ever.

"Whatever it is, they don't have any rules here. We have to see what we can do."

Garrett had moved next to the girl, clearly demonstrating his support for anything she recommended.

"What do you suggest?"

"We need to see what's going on...It might give us an idea of how to rescue him?"

"That's about the only place I can see," indicated Keela.

She pointed. "Why don't we go into that building? From the fifth floor we should be able to see into the courtyard."

"It won't be a pretty sight," muttered Cecilia.

It was an office building and fortunately, though not surprisingly, some vacant offices faced the prison. Moving to the windows gave them a clear view of the prison yard surrounded by cell blocks on three sides and administration and additional facilities on the fourth side. Lines of armed security men were on two sides facing each other. On a third side the gruesome gallows awaited.

While they were watching, all heads of the uniformed squads turned toward the fourth side out of sight of the elevated observers. It took several seconds before they saw Eli Benn escorted by four guards toward the deadly apparatus.

Teagan reacted first, "We're too late."

"They won't, will they?" trembled Kaimi.

"This is our world. They're doing what is consistent with the viciousness of the Federation," adjudicated Garrett.

"But this is a game." The oft repeated protest came from Kaimi this time.

"Games can be violent too," asserted Will, recalling the countless warfare video games he had played.

"Only simulated, though," qualified Doyle. "Maybe they are just going through the motions. I mean Benn is just an avatar isn't he...the way he was everywhere at once."

Eli Benn was led to the foot of the structure. A senior officer read out something from a sheet of paper. Keela reckoned it was a list of charges.

"What could they charge him with?" asked Cecilia.

"Fomenting rebellion, defying authorities...some say he declared that the Presider of the Federation should not be revered." Keela was uncharacteristically uninhibited in sharing information.

"The Presider of the Federation...what...in the game or really?" Will tried to grasp what she meant.

"Pretty much the same thing," said Garrett. "I think they're running a parallel storyline."

A hushed mood descended on the seven as Eli Benn was led up the stairs. There was a general disbelief that such brutality could be meted out before their eyes. The executioners went through the solemn rituals of offering a blind fold and providing an opportunity for any last words. His lips moved. The men appeared astounded by what he said. The noose was placed over his head. The men stood back. An agonising pause preceded the fateful moment and the trapdoor was dropped.

Gasps of horror and heads turned away in distress in their office vantage point. The surreal dreadfulness of Eli's death stultified their minds. Unable to move, stranded in a quagmire of devastation, they witnessed the body swinging, twitching in the last throes of death and then, eventually, being examined by a medical professional. When that was complete the body was then taken down. It took several minutes before Will spoke in an emotionally charged, croaky voice. "I think we should get out...go to the VR centre. It's why Eli had us released." There was moisture in his eyes. He wiped a trickling tear. He no longer was sure what was real.

"We should start a revolution, a riot," shot back Doyle, outraged.

"What would that achieve?" Kaimi snuffled. Tears were streaming down her face.

"Are you okay?" Will ventured.

"I've never known anyone so caring, so wise and so gentle as Eli Benn, and yet they treat him like that."

The raw savagery of the execution had torn at their feelings. The tragic finale had been heart-rending and left some of them with head in hands and others bowed low fighting back the tears.

The group remained in that upper room, shattered by the event they had witnessed. Keela drew near to Will. She spoke softly, "Does any of this make sense? What did Driscoll expect us to do?

The task of determining what was real and what was fantasy confused all of them. Will brushed his eyes again and came to a decision.

"I'm going to the VR centre. I need to get out of this."

Consensus came quickly that five other dispirited team members, and Teagan also, would accompany him. A few last glances at the gallows were made. It was etched in their memories. It had been too real.

They walked past the prison main gate set back behind a row of buildings. The feel of the westering sun in their faces, the chilly breeze and the traffic of cars and people were so convincing it was impossible to divest themselves of the bereavement they were experiencing. All seven boarded the train at East Acton and headed east and then south to Hammersmith. The walk to the VR centre was made in haste. The desire to escape was overwhelming.

When the huge VR complex came into sight they were confounded. Federation security members were patrolling its perimeter. A huge notice declared the amusement facility had been closed by order. Police were investigating its use by subversives. Now there appeared to be no exit strategy. The whole game was headed to loss and failure. For the first time Will's team experienced total helplessness along with a growing despondency.

How...how do we get out of this g...game?" slurred Cecilia.

"This is no game," countered Garrett. "I think we somehow were transported out of the game."

Even though Will had his doubts, he couldn't go along with Garrett's reading of the situation.

"No...we're still in the game. We're just pawns in someone's attempt to arouse our consciences."

"That's a bit cynical isn't it?" said Keela.

"Is it? Think about it...Everything has pushed us to this point. What was an intellectual amusement has mutated into a horror filled expose` of degenerate mankind. I think it's a callous attempt to frighten us to join the Fellowship."

Glum faces turned toward him. They waited. Will suddenly registered the implication of his appraisal. He was the leader in the game; now they sought his direction.

"How are we meant to escape?" Cecilia put into words what the others were thinking.

"Eli Benn was meant to show us the way...Not much hope now." His summation sounded crude set against all they had witnessed. He became angry.

"It's only a game isn't it?" He tried to grapple his VR gear off his face but the sensors failed to convey the presence of any gear at all. It only made him look foolish. He knew better but his frustrations had surfaced. He knew the equipment was designed to totally merge with his senses so that they were undetectable.

They went to the café. It annoyed Will that simulated coffees tasted better than real world brews. Electronic brain stimulators were so refined as to emulate memories of the best coffees and the most tantalising aromas he had experienced. Talk was subdued. Left and abandoned in the game generated a hopeless mood where the cessation and obliteration of the experience was preferable to considering their status in the game. What galled Will was that he would return to real life failures. Gaming was supposed to distract him from that.

Sarah, or her avatar, advised them to return to the office building by the prison. Their doubts were erased when she explained it was a message from Driscoll. So they returned to the vantage point adjacent to the prison. As a cruel warning against dissenters, the Federation had Eli Benn's body on display in a glass case outside the prison gate. A notice proclaimed threats of like treatment to others who defied the rule of law.

In that room the session passed too slowly for them. Days seemed to pass within the game timeframe. Will knew that the apparent passing of time could be produced by careful manipulation of the brain by cerebral electrodes. It was disorientating to endure an artificially induced time span. But with the increased activity of secret police and security patrols they were fearful of leaving the building. When Eli Benn's displayed body disappeared, the authorities became manic. Military vehicles rushed about and Federation personal flooded the area.

It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time when Eli Benn turned up at their refuge. With a quiet voice he encouraged them all to examine what was real and what was illusory. As always, his words were irreproachable. "Only one kingdom is worth pursuing...Seek God's Kingdom." He then led all seven of them outside the room.

"Remember..." he declared, "You may choose any god to suit your whims but only the true God chooses you." As if passing into another dimension they walked into a transit point where they were all allocated a pod each and were whisked to a victorious exit.

Chapter 14

One message lingered as he was conscious that he was at game end. "Do you want to find out about the one true God and how to be truly free?" The words on his wrist screen required a yes or no response. He hit no. It ended. Sitting in the VR cube with the digital input shut off, Zac was overawed by the experience. Not for the first time he reviewed the events he had endured in the game. He was wrung out emotionally. His head spun with homilies, axioms and truisms for spiritual contentment. Why had he rejected the invitation? Was it because he felt they had cajoled with sermons and tried to inveigle indoctrination of their beliefs through the VR game in which he was an unsuspecting player? Was he merely stubborn? He had been moved and he didn't want to admit it.

Once more he was spurred to disengage with the equipment by a stern reminder that his time had expired. He wandered away from the cube in a preoccupied trance trying to come to terms with the bizarre conclusion to the game. The message was stark. The portrayal of deliverance was powerful and it underlined the story the church had been declaring for centuries. What he now desperately wanted to know was; who was behind this innovation of exposing VR players to this allegory about Jesus? It was a claim to truth and yet in some ways Zac felt deceived. He resolved then and there that he would track down these people.

While showering, a second realisation dawned on him. There were six people he had no genuine reason to associate with again. These were six people he felt closer to than almost anyone else in England. It irked him that all of them had been drawn into the philosophies of the Fellowship. And though he thought the sentiments of forgiveness and love of fellow man laudable, he didn't think it offered a way to survive the brutal realities of the totalitarian regime. How would his friends respond, in the real world? He wanted to write a blog, making it sound scholarly, 'exposing the blatant inculcation of a redemption narrative through the allegorical parallelism' of a game experience?

But Zac wanted to keep the friendships going. He would try and meet up as usual and even assist in each individual's struggles to maintain their non-conformity with his new found wealth. He dressed quickly hoping that the customary congregation would be waiting near the exit. He had taken longer than he had intended. Foremost in his thoughts was getting opinions about the game and determining how each had responded to the one question survey. It would be a lively discussion at the café.

When he arrived at the usual rendezvous point none of the others were there. Zac considered, 'he was a bit late but they had always waited previously'. Stragglers were still leaving the change rooms so Zac waited. After fifteen minutes he realised that he had missed them. Perhaps they had assumed he'd already left for the café. He headed off. A dismal emptiness churned his insides. A vague inkling that he had missed out, squandered an opportunity, by declining the invitation, infected his mind. He hurried all the more as a mounting concern disturbed him. He tried to blot out the thought.

Pushing into the busy café, Zac hastened to the back tables. Their table was unoccupied. It was a blunt emblem of his reality. He was alone. He had chosen to be alone. It wasn't the finale he had envisaged—the triumphant team captain celebrating a five session game victory—but he had made the decision. He wondered if it was irrevocable.

He sat down. Hope was fading but there was still hope. Sarah brought him coffee. There was no recognition, no message of another Fellowship gathering. He was a stranger. Why had they chosen him if it ended in this way? Zac despised his life then. He wanted to lash out. Maybe he would hack the Federation's digital economy and try and sabotage it. He could enrich himself. The thought festered as he imagined the circuitous routes, the dark web contrivances and the false machine addresses he would have to put in place to gain access. Denunciation reverberated in his mind. It declared; material gain was no remedy for his malady. Only his maker could satisfy his soul. Zac was at a loss why those words should have surfaced when he least wanted to be reminded of Great is the Mystery.

That game! He had been chosen to play. He had been on Eli Benn's side—if he had a side. The name Eli Benn loomed large in his thoughts. Possibilities stormed his mind. Names meant something. He stared at the café name, Davidson's Mimetes. Below in small print and in brackets was a phonetic version, Mimaytace. He would look it up. He entered it into his phone, then Eli Benn and then all the others from the game. Even his own made a sudden impact. Will! Was he wilful? Was it pride that was represented in his label?

And what was the last thing Benn had said? "The only true God chooses you." He was chosen for the game like the others. Was he the only incongruity, the only one who didn't follow the script? Maybe Will, the will, was the only hindrance between him and the kingdom. Sitting, considering his options only one decision made sense. He would go home. Life would go on. But Zac knew he would never be the same. Now, with his feelings still raw with revulsion at the graphic violence, it was something he was choosing to knowingly reject. If the whole thing was a metaphor for faith, the church and the story of Jesus then, along with getting to the bottom of who were the purveyors of his discontent, he would check out what the Bible actually said. He would get one. There was clearly, in his mind, more to the story than they implied.

Sarah came over and gave him a bill. Was it the first time he had paid? He couldn't remember. He asked her if she had a Bible. She told him to wait and came back with a brown paper bag containing the book. Her brow crinkled as he left.

***

On Sunday, he was hopeful of finding the others attending a meeting. A long morning searching proved futile. None of the previous venues showed any trace of Fellowship patronage or having ever been used for that purpose. Zac arrived back at his flat in the afternoon and started detailing all the possible avenues of his investigation into the game. He wanted to know how they knew about him, how they could construct such a meticulously accurate virtual world that matched his own, and how they had run a game within the confines of the region's largest VR establishment, undetected. Somehow he would find out who was behind all this. It had become a quest and his obsession with escaping to Australia was all but forgotten in his agitation to find the truth.

While working on his computer, an obvious fact stood out. His computer stored a wealth of data that, if hacked, could provide others with an informative portrait of his life. He was careful but he wasn't infallible. There were ways into it and susceptibilities in every system. He would do a thorough analysis.

After several hours of sifting through software using highly sophisticated virus and malware detection, Zac came to the conclusion that the software itself was clean. His next strategy was to gain full specifications of firmware and the circuit architecture of the hardware devices in his computer. Some of this was available but most had to be obtained through subversive means—something Zac was quite capable of doing. Once the architectural data was in hand, he ran a correlation program that matched every gate, examined every transistor and reconciled the expected response of source code on every element.

Warnings started flashing. He had a Trojan embedded in one of his solid state drives. The code interpretation took longer. He had to analyse the logic trails. Zac was flummoxed. Where had it come from? He remembered then. A customer, maybe six months previous, offered him a state of the art SSD as part payment for his work. He had heard excellent reviews. It was an offer too good to refuse. And he recalled it had exceeded the performance parameters he had expected. Slowly the pathway materialised on his screen. His data was being cloned and posted to a remote IP address. Tracing that computer would be his next task.

While his software burrowed through the internet trying to locate the data thieves, he replayed the plot in his mind. By examining his maths files and personal details, operators of the game had all they needed to predict his responses. He ground his teeth. And then there were the images in the game; the vision so precise. He would test his clothing for micro cameras. Those flashbacks of people bumping him, thumping him and pressing hands against him in crowded situations, again proclaimed the obvious. He had been bugged. That was the most likely explanation for the veracity of VR images in the last session. Maybe they had trailed him too. A tail recording every aspect of his daily movements would fill the video data vaults with enough detail to provide the exact images he had experienced.

The program beeped. An array of algorithms began producing the map and location of the offending electronics. The place was familiar. Not two hundred metres away from the VR Centre was a large building assigned as a data storage and telecommunications centre among other generic commercial usages. A tingling sensation ran up Zac's spine. It wasn't a coincidence. It was close enough to furnish the underground space for a huge VR production stage.

Resolving to launder his clothes and use sensitive detection equipment to scan for any remaining microelectronics, Zac began to map out his plan of attack. There was an element of self-righteous indignation in his determination to expose these zealots who went to these outrageous lengths to proselytise. That he should be so vulnerable to manipulation and coercive psychological persuasion was bad enough. But that he was enticed, through episodes of VR drama and was charmed by emotional entanglements in the process, infuriated him. He wanted to strike back. But in the back of his mind was a reluctant approbation. They had sized him up. They had successfully profiled him as a gamer and used his competitive streak. His compulsion to complete the quest had him persisting despite his aversion to the moralistic indoctrination. He had been close to converting. It was that horrific last scene, that brutal climax with the overt significance—his freedom at a great price. He wouldn't allow it!

***

Preparations went slower than Zac wanted. As predicted an electronic sweep of his clothing produced numerous burr-like minute cameras. He envisaged how nearby wireless receivers would obtain continuous streams of video data. Then larger computers would process the data and use imaging software to compile cohesive views of his travels. He removed them. And, to be safe he bought new clothes at his usual non-compliant supplier.

Employment obligations also kept him busy. Clients he couldn't afford to dismiss had to be dealt with. Work at cafés was avoided but a request to help out at Davidson's couldn't be ignored. He would cross examine Sarah and find out what had happened to his friends. Expectations of clearing up the mystery, of gaining valuable information, was quashed. He asked Sarah why she no longer confided in him, why nothing was the same as when the game was on.

"You said no," was her cryptic answer. He inferred from that that he had made his choice. They weren't going to constrain him against his will. 'Against his Will'; the words were mocking him.

On Wednesday he was again summoned to supplement his growing wealth. It only added to his anxiety. He would be a target for criminals. He would be more prominent to the authorities if he splashed illegal currency around, and he was constantly reminded of the unhappiness wealth was associated with in the game. He felt it now. His certitude on what he would do to the instigators of the game waned as the week dragged on. From demanding apologies and seeking reparations for his emotional turmoil, his wrath was slowly abating to the point where he just wanted to reunite with his friends. He would request contact with them.

By Friday, Zac resorted to reading one of the gospel accounts of Jesus' last weeks. That Jesus should die for the people was spelled out by one of his enemies. It wasn't unlike the game. The Apostle John's summation was that he had written his gospel so that people would believe that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God, and that such a belief would result in life in his name. Those words seemed so poignant now. He had thought before about names. He resolved to look up all the meanings of those he had listed. Maybe there was more mystery to solve. The story was both epic and unfathomable. Why would any god suffer to deliver undeserving creatures? And it was those creatures, purportedly, who had put him to death. He set the Bible aside.

A name search on the internet gave him what he wanted. It was impressive, even profound. Each of the names had a pithy relevance. Loosely interpreted; Eli Benn was God- the Son, Driscoll was messenger, Kevalin was truth seeker, Cecilia was linked to blindness. It made Zac think back to her diversion into gambling; she hadn't seen the danger. He went on. Keela was writer. That intrigued him. He would ask if he ever got the opportunity. Kaimi was seeker. Teagan was exaggerator and Garrett Irving was strong friend. Even their foes were consistent to character type. Ubel was evil and Mallory was unfortunate.

There was little else to search but he still persisted. THEOS, the acronym for Total Heuristic Environmental Operating System, could be interpreted as god or divine rule. Both definitions underlined the notion that in each world, individuals chose to define their own god. Teleo meant finish. It was the last he looked up and it was a little prosaic after the other definitions were taken into account. The whole thing was an intricate symbolism of the biblical account. Even being called Will was evocative, had they predicted that he'd be the recalcitrant one, obstinate in his cynicism?

Much of the day was spent gearing up for his infiltration into, what he believed to be, the command centre of the movement. He would be clad in his old technician's outfit—one that he had worn regularly before the rise of the ten and then the all-controlling federation rule. His ruse was to provide service for processing systems that had begun to announce hardware errors; errors that he spent some time insinuating into the system. If all went well, he would confront those that ran the project. To mess with people's consciences, to guilt them with provocative maxims, and to make them captive to an imbroglio of religious dogma without their consent was unconscionable, and he would let them know in no uncertain terms.

Zac trembled as he imagined the encounter. It crystallised in his mind that he was fooling himself. His true motive was to learn the whereabouts of six others. Six people who had shown him loyalty and deference and for whom he had developed a fondness. He knew then that it was one particular fellow player he was thinking of that had brought into being a particular fondness.

It was getting late and he was confident that everything was set for the next day. He would sleep. That was the plan, anyway. Sleep was an elusive wish, however. Those words, that wretched book and his erratic brain reciting accusations like some prosecutor, contrived to keep him awake. He would go back and read the whole gospel of John. Maybe it would be more palatable if there were some disclaimer at the beginning that put the last chapters into perspective. Instead, he became immersed in the lyrical quality of a profound exposition of who the Son was. The Word, God, creator, vessel-originator of life; and such a life that it was an effulgence in a dark world.

Two more things stood out in that first portion. It said "...as many as received Him, to them he gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name." His name was preeminent. People could have life in his name and they could become part of His family. It was an awesome claim. Then came the words: "The Word became flesh..." That's what all this was about...Jesus, Eli Benn, names were paramount. Further research made him clench his jaw. Even Davidson's could be Son of David, another title for Jesus and 'mimetes' meant imitator.

By the time he came to the third chapter, his eyes became weary. The discussion with Nicodemas soared with metaphor. He sought an on-line commentary. It described a questioner wanting answers. It outlined how the passage culminated in comprehensive answers for the Pharisee. They were detailed. Who? —God and the world. Why? —love. What? —saved, not perish, eternal life and not condemned. How? —Jesus was lifted up, he was given. And where? —from heaven to Earth. Lastly, the when question was addressed. It was an event that was imminent in the gospel and the event promised an endless forever.

Zac pushed away his device. His soul was tortured by the motivation for this horrific ending. It was love—the love of God. Was that the message of Great is the Mystery? Eli Benn sought to have the questioners, the seekers, rescued. And he, too, had them rescued by sacrificing himself. Another thing struck Zac as he drifted off to sleep. Jesus refrained from speaking of heavenly things. "How would you understand if you don't even believe earthly things? That was his problem—lack of belief.

***

Morning brought a zest for action. There was detailed attention to shaving his stubble and grooming his hair. Why was he having second thoughts about his jeans, shirt and sweater? He knew, but it wasn't something easily admitted. More and more it was about reuniting with people he hadn't seen for a week. Seven days? It had seemed much longer than that. The disproportionate longing, the lingering memories of one individual, spoke of affection rather than friendship. He had no idea whether the other would reciprocate. He had no idea whether he would actually see any of the others again. But there was hope. By the time he left he was filled with anticipation. A backpack of supplies and a growing ambivalence were his companions as he exited his flat.

The journey from Earl's Court to Hammersmith was filled with mixed emotions. He was aware that he was struggling to maintain his outrage. The biblical texts still echoing in his thoughts had created an ambiguity about the movement's methods. Zac now reasoned that what mitigated the game producers' actions was the motivation to rescue. He realised that was the purpose of the last round. He had met face to face with an avatar of himself. He was ensnared in a restrictive web of his own making. The avatar illustrated his directionless path, his need for purposeful bearings and deliverance from a world devoid of hope. His avatar had acquiesced, yet pride—his will—had made him shun the offer of rescue.

As he got nearer something within stirred his anger like a breeze fanning an ember. They had lured him with his weakness for digital escapism, run roughshod over his sensibilities and invaded the private sanctum of his personal data. And they claimed the high moral values! There was a battle of opposite perspectives within his head.

After leaving the station he became more attuned to his surroundings. This was familiar territory. Initially, he was following the route toward the café. Once the VR complex came into view, he veered left and became even more wary. This precinct had several prestigious stores, upmarket eateries and stately banks. Around the side of the impressive buildings was the lesser telecommunications establishment. He donned his technicians overalls and tried to swagger in with a confidence he didn't really own.

The receptionist at the desk raised her eyes. There was a moment of evaluation.

"Yes...can I help you?"

He was taken aback for a second. She looked like Ashley. He regrouped. "I believe you have some computer issues." He left it at that.

She looked quizzical. "Wow...That was quick. I only rang half an hour ago...You're not the usual guy...Where's Doug?"

"No idea...I'm here to look at one of your computers...That's all I know...I can go back and see if I can find Doug if you prefer...It's all the same to me." He came across as flippant and a trifle churlish.

"No, no...of course not. You'll do fine." There was a cheeky curl to her smile and a glimmer in her eyes. "I'll send for someone to take you to I.T...They'll know which one's acting up." She smiled winsomely. "Why don't you take a seat?"

He sat and removed a small tool kit and a replacement SSD knowing full well that a small rectification to his software Trojan would cure the false hardware failure alert. The delay raised his apprehension. He needn't have worried. A man arrived within minutes and extended a hand.

"Jethro...people call me Jet." After the mandatory handshake, Jet looked at him curiously.

"Where's Doug?"

"I have no idea. I've come to fix your computer...If you want me to go, I'm sure Doug will come?"

No, no...It's okay...This is just the first time that Doug hasn't come himself...Follow me."

They went up a level, via stairs, to a large control room. Screens and operators abounded and some were chatting, sipping coffees, clearly waiting for something to commence.

"We still have an hour before the start of the session. If Doug hadn't come in the next half hour we'd have slotted in an alternate computer...It's better to work with what we have though...Always glitches when you introduce something without a dry run." He led Zac to the problem machine.

"Keeps screaming out hard drive issues...it's relatively new and under warranty, for what that's worth these days. Can't risk a crash halfway through a simulation..."

Zac interrupted him. "I'll see what I can do...I have a spare...You have a backup cache I take it?"

Jet gave him the network location of their data cache and left him to it. Zac was conscious that their regular techie, Doug, could turn up at any time. He wasted no time opening up the innards of the machine and making it look like he was performing diagnostics. A few simple BIOS commands had him switching off the offending malware and ensuring all was operating normally. He rose, smiled gave a thumbs up to Jet who was conversing with the waiting operator, and then packed his things.

"That was quick. What was it?"

"I can't really go into details," returned Zac looking anxiously at his watch. "It's working...shouldn't give you any trouble...I had a spare hard drive but I ended up disarming some malware...need to check your virus controls...anyway, if you want a detailed report give me a call." He handed his business card to Jet and scurried away, leaving him perplexed.

Down the stairs, Zac turned left, instead of right toward the reception desk. He searched for, and found, another set of steps. These led down. He wouldn't have long before Doug turned up and they'd be in a frenzy trying to find him. From his worming into their computer files and operation schematics, he knew that the upper room housed all the environment controllers and many of the background populace. Down below, with a view of the VR action set, was the control room for the players, key avatars and the game director. It was here any unpredictable moves were dealt with. The narrative was guided flexibly, from Zac's experience, but usually worked toward a carefully scripted conclusion.

The control room, at the end of a long corridor, was a hub of activity. Zac stood at the glass fronted door watching and listening. A voice he recognised commanded attention. It was Driscoll.

"Thirty minutes, ladies and gentlemen. We've just had word from Environment that they're on line and running. We're back to episode one, version C. Lead character is a sport's nut and teacher...I'm sure you've read the bios so this is only a reminder...isn't it Gerry?" The comment was laced with satire. The operator in question saluted with a wry smile.

This was an opportunity to observe the game from the other side. Already some of the screens were showing the opening scenes generated by the computers depicting Teleo. He even saw the media office that he had played a part in. Its corresponding portion of the set was limited to some furniture and other props that had little similarity to the CG images he had seen. Pneumatic lifts were scattered in various parts of the huge underground vault that was basically a gigantic studio for the Fellowship message. He thought of the word 'propaganda' but reconsidered. It was a belief system they held as true. Its values were certainly difficult to fault.

Zac was hopeful to see some of the session before being caught. It was interesting that Driscoll looked much as he did in the game but a woman sat at the console labelled Eli Benn. It was then he noted numbers—six computers were allocated to Eli Benn and each was numbered. It was clear that the simultaneous involvement of the avatars was accomplished by those operators.

With five minutes to go, Zac was watching preparations avidly. He suddenly lurched in fright. A hand gripped his shoulder. A voice spoke with a touch of merriment.

"Quite devious and an aptitude for investigative work I would say...What are you up to Zac?"

He whirled around surprised at the stealth of the Fellowship pastor.

"Andrew...I didn't expect to see you here."

Chapter 15

Andrew led Zac up to the office section of the building. On his way Zac cleared up a few technical queries. Why had he thought Eli Benn a real character when the others considered him only a digital avatar? Andrew answered. Someone had roleplayed in his case. The belief was that Zac required immediacy and realism in the encounters. He went on to explain other questions. The apparent passing of time was accomplished by neural stimulation. It meant that the relatively short game period could feel like a much longer interval. All participants were active non-conformists and in imminent danger of capture. The Fellowship's 'interference' could be justified on the basis of providing a supportive alternative to being allied to the Federation or being committed to nothing.

In the office, Zac's annoyance at being railroaded into the game bubbled over.

"What you're doing is deceitful. You pretend to be a game but you're trying to convert people."

The pastor replied gently, "You're wrong. It is a game. You chose to join in... the same way you can choose other things. The game is an allegory...It made you respond emotionally...it was realistic. All good VR games should do that...but...yes, we want you to see the truth."

"You admitted just before to profiling me. You chose me."

"Yes...In a sense you were selected...but only to exercise your choice. You wanted to play the game. It just so happens to be the way we want to reveal truth to you."

"Truth? ...You say it's true. It could all be an elaborate story...a deception...like I said before."

"Think about it...The morality you encountered testifies to its truth. It's a picture of Jesus. No one shows a more exemplary character than Jesus. He advocates humility, serving others in selfless love and recognising the eternal nature of the human spirit destined to leave this shadow world...this virtual reality, for the opportunity of eternal restitution. That's an eternity to bring about the real purpose of man." Andrew tilted his head with a wry smile. "Come on...you can't begrudge someone who says we should love one another...and that's by action, not feelings."

"So, ... the teachings of Jesus are good. Is that it?" Even as he said it, Zac realised he was trapped in a debate he couldn't win.

Andrew motioned for him to sit in one of the chairs and he made his point.

"You asked so I will go on. History testifies its truth. Yet most people ignore that the dates we use refer to his birth; key events on the calendar celebrate his birth and death, and even the seven day week reflects the original pattern in creation for mankind. You also have the tenacity of the nation of Israel maintaining its special identity while being the target of numerous pogroms, and then there is the inexplicable expansion of the church despite constant persecution."

"The church's history hasn't been all rosy or without violence," countered Zac.

"That too could be considered evidence that it's real. You see, it's susceptibility to human corruption means that God still allowed people to make choices and many of them were bad...but whenever they reverted to the instruction book, whenever they did what they were supposed to, the church thrived...God blessed them. I could continue and encourage you to examine how genuine science reinforces the Christian narrative. All contradictions to it are theories held by faith and are treatments of evidence that reject alternate possibilities. Philosophical reasoning contests that meta cognitive existence and the presence of information in living things points to a divine plan and purpose...Do you want me to go on?"

"What else is left?"

Andrew chuckled. "You're a glutton for punishment. I could talk about the love of beauty, the appreciation of art and music...those things too are glints of light from the face of God reflected in us."

"How poetic."

"Ahh...did I mention poetry? Or what about narratives, the imagination and the desire to create a story from our souls...And yes, many tales can be corrupt and have been corrupted, much as we can be corrupted, but they still communicate something of the original image of God in us. We are creative beings."

Zac kept his mouth shut. He was fearful that any objection he raised would be obliterated by an avalanche of well-versed doctrine. The one important piece of missing information still vexed him.

"So, I take it, all the others have accepted this message of truth?"

"You could say that."

"Do you know where they are now?"

"Yes...I do."

"Could you put me in touch with them?"

"I would have to get their permission."

Zac eyed the pastor. He couldn't decide whether his own antipathy was solely based on the irritation that he would have to concede intellectual ground, admit he was wrong, or the fear of becoming some mindless acolyte trudging in the steps of self-appointed clergy.

"So you're saying all six, including Georgie, have converted to this faith?"

"If you mean, are they all believers...followers of Jesus? Then yes...but not all six converted during the game. You may not like this but Ashley is one of our workers. We often embed one of ours into a team to help steer the action."

His head rolled back in comprehension. "You put her with me. I was the least predictable, wasn't I? I was your biggest risk." Pieces fit together. "I was a gamer like the others but I wasn't overtly anti-Federation. Maybe apathetic...so you weren't sure."

"That's part of it...The other criteria of dissatisfaction...our assessors said was largely due to you wanting to go home...back to Australia. In the whole scheme of things there were other factors as to why she was there that I won't go into."

A steady, studied look passed between the two men. It was as if both knew what he would ask. Zac's voice quavered a bit. "So...where is she? Where's Ashe? Is she here?"

"She's probably here somewhere. We rotate players through so they don't play consecutive series."

"Can I see her?"

Andrew pulled a pained expression. "It's against policy...but, I could ask her."

The pastor made a call on his phone. Murmured dialogue passed between him and Ashley. It was indistinct. Zac had no idea what the discussion was all about. He ended the call.

"Well...she said she'd meet you...in our cafeteria. I'll take you there now."

The walk was interspersed with comments about how Zac's skills would have been valuable to their movement. Andrew said, the technician had informed him that he still wasn't sure what Zac had done to interfere with the computer's operation. He could find no record of viruses or malware.

"When Doug turned up...Was that when you realised something was wrong?" Zac asked.

"Ye...es...I think we need to tighten up on our procedures...You got in far too easily."

It made Zac snicker. "I hope the receptionist doesn't get into trouble."

"We fired her," declared Andrew deadpan.

"What...That's a bit harsh."

This time Andrew chuckled. "Only kidding. It was our processes at fault. And...we don't operate that way...If you didn't realise...we're into forgiveness. Besides, Kim's my daughter. It would make life at home very difficult." He laughed more robustly.

Andrew ordered them both coffees and they sat at a table. Small talk about what it took to run a program of the magnitude of 'Great is the Mystery' occupied them. The pastor said wealthy donors had helped. It was mostly Zac being inquisitive and the pastor being guarded. When he had finished his drink, Andrew excused himself. He liked to keep up to date with the state of play. It sometimes helped him with customising his sermons.

Five minutes after he left, Ashley appeared at the glass entry door. She hesitated and appeared to muster her nerve. A tentative smile appeared as she walked with sprightly steps to his table.

"Fancy seeing you here," she began. "Thought you'd be on your way to Australia by now."

"So...you were a game operator all the time?" The words were biting.

"We call them embedded players." A slightly guilty toothy grin embellished her face as she sat down. He couldn't help soften his gaze.

His voice was strained. "I've grown fond of you...I've sort of missed you."

His crackly voice pummelled her forced equilibrium. She lowered her eyes.

"You said no...I wasn't allowed to intervene...The whole purpose of the game...and you said no." There was a trill in her voice. She tried to regain her composure.

"You care too...don't you? Is it that important that I said no?"

Ashley took a deep breath. Her emotions refused to be stifled by reasoning. She forced her response and raised her gaze. "It's everything. How you relate to God, how you perceive Him...that's where you get your identity." Her bottom lip trembled.

Zac backpedalled. "Do you care at all?"

"Yes, I care...This is hard for me." Her mouth compressed. "We can be friends."

"I thought we were friends."

"We are...Look, I'll get Sarah to let you know where our meetings are. We can see each other at the services."

"Is that allowed?"

"Well, you have to promise to not dob us in."

He sniffed at the insult. "Is that what you think? Is that likely? I may not have become a card carrying member of your club but I have no love for the Federation."

Ashley placed her hand on his. She smiled apologetically.

"You know we have to be careful. Church groups are being arrested all the time and...it's unusual for us to trust an outsider."

"After all this...I'm an outsider?"

"You know what I mean."

"How is this different to the game...when I was told of all the meetings?"

She jutted her jaw, unsure of how to put it. Ashley just plunged in. "You were followed. Every player is followed to make sure they're not a plant or an opportunist wanting to make some quick money in exchange for betraying their fellow players...You realise we don't have the personnel to follow possible converts after the game is over."

"Followed?" Zac tried to appear upset or offended but he had already suspected that he had been monitored.

He lowered his head. Now that she seemed to be off limits, his heart ached all the more. Deep down he knew it was selfishness—his will—that inflamed his desire.

"I guess I'll see you at church." He looked down at her hand still placed on his. "Or maybe I'll head home." It was like a cruel taunt. He wanted her to feel pain, his pain.

The stab had worked. She had closed her eyes and mumbled a tight-lipped agreement before retracting her hand.

"I hope I do see you. And, if you go...be careful. The Federation are merciless on illegal travellers these days."

"I should go." Zac's voice was husky.

"I'll walk you out."

He said nothing in answer. Both ambled out, minds racing for some possible way to retrieve this impasse, but no escape, no alternative course came to mind.

At the door there was a soft 'bye' from Ashley, the receptionist bit her lip, and Zac waved, hardly turning. It appeared final. Maybe it was over.

***

Trudging to the station, he felt like he was in a fog. Worse than that, it was like his brain had a shot of Novocain. It was numb. Everything was indistinct. He was barely aware of his surroundings as his mind stewed over his affection for Ashley. It was abrading his sensibilities now, that, despite his reservations, he had persevered with the game because of human interaction. And that perseverance was shattered because one human in particular was inaccessible. The leadership role had been an opportunity to impress. Attending Fellowship meetings and going to the café had been spurred by an unacknowledged desire to see her again. It all seemed so futile now.

On the train he considered his path. What now? He would travel. A change of scenery might buffer him from painful memories. There were things he would have to arrange. He needed his cryptocurrency trading agent to find a trustworthy trader in Australia who would forward his profits—for a fee of course. The present arrangements had worked well. His agent had received fifteen percent for each transaction and the Tower of London traders got five percent for passing on the cash. Honesty was mandated by the fact that his computer informed him of every Euro gained. One misstep by anyone in the chain and he would simply change his trading identity and seek another link. Guaranteed income for negligible work and minor risks was preferable to a one off payday which might result in some retribution, all too well known in the black economy.

If he made arrangements quickly, he might be able to collect his last trades on Wednesday and head off on Thursday. It was recklessly hasty but he had to get away. Added to his new decisiveness was a scheme. He would carefully infiltrate the Federation's network and create a 'Federation persona' for himself. A position and rank that permitted travel and avoided close scrutiny would make his venture far more achievable. Because much of the identity validation was done digitally, Zac decided that it was his best option for getting through the system. He would carefully construct and insert a fully fictional profile in their data banks. Photos and a variety of biometric parameters would contest that he was Will Durham. He snorted with a quirky, lip-licking smile at the whimsical symmetry of using the name given him by Driscoll.

***

His small flat was a place of focused activity over the next three days. All care was taken to bounce his invasive programs through hijacked user names, accessed through dark web instruments that penetrated satellite links. He fed in corroborating data including finger prints, retinal scans and photos. He provided extensive history of education, rise through the ranks of the security service and lengthy remote stationing, before an undercover stint to obscure recent absences. The production of authentic looking ID cards was done by paying the best of the underground resistance a more than fair price. The card mimicked the magnetic microfibers and he noted that stolen official holograms had been transplanted into the polymer loyalist ID. The quality of the documentation raised his confidence.

The journey to the Tower of London ticket office again gave him time to be reflective. This would be his last pick up. They wouldn't be informed for fear avarice took precedence and they made the last delivery count for themselves. The girl was a little more exuberant than previously. His regular routine created an air of familiarity. She flirted a little, suggesting perhaps someone as well to do as he, wanted some companionship. No doubt the flow of money filled packages had provided incentive for the tentative offer. He declined with a broad smile. 'Nothing lasts,' he had said, and she crinkled her brow in puzzlement.

As he made his way back to Earl's Court he felt relief that it was the last time. The girl's indiscreet playfulness made him realise the danger of routine. Her approach might be more demanding next time, even to the point of extortion. She would be disappointed. There would be no pick up and no five percent. Maybe she would be blaming herself for coming on too strong. Irregularity would become his MO. He would become more random. Patterns would be his enemy.

With all his preparations now complete, Zac made his way to Hammersmith and the café to reminisce about happier times. It was funny. They were only 'happier times' in retrospect. He remembered at the time he was critical of the game, suspicious of the motives of the Fellowship and defensive to his team mates about the guilt he felt. The café was unchanged. He went to the rear table. It was vacant, but it occurred to him that maybe another group met there on Saturday nights. He sat down and half wished that his team would walk in. No, he longed for Ashley to come in. Why hadn't he said yes to that final question?

Sarah came up with a large cappuccino. Her face was sad.

"You missed the service this week. You may not like it...but we pray for you." She put the cup down and patted him on the shoulder as if they were in mourning.

"Come in Saturday and you'll find out where the next one is."

"I'll be gone by then." He saw her shoulders slump as he said it. He hated disappointing people but a new start demanded sacrifices. "Tell the others they were the best VR team I've been on." He paused before adding, "And say goodbye for me."

***

On Thursday morning he travelled in casual gear in line with his portrayal as an undercover operative. He took the high-speed train to Paris, pleased that already staff, fearful of Federation authority, gave him wide berth. It hadn't taken long after his identity check for word to get around. Free snacks appeared. Whispered comments led to seats around him emptying. He felt safe enough to stretch his feet to the facing seat and snooze.

The one thing he hadn't been game to do was to hack into the Federation Bank. Their security and auditing would challenge the best of digital entrepreneurs. He gauged the risks and decided he would alternate his roles, paying for things through the black market and then continuing as a Federation operative. The one rationalisation he had was that it was plausible that a disguised agent would use illegal currency as part of his cover.

He planned to spend two nights in Paris. The city was a victim of incessant rioting. Burnt out cars had mostly been removed but black smudges on the road, like evil shadows, lingered to bear witness to the violence. Many of the fashionable boutiques were protected with iron bars or completely obscured by metal shutters. The historical pits of bullet holes, relics of the Second World War and preserved for tourists, were now a minority to newer pocks and gouges from high powered weapons. A walk down along the Seine still had an ambience of romance if one could ignore the patrolling troops with automatic guns.

It took Zac until the third day to find a purveyor of a car not compliant with locating devices. The Renault did not come cheaply and jerry cans of fuel were added at a premium. The dark sedan was in good condition and befit his role if ever he was questioned. He moved around some of the local markets to stock up on foods. He was hoping to get as far as Athens before sourcing a freighter on its way to Australia. There, on the margin of Federation influence, he had the best chance of ending the charade and successfully securing a passage illegally.

The delay getting the car kept him in the French capital for another night. Sleep eluded him, so Zac dug out the Bible from his bulging back pack. He needed to get the full story. His previous efforts had scanned segments and then taken particular note of the betrayal, the crucifixion and the resurrection of Jesus. He'd done the first three chapters last time. This time he read the account as John unfolded the events. It soon became clear that the disciple who authored the book wanted his readers to recognise that Jesus was God—he was the Son of God, he was divine. The writer cited numerous witnesses, described miracles and related the wisdom of a master teacher. One critical fact hit Zac forcefully; if Jesus was God then he is God. It was a case of belief. What would it take for him to believe, he wondered? Maybe if he actually made it to Australia. That would be a miracle. It might be enough to convince him if he made a deal.

It was extraordinary, but even as he thought about making some sort of deal with 'god', reverberations within his head, which may as well have been clashing cymbals, echoed Eli Benn's refrain that people make the god that suits them. What was required was not deal-making or defining what god should be like, but surrender. The truth was that Zac thought he was doing all right. If it was a battle, he felt he was winning. You don't surrender if you're winning do you?

Memories of the others, the comradery, was still fresh to Zac. He convinced himself that as distance increased, the exigencies of his hazardous trek would blur the images and dull the pain. He did sleep eventually. His last thoughts were that his conscience wouldn't cope with more challenges from reading the biblical texts. The final chapter had described the loving encouragement of Peter to declare loyalty and follow. It was the sort of recruiting drive that was beyond reproach; forgiveness and acceptance were not common measures in the hostile, dark world he knew.

Chapter 16

Some good fortune befell Zac in Lyon.

He was feeling confidence in his false identity, on the verge of impudence, because he had passed through two checkpoints and there was a degree of intimidated submission displayed by the guards. Then, when he emerged from his hotel in Lyon, he noted a laundry that catered for ranking military clients. Perhaps they didn't think much of the military base laundry operations. He decided to scout the premises on the off chance that a suitable uniform could be acquired.

Taking a jacket to be cleaned he noted that two sisters took the orders. It wasn't beyond belief that they were the attraction for the officers. Their banter certainly boosted customers' moods. Giving a false name, he left the jacket to be dry cleaned and noted that completed orders were placed on racks behind the front counter. Some had already accrued for the next morning pick up. A colonel's uniform particularly attracted his interest.

First thing the next morning he was in to pick up his jacket. He asked the one sister on duty whether they had found an ID card in the jacket. When she went to the back of the shop to investigate, Zac moved swiftly and removed the plastic covered uniform and exited the shop. When the girl returned, he had gone. One hundred euro was left on the counter. She fingered the money with a bemused expression. It was money that would be handy on the black market in the stringently controlled economy but who was the stranger? The missing uniform would only become a contentious issue later in the day.

Zac had immediately driven toward Marseille with the intention of taking the coastal highway into Italy. Checkpoints were once more negotiated with little fuss. A flourish of his identity card had him waved through, while several other cars were searched. At the second stop a uniformed security man confided that a uniform had been stolen in Lyon and the owner, a Colonel, was furious and had ordered all vehicles searched. When Zac queried how a military laundry could be burgled the other said it was a private concern. Zac shook his head disapprovingly and left.

At a third checkpoint, one that appeared to have been hastily set up, they waved him to the side. He feared a search. Instead, one of the checkpoint guards merely appeared nosey. He asked why he was away from England; they didn't see many special service police from other places. Was he on a case? It was then he suggested that perhaps he was on the trail of Fellowship dissenters. It gave Zac an idea. He answered with the first thing that entered his head.

"I don't usually say what I am working on..." He looked from side to side and immediately imagined how hackneyed the action was. "I have been working on the Fellowship...Have you heard of where they might be?"

"Ahh...dat iz why you go to Marseille...Dey haf caught some Engleesh Fellowsheep dere. Dey keep dem in da base near the docks." He gave the address.

Zac merely put his fingers to his mouth, unwilling to say anymore. Was the guard trying to ingratiate himself with the secret police or was he only being helpful?

Again, in the next town, he stayed at a hotel that would accept his euros. The dark web had identified enough of these for him to travel unhindered. Their prevalence was more about the desire of people to not have every monetary transaction monitored by the Federation bank and less about rebellion. Most people were happy with the strong law and order delivered by the confederacy. It had put a stop to endless rioting for almost any cause and driven the anarchists underground. But this support didn't extend to adhering to the minutiae of 'policies for living'.

Once in Marseilles he found a reasonable, comfortable bed and breakfast to stay at. It was on a steep hill sloping down to the coast road and the sparkling blue Mediterranean. After a swim in the pool overlooking the delightful scene, the words of the checkpoint official chafed at him. The news about the Fellowship group in trouble concerned him more than he thought possible. Out of curiosity, he made his way to the small base of the local security force he had been told about. Watching the place for half an hour did little to enlighten him on whether they were there or not. He was in a quandary. Should he continue his journey or find out more about the captives? It was possible he could help them. His only rationale for that idea was that they seemed to be decent people.

After another half an hour still hadn't provided any answers, he opted for the direct approach. His tactic was to treat it like the VR game—be bold, be motivated by a right cause and assume that elimination from the game is the only consequence. He knew that last strategy was a case of fooling himself. If he was caught the outcome could be dire, especially if they found the uniform he had stolen.

Zac strode to the double doors of the facility. He rehearsed his spiel. The door swung open and two females exited. He stood aside, held the door and smiled. Smiles and thanks were exchanged. He suddenly felt more in the game than he expected. These were needy people. They were oblivious to the lack of moral direction in their lives. It was all about accumulation or stimulation or self-preservation for them just as it had always been for him.

There was a reception desk. No-one appeared to be manning it. He drew closer. A corporal was bending over, peering into a file draw. He looked up.

"Oui?"

"English..." said Zac pointing to himself.

"What is it, I can do for you?"

"I'd like to see your commanding officer."

"And...oo are you?"

Zac showed him his identity card. It had the security force eagle emblem and, in the corner, the part coiled rearing snake of the secret police. The man was cowed instantly.

"I will get heem for you." He scuttled off into the back offices.

A captain emerged straightening his uniform. The crumpled look suggested he had been snoozing. His English was quite good.

"What may I do for you...Colonel?"

"I have been working on a Fellowship group from England. I have heard you have captured them."

"This is correct."

"I wish to talk with them...If you know what I mean. I believe they belong to a much larger organisation. It is possible they may lead me to them."

"Yes certainly...er Colonel. We have er captured them at night. We have talked to them and they say nothing...You may er try...I am sure you have your ways." He pulled a smarmy smile. "I will show you where they are."

The captain led Zac to the rear of the building where there was a row of six cells. Only a small portion of the heavy doors had bars that allowed examination by guards. He was allowed into the first cell. The inmates were asleep on bunks. Zac assumed that it was due to the exhausting bout of interrogation they had endured.

Zac dismissed the captain with an imperious air. He would interview these dissidents and find out about their organisation. The man left, conscious that the secret police didn't tolerate any questioning of their orders. The first thing Zac did was examine the room for a closed circuit television camera. There was none. Looking at the two, he thought he would maintain the charade for the prisoners, two women, to gain some insight into how they might view this higher threat. That was his intention. When, however, he roughly awoke the first sleeper with a gruff, "Wake up!" he was stupefied. It was Nerida. She had been his target in the third session. Her eyes goggled in recognition.

"Nerida?" he proffered, unable to say anything more meaningful.

She shook her head tiredly. "Kate...Nerida was my game name...You're Will aren't you?"

He smiled. "For the moment, yes...Look, we have to get you out of here somehow. Is there a local Fellowship group I can use to help?"

She suddenly looked suspicious. There were questions in her mind that immediately warned her of a trap.

"Why should I trust you? Just because of a game? How did you get in here?"

"They think I'm in the secret police. It won't last long. It'll only take one comment to someone in authority and they'll check me out."

"So you want me to tell you, after being in here for a minute, where to find a local Fellowship group...something they've been harassing all of us for hours?"

"Yes...Otherwise, I can't help you."

"That sounds like blackmail. What if I said that we now would rather die than betray our friends?"

"I'd say that's very commendable. But I helped you in the game...I'm here to help you now."

"Why would you need more people?" There was distrust in her voice.

"I want to form a squad of secret police." He pulled a silly smile.

"Are you a Christian?"

"No..." Zac looked across at the other bed. "Who's with you?"

"It's all six of us from the game...They kept us together."

"So that's...?"

"You know her as Rosie."

It was a stalemate. Zac knew he had little time left before the Captain would come back with questions.

"If you were a Christian I'd be more likely to trust you." Kate tilted her head to see how he would react.

"If I were really on the Federation side I would have told you I was a Christian." He got the impression it was not the answer she expected. Suddenly she seemed fraught with doubts. The opportunity to escape was surely too good to ignore. Maybe if it were only her she would have remained uncompromising, but could she dismiss the possibility if all seven were affected?

"Do you like the theatre?"

"Yes." He sensed a concession.

"There is a performing arts theatre on Quai du Lazaret, opposite the truck ferry terminal. I'll say no more."

Zac called out and he was quickly let out. The captain was hopeful that he had failed. It would make him look better.

"So...She tell you nothing?"

"Let's say, she has, unwillingly, given me some leads that I will chase up."

"Chase up?"

"Follow...I may be back with a squad later. If it proves false, some harsher persuasive treatment may be necessary."

Merely the reference to persuasion had the security commander chew his lip. Maybe he feared the hard-line secret police. He said he preferred a more humanitarian, compassionate approach. Zac thought that if he dared, the captain would release the prisoners and say they had escaped; but he didn't dare.

Walking with a deliberate steady gait, Zac left the base wondering if he was tempted to turn the Fellowship members in and receive the kudos. But it was nonsense. He hated the totalitarian regime. It dehumanised and promoted the cruel and ruthless. And, in reality, he felt a loyalty to the rebel cause. He drove his car to the quayside. Avoiding the elevated highway, it took patience and fortitude to brave French drivers in the bustling port city.

He parked the Renault about two hundred metres south of the theatre, at a mall car park. Just like the game, Zac was conscious of the tyranny of time. It would be a case of moving swiftly and then convincing people he had never met, that they needed to march into the security headquarters on the premise that comrades would be freed if they did. He squinted and swallowed as he contemplated how he would respond in the same situation. He guessed his first response would be that it was a trap. It would be like a whole group walking in like lambs to the slaughter. Why would he think of lambs now? It was that wretched Bible. The Lamb of God, John had said. It was the way Eli Benn was depicted—his life for theirs. How could he allay their suspicions? He would have to make himself vulnerable, put himself at risk, share his plan and be audacious.

Outside a sign announced, 'English Plays and Dramas—Learn English and be entertained.' Not surprisingly, when he went into the theatre, a rehearsal was taking place. A drama company was a good cover. He wandered, watchfully, toward the front and took in the action. It appeared to be a journey that four characters were about to embark on. He was just getting the gist of the plot and a niggling reminder of things lost and found stirred his conscience when a voice from the wings called out.

"Can we help you?"

Zac opted for the direct, 'shock and awe' approach.

"I need you to help me rescue seven Fellowship captives from the Security lockups."

Heads turned, eyes examined each other. There was a helpless non-response. The first speaker came out on stage, a young man with curly fair hair and an arty beard.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a 'Great is the Mystery' player. I learned about a group who has been captured and decided to investigate."

"Yes...but how did you learn about us?" It was an actor, a tall balding man who spoke.

"I questioned Kate, one of the prisoners and...well...she trusted me. We need to move fast before security has time to put more pressure on."

"Why would they allow you to question them?" It was a girl this time. The furrows on her brow revealed her consternation.

Taking a deep breath, Zac prepared himself for the dicey part of explaining his false identity.

"I've convinced them that I'm with the secret police. I need a few of you to be my secret police squad...We're going to march in there, shock them with some staged brutality and release your companions."

The first man tilted his head disbelievingly. "So...is this a joke? We're a drama company. Why should we be interested in what you're talking about?"

"Because they are your fellow believers...We don't have time to argue about this." He was starting to feel frustrated. Did he really think they would accept the word of a stranger?

A cheery, solid looking girl opted into the conversation.

"Let's assume we're who you say we are. We follow you to the police station and they arrest us all...Quite a neat plan."

"That's possible...but it would have been just as easy for me to bring a whole cohort of police here and arrest you...Let me tell you the plan and then you tell me whether you're in or not...I can tell you, if anyone can do this, it's capable actors like yourselves."

"We don't need the flattery...Tell us your plan."

***

What transpired may have reflected foolhardy naiveté or precarious trust with the slender hope that a risky plan, befitting of the dramatic arts, would bring to safety seven people doomed to lengthy incarceration. What he thought ultimately convinced them that he was genuine was not his boldness or his radical scheme, but his admission that he wasn't at a point where he could believe. He confessed that he had rejected Christianity.

"Why?" Martine had asked.

"I don't know...Maybe because everyone expected me to accept it."

"It's not an it...it's a person...Jesus...You believe him or...reject him."

"Right...well I'm not there yet." He had left it at that. It surprised him that he had gone as far as to say 'yet'. Was he contemplating faith?

The gathering—and by now it had swelled to fourteen—decided that being truthful was not a characteristic of an agent trying to trick them. Zac didn't say it but he begged to differ. From his experience in the game, half-truths and near truths were far more dangerous than out and out lies. He worried that a group he had previously categorised as astute had become so naïve. Nevertheless, he was pleased they were on board.

Because of what they could bring in terms of props and personnel, his scheme had evolved. If anything, it was more hare-brained, more excessive to promote horror and fear than he initially intended. Working with the crew of five that had been selected as most fear-provoking reminded Zac of the VR game. It was weird how that experience had extracted abilities he didn't know he possessed. It was also strangely enjoyable, even thrilling. The adrenalin was pumping again.

***

They arrived in a mini bus. It was a strange band. Zac was at the head and the other five trailed behind. Two men stood at the entry. A deliberate sway of a jacket revealed a supposedly concealed machine pistol prop. A glimpse would provide enough deterrence to challenge the men. Four of them marched on in, bypassing the reception. Zac gave a small gesture of acknowledgement and a grim smile to the reception desk pair. At the captain's office he spoke loudly.

"Captain...I'm afraid my time has been wasted. We will deal with the prisoner and take the remainder for further...er...questioning."

"But, you cannot do this...they...they are my prisoners." The man was showing more bravery than Zac had anticipated.

"Give me the key. I will send two of my men while we discuss what I can and cannot do. He removed a prop automatic hand gun from inside his coat. The captain wilted. He handed the key over.

"You...you understand, they are not dangerous...not like the anarchists...They are sworn to non-violence."

"You are wrong Captain. This insidious movement is the most dangerous of all."

Zac handed the key over to Blair, the balding actor, who then sneered convincingly.

"Do you want them all Colonel?"

"Yes...I want them to see how we treat...uncooperative dissidents."

Two others went with Blair and they tromped off toward the cells at the back of the building.

The commanding officer of the station mustered what little courage he had and quavered, "We do not...not want violence here. It is not the way we do things."

"Well, that will be up to her. I will give her a choice...And...Don't be concerned. Your superiors will learn of the work you do here." He stared at the gun in his hand, rotated it and pointed it at the window before putting it down.

In the first cell Kate with her cellmate were awake and being instructed by Blair. Zac had instructed that he get her to put on a prop bladder under her shirt. Zac insisted that, though it was tough, the others must not know. It would add to the realism.

The captain was beginning to control his fear. Zac was aware that if the subterfuge took much longer he might start asking awkward questions.

"Where are those prisoners?" he hissed as aggressively as he could.

"What will you do with them? Where will you take them?" The queries were coming.

"Let's say we have a place that is much better suited for what we want to do." He gave a guttural guffaw.

Blair's return with the straggling group was timely. No more delaying tactics were required. He stood at the door indicating everything was ready. "Take them to reception. There is more room there. I want them all to see." He grimaced as severely as he could. Once out, Zac was appalled to discover that Ashley was the seventh member of the game team. He supposed, she had been assigned to lead this group to the rendezvous with the Fellowship theatre group. Her eyes were agog. Something was amiss. He prayed that she wouldn't mess up the rescue.

Zac drew himself to his full height and had Kate shoved to the fore. She looked suitably fearful.

"You have one chance, one opportunity to escape punishment...Tell me...Where is this local fellowship group you were on your way to?"

"No," she whispered.

"What?"

"No," she repeated, but louder this time.

"I warned you." The words were flat. He aimed the gun and fired. Kate's hands went to her chest. Bright red stained her shirt, dripping between her fingers as she collapsed onto the floor and onto her stomach. Screams of anguish, moans of despair and sobs of horror rose to a crescendo.

"Let this be a lesson to you," Zac yelled above the bedlam. "Take them to the van...and shoot anyone who resists." The threat intimidated the group enough to lead them outside to the waiting van.

Zac instructed Blair to wrap Kate's body in a tarp. "We don't need to get blood in the van...do we?"

"No sir." He left to retrieve the sheet.

The security staff on duty appeared aghast. Zac assumed such brutality had only been hearsay before this moment. They were moderate conservatives in contrast to this despotic Colonel.

Blair returned with two others and they quickly rolled Kate's body in the tarpaulin and hoisted her bodily out into the street and onto the floor of the back of the van.

"Thank you for your help, Captain. I'm sure we will find where these people meet, now that they see that we are determined to destroy all opposition." He gave a little salute and strode to the exit, desperate to leave. There were no salutes in return, no remarks, only stunned silence and wide-eyed incredulity.

The engine was already running when he sat in the front passenger seat.

"Nobody make a sound," he instructed. Then added, "Get us out of here Mal." The driver drew away from the curb. They headed north briefly, turned east for three hundred metres and then another left and right brought them onto a main road heading northeast. When they swung onto a highway heading east, they were on track to return to the theatre.

"Is she alive?" ventured Zac, breaking the tension.

"Yes I am...but this stuff is really sticky," complained a muffled voice.

There were squeals of joy then, slapping backs and much hilarity as hands tried to untangle Kate in the confined space between the seats. Zac was exultant.

There was a thump into his shoulder from the girl sitting directly behind him. "What a terrible thing to put us through," stated Ashley in Zac's direction.

"Would you prefer to still be locked up?"

"Well...no..."

"And this is from someone who was complicit with others staging a hanging in front of my eyes?"

"You knew that was a game, virtual reality."

"Sometimes I had my doubts...It was pretty real at the time...Just like this was."

There was a pause. The girl altered course, "Anyway...I guess we owe you thanks...for getting us out."

All of the THEOS3 players were aware that Ashley and Zac had been teammates. And it didn't take a Rhodes Scholar to work out that the emotional tension between the two involved a degree of affection.

"You're welcome." Zac returned. There was a sneaky smile before reverting to a more thoughtful demeanour.

"Why are you in France Ashe? Are you starting a VR game here?"

"We do more than VR. These guys wanted to join this drama group. They spread the good news through allegory in a similar way to the game. We also have social media on the dark web, serial stories, cartoonists and film makers all trying to open people's eyes to the truth..." While he was swivelling his head vertically, acknowledging her comments, Ashley watched him intently.

"What I want to know is...what are you doing here?"

The question stumped Zac momentarily. He had been on his way to Australia. Then, unexpectedly, all his attention had been on this group; and now, he was thinking of Ashley. Was this happenstance or some sort of divine appointment? What were the chances of running into her with all the possible routes he could have chosen? A tendril of suspicion grew like Jack's beanstalk. Had they engineered it?

"I was on my way to Australia...but you knew that didn't you?"

"What do you mean, I knew it?... I knew you wanted to go."

The van was pulling up outside the theatre. A swirling maelstrom of possibilities assaulted his mind. The rescued group were slowly tumbling out of the rear. Zac's mouth dropped open. It dawned on him.

"You knew!" he accused. "This was all a set up. There was no security headquarters there was there?...You staged everything to trick me."

"Why do you say that?" began Ashley somewhat disconcerted.

"That checkpoint guard...He was one of your mob! Why else would he just happen to mention imprisoned Fellowship members?"

There was a stillness that was as harsh as any raucous scream.

"Go on...try and deny it," he baited.

Ashley's face softened. She went into charm mode and a coy smile creased her face.

"I can't deny it... It's true...It was decided that you're too valuable to lose...and...and you seemed so close to joining us...So we pursued you."

"You followed me?"

"It wasn't as hard as you might think. We're very good at it...Zac, we want you to think about what it means to follow Jesus."

"Because I might be useful to your cause?"

"Partly that...but mainly for yourself... It's true, it's right...it's God's will that no one should perish." Her words had an archaic flavour to them.

"I can't believe it...you want me because I'll be an asset to your movement...Well, I'm not playing your game. I'm not going to be tricked into some sort of conversion."

Zac leapt out of the van and slammed the door. He stomped off in the direction of where his car was parked, fuming at the way he had been deceived. Ashley had extricated herself from between the seats and out onto the roadway. She ran after him, distraught.

"Zac...I'm sorry...we were wrong...It's just that...you were so close."

"So...You decided to keep playing games with me. Life isn't a game Ashe!"

Her face blanched as he stepped into his car. Again he slammed the door. He drove off leaving behind a bouquet of bewildered faces standing at the entry in a bedraggled bunch; with one forlorn flower in the midst of the road withering with despair.

***
Chapter 17

Waves churned the shore with rumbles and crashing. The blustery turbulent display of nature was caused by a deepening low pressure vortex in the western Mediterranean. Zac sat on the bed peering out the bedroom window at the foaming sea and flagellating palm leaves. It was a metaphor for his soul. He was in tumult. At a time when he could have repaired the damage to his relationship with Ashley, instead, his wilfulness, his pride, his pig-headedness had driven them farther apart. He had been incensed at being fooled, at being humiliated after rigorously planning a daring rescue, briefly exulting in the audacity of his actions, only to realise it was a non-event. He had been handled, played like a puppet and treated like a Don Quixote charging at windmills.

Inside, somewhere deep within him, a small voice was trying to tell him their motives were pure though their actions were bumbling. Maybe they cared enough to arrange this elaborate, finagling conspiracy. Their desire to win others over to a realm of morality and virtue and divine order by recruiting him, was murmured within as a forgivable possibility. The louder voice, however, was his bruised pride. It raged, it roared. He had carried on his persona of the dashing game leader into the fray and seen himself in a heroic light. He had thought that perhaps he was a real leader; but it was all a sham. A single, fundamental alternative recoiled back on him that maybe he still was that WIMP that had withdrawn into a world of digital gaming to escape the reality of oppression. That acronym— weak ineffectual male person—that was him.

Zac stirred himself into action. There was nothing for it but to complete his journey and hope that things were better in Australia. And even if the tentacles of totalitarian rule had reached the island nation, there were plenty of places to keep out of their way. That was his hope. He would drive to Italy and then work his way through the Balkans into Greece, and then find a ship to board—a ship whose captain would take a hefty bribe. His cover would be of no use when trying to travel by sea, he had no role and there was no explanation as to why he wouldn't go by air; something someone of rank in the secret police could easily do.

***

Dragging his packed gear to the Renault, he pondered what he'd be doing if he hadn't become infuriated. Maybe they'd be heading back to England. He could have coped with that if he'd been able to continue to see Ashley. It would become a theme of his daydreams in the weeks ahead. What if...but you couldn't go back, could you?

In a fit of magnanimity, he drove to the theatre and left a bag of a thousand euros inside. In contrast to the gesture, his note was sardonic, saying that he was compensating them for the money wasted on him. The road was quite empty as he had left early. Because he was travelling via the coast, it took an hour to get to Toulon. That's where he bought fuel, and then he drove two more hours to get to Cannes. By lunchtime he had bypassed Nice and Monaco and crossed the border into Italy.

Approaching San Remo, Zac saw a hitch hiker carrying a similar sized backpack to his own. He took pity on the man and pulled over.

"Do you need a ride?" He spoke slowly, unsure if his words would have any meaning.

"You an Aussie?" the young man replied.

"Uh huh...and you?"

"Kiwi...Yeah, I sure could do with a lift." His distinctive New Zealand accent tempted Zac to rib him with some jibe about what he needed a 'left' for; or maybe he could do with a right as well.

"Get in then...Where're you headin'?"

"Venice...Hope to catch a boat to Alexandria."

"Where to from there?" Zac was curious as to why he was travelling that way. The man smiled.

"Who knows...say, my name's Rick." He reached out a hand. Zac shook it and measured his audience, opting for caution.

"Good to meet you Reck..." He purposely exaggerated the vowel inconsistency. He thumbed into his chest, "Will...So, I'm going through Venice...so, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Only so, so, hey," Rick jested. Zac shot him a pained glare. He was only too aware of his aberration in overusing the word. A cheesy grin was the reaction he got.

"Too soon?" offered Rick flippantly.

"Good grief...this is going to be a long trip," he remarked. Zac shook his head and muttered to himself about wannabe comedians.

Rick was happy for them both to stop at a trucking roadhouse and get something to eat. When he noted that Zac paid in cash he cross examined him.

"How did you know this place was safe to use that?"

"I have a list." His answer didn't say that the dark web was a treasure trove of useful survival information.

"I usually have to ask awkward questions," admitted Rick. "Leads to some close scrapes."

The two were munching on rolls filled with chicken, salad and cheese when the hitch hiker began to ask questions.

"You didn't say where you are going."

"Yes I did.... Venice."

"I meant from there."

"I'd rather not say... It's not important is it?"

"No...I s'pose not. You've got me intrigued, though. How have you managed to travel with a car and no Federation ID?"

"What makes you say I don't have ID?" Zac wiped his mouth with a paper serviette and took a sip of his latte.

"Well...you're paying with euros instead of Federation credit...that's usually a give-away. It means either you don't have an ID or you don't want to be tracked."

"Or both."

There was a lull. It seemed Rick was trying to frame more queries. He scratched his short black hair.

"So how'd you do it?"

The temptation was too much for Zac. He looked around surreptitiously and then peeled back his jacket to reveal the holstered hand gun. Rick went ashen. Only Federation personnel were permitted to carry arms. He glanced about wondering what his chances would be. His hands went to the edge of the table.

"Don't do anything silly," growled Zac. It was enough to relax the young man's flexing muscles.

"I'm in trouble aren't I?" Rick dropped his head.

"Not if you don't do anything silly...I'll drop you in Venice as I said."

Back in the car and winding along the shoreline Rick mustered his courage.

"I take it, you're Federation then? Secret Police?"

Zac continued the pretence. He took out his identity card and flashed it at his passenger.

"It looks genuine doesn't it...but it's a forgery."

"It's fake...you're kidding?"

The two laughed and, after that, shared stories all the way to Genoa.

Continuing on from Genoa, Zac pressed Rick for his travel plans. Egypt was such an unlikely final destination that he raised the subject again.

"So, where to after Egypt."

"Israel." It was said concisely. Yet, to Zac it sounded even more unlikely.

"Israel's under an economic blockade...The Federation have quarantined the country."

"I know."

"How are you getting in and...why would you want to go there?"

"There are ways...I have family in Israel. They have given me information of tunnels under the southern border barriers, ones dug from Israel."

"Okay...Family...That's a good reason."

"And a girl." Rick grinned. "I'd go anywhere for her."

Zac processed what he'd heard before going on.

"So, you have Jewish roots?"

The other pointed to himself. "Isaacson." No more needed to be said.

"Well, I wish you luck. I don't give you much of a chance."

"It's got nothing to do with luck...It's in the Almighty's hands."

"You're a Jew right...so it's got nothing to do with this Fellowship movement does it?"

"Hey...don't knock them...To us Jews it's looking more and more like they got it right."

The remainder of the day was a bit of a blur to Zac. This random passenger had redirected his thoughts to the Gospel of John. As Rick snoozed, excerpts of the narrative from the text were replayed in his head. He was amazed how a few readings had imprinted on him. It was all about Jesus. He was the Word. The people he met were changed forever. Nicodemas, who heard those much quoted words, must have been interviewed by John or told him his story, unless there were other people there. At the end of the book he helped bury Jesus. Then there was Lazarus. He must have had an amazing story. And to think how often Jesus talked about his hour coming. It was meant to happen. That was the plan. As Rick stirred he wondered if there still was a plan.

They passed through a number of cities that sounded like pizza varieties before going through Verona. For Rick, it was the final leg of the trip. Zac asked him several times whether he had anything to do with the Fellowship.

"Why do you keep insisting that I have something to do with that crowd?" he asked.

"They tried to recruit me...They were very sneaky. There was a girl...She was beautiful."

"Ah...I knew it. No wonder you're so melancholy. You're running from a girl...or guilt...or fear, and you can't get her out of your mind, can you?" An idiosyncratic lop-sided grin formed on his face.

"And your talk about the Almighty got me thinking again...about her...about them. It's like a plot."

"Life can be like that where God's concerned."

"So...What do you think? Is it real?"

"I'll tell you what I think...for what it's worth...Remember you asked."

Zac swerved past a car that had a door swing open as they were going by.

The deviation rattled Rick, who briefly forgot what they were talking about.

"Is God real?" he prompted.

"We almost found out," quipped his passenger. Zac reflected on the paradox that he hadn't listened to people known quite well to him, and now was prepared to listen to a point of view from someone he'd met a few hours earlier. Maybe it was because Rick didn't have a vested interest in what he did.

"What was I saying...Oh yeah...The whole thing's a bit of a mystery. Jesus was obviously a historical character...and aspects of the Bible account have been recorded by secular historians. I've researched it! I mean, several references to Jesus and the disciple movement were made by non-believers. There was darkness when he was crucified, earthquakes and people claiming to have seen previously dead people walking around. Then there's the amazing way the Christian movement spread when all these people were willing to die for something they witnessed...I mean, if you know it's a scam you're not putting your life on the line are you?"

"So, miracles?"

"Well, if he's God it's not a problem...He's in charge. The consistent thing is that he didn't do miracles on demand for the religious leaders...he wasn't performing...In fact, according to the story the miracles weren't enough to convince them...and that rings true too...people are sceptical about the supernatural...They don't realise it's natural for God."

The words sounded familiar. The notion that his presence was a set up kept recurring to Zac. How unfortunate was he to find another believer? It was true that believers formed the majority of the dissident group, so perhaps it was not too strange to pick up a radical. Still, Zac was wary.

"So...you're a Christian?"

"Mm...I wouldn't go so far as to say that. I belong to the chosen people. If we've missed the Messiah's first coming, I'm sure as heck not going to miss the second."

"You're virtually saying you believe."

"I guess so."

All too soon for Zac, they arrived in Venice. He had wanted to get a non-partisan perspective of some of the concepts he'd read about. Rick merely said to keep researching. It would all come together. His parting words were, "Don't expect it all to make sense before you believe. It's the doubts that make faith necessary. Zac gave him a few hundred euro as a gift on the assumption that anyone hitching a ride wasn't flush with funds.

***

Being alone in the car gave Zac too much time to think. It was getting late and he wondered if he should risk a stop at a small town instead of his planned hotel stay in Trieste. Not willing to search for a place, he drove on. The plan was, the next day, to cut across Slovenia and then back onto the coast road in Croatia.

It was dark when he arrived at the three star hotel in the south of the city. Having travelled so far without any hassles, he was starting to feel quite pleased with himself. A check of his trading program revealed that funds were being diverted to a trusted fringe finance group in Australian dollars. He would contact his brother through an encrypted channel on how to pick up the regular proceeds of his market trading application.

The orange brick building adjacent to the coast road was not elegant or luxurious but it served his purposes. The staff were discreet and aware than many of their clientele preferred to keep a low profile. Testing the Federation communications on his computer gave no indication that anything untoward was likely to occur. The only thing of note was the announcement of troop deployment to North Africa with fears that a United African army was beginning to reflect the demands of their common parliament that the Federation should withdraw from North Africa altogether. He was amused that reports suggested Fellowship activity was virtually defunct within the borders of the union. It was only in the Americas that religious freedom still held out against growing opposition.

Sleep was becoming a challenge with so many things vying for attention. His thoughts started with Ashley and then went to the book of John. The thread of ideas progressed from the Word—God—being made flesh, then to Rick's statement about mystery as if he knew about the game or about what Andrew, the pastor, had said. He tried to recall. 'Godliness' that's what he said. It was about how Jesus achieved what he did. If he had accepted the proposition to find out more then maybe Ashley would have been more interested in him. How did he get back to thinking of her? That was the last thought he had before the fog of sleep rolled in.

***

As he checked out in the morning, Zac gave the guy at reception a tip. His sour demeanour, his slovenly appearance and his alcohol reddened eyes all declared that he'd given up; he didn't care. Probably a more undeserved tip had never been given, and yet, Zac was impelled to bequeath his largess onto the hapless clerk.

"Non capisco," he uttered, clearly baffled by Zac's generosity.

Zac smiled. "It is a gift...il regalo." He waved jauntily and departed, leaving the unshaven, curly haired young man in a decidedly better mood, flicking through the notes.

He filled at the first service station, purchased a bag of snacks of questionable nutritional value and flirted with the girl at the counter. She had asked his destination. He had replied 'South'.

She cheekily asked if he wanted company as it was far too cold in Trieste. He had said 'Next time', and she retorted that's what all the good looking men say. He savoured the flattery as he left. It made him wonder whether his new brash attitude was attractive to females.

The border of Slovenia was not far and he drove in a buoyant frame of mind. Maybe it was London that had depressed him, the rest of the world seemed to be a jovial place.

He drove sedately along the tree-lined road, watching the glint of the sunrise on the left. It wasn't far to the border but he wasn't in any hurry. Scattered houses and small villages lined the road as he drove on. A short stretch of dappled wood and then another quaint village went by before the road divided ahead of him and he saw the border crossing. His heart missed a beat. He suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. Black uniforms. There were secret police manning the border crossing that was usually open and unattended according to his intel'. His false ID would be of little help here if they saw through it. He could get shot if they found out he was impersonating a colonel. He slipped it out of his pocket, telling himself to be confident. There was a car ahead that was getting searched.

Zac knew he was in trouble. He had a gun, albeit a prop, but a very convincing one. He also had thousands of euros of forbidden currency. What chance did he have of fleeing, of spinning the car around? Very little, when he took into account men standing with automatic machine guns and several cars available should a chase be necessary.

Eventually they waved the driver on. An officer appeared at his window.

"Identita personale?"

"Here it is captain." Zac tried to sound upbeat.

"Ah...English." There was a glimmer of amusement in the man's face. He looked at the ID, then at Zac.

"What are you doing here...We have no instructions about you?"

"Captain...I am under cover...I am following up information about a group...I'm sure you have heard of the Fellowship."

"I will have to get information from headquarters."

"Captain, I insist you let me through." Zac hoped his rank would prevail.

"Forgive me Colonel...But I am under orders to allow no one through without a pass from Central Data...Please get out of the car."

Zac cursed himself for not manipulating a pass through the network. It was a mistake. It may prove fatal. The captain handed the ID to a junior who took it to the low building in the centre of the road. In desperation Zac prayed. He realised it was the second time in a few days. The first time had been panic in what turned out to be a non-event because Ashley had been part of the staged pantomime to convince him to join them.

His neck felt hot. The captain enquired about his travels. He informed him truthfully that he got close to the Fellowship group in Marseilles but the trail had grown cold since then. The officer then remarked on the nice car and that he had always wanted to do undercover work. A glance to the building saw the junior officer hastily exit. His head was shaking.

"Nessuno è conosciuto con quel nome." The man was adamant when questioned. The two looked over at Zac. He tried to remain expressionless as if there was no problem.

"I am afraid we will have to detain you sir."

"There's been a big mistake," alleged Zac, knowing full well that it was he who had made it.

"That may be so...but we have been instructed to hold you. They will get back to us when we find out what they...have found out.

Three men rapidly moved alongside Zac as the captain signalled for them. They led him into the building. He would wait until they heard.

Chapter 18

The old stones of the castle rose majestically in cubic ramparts along the shore of the Mediterranean, south of Trieste. It was not ancient compared to other European citadels; in fact it was relatively new. On another occasion this might have been a delightful tour or a visit to scenic picnic grounds, but now; the castle built for Archduke Ferdinand Maximillian was a bastion and prison for the secret police, and Zac was in custody, manacled and escorted by severe looking guards.

The day had been spent waiting in the office of the border checkpoint. His situation deteriorated in distinct intervals. As each discovery was made during the search of the Renault, questions would follow. 'Where did the uniform come from?' 'What was the replica pistol for?' 'Why was he carrying so much illegal currency and where did he get it?' When reports had arrived of the stolen uniform, late in the afternoon, the captain had him hauled off to their fortress.

After a twenty minute interview with the commander, Zac was shoved and then dragged away to the old barracks, which had been converted into secure holding cells. Forced to put on prison garb, he had been lectured by a junior that uncooperative prisoners didn't survive. He was now sitting on a thinly padded mattress contemplating what lay ahead. In the short interrogation, fear had been their weapon of choice. If he didn't cooperate, did he know he could be shot as a spy? They menaced him with the portent of cruel torture and flogging. It all hinged on whether he gave them the information they wanted. To Zac it was the softening up stage. He was left to ruminate over what they had said.

Could he handle it? For the first time Zac felt that he was out of his depth. He was no longer low profile, staying under the radar. He prayed for the third time. This was an earnest petition for God's intervention. If he was real, Zac was prepared to acknowledge him. All he wanted was to be delivered from this mess. The unspoken words, the implications of his desperate cry rebounded on him. You want a God that suits you, that does your bidding and that only exists when you need him.

It was a tussle between two incongruous theologies. He thought he knew of a god who was so caring so desiring to help his creatures that he was always listening. And there was the god who was in conflict with the benevolent ideal, who was sovereign and required obedience regardless of the cost. How could he know what was true?

For the first time he examined his surroundings. There wasn't much to it. A heavy metal door had a small barred opening at about the head height of a short person—it was at Zac's shoulder height. There was a stainless steel toilet bowl, a sink with tap and the rickety bed he sat on. On both side walls, high up, there was a small metal slat vent. The ceiling had a light recessed behind a metal grid. There was no doubt it was secure. The back and side stone walls were also decorated with a variety of written messages.

Sleeping that night was almost impossible. He was wondering again what he had missed by rejecting the invitation at the end of the game. He was thinking about his indignation at being pursued by the Fellowship and then realising they were trying to give him a second chance. The allusion that was portrayed by Eli Benn, that Jesus had given himself to save mankind, bored into him. Everything that the gospel of John had described about Jesus revealed an impeccable character and yet somehow he had sided with the self-righteous religious set of the new testament. Why? He wanted to avoid the obvious conclusion. In addition to his spiritual turmoil, he was anxiously dreading what hardships might be ahead. If they did execute him would it be quick? Was he ready?

He tossed and turned. The bed was lumpy, the wire mesh squeaked and the yellow glow of the security lights all conspired to keep him awake. In the soft illumination he saw some of the neatly scrawled writing on the wall. Was it some message penned in Italian, of poetic import maybe, or perhaps of despairing confession by a previous inmate? It was unintelligible to him. He wondered what he would write if he had a last message. Perhaps he would say, 'don't say no'. Or, he could write something equally inscrutable like 'God, great is the mystery.'

***

The next day the inquisition began. Major Taranto introduced himself, spoke civilly, with rounded English enunciation and coaxed him to tell of his travels, of his plans and of his connection with the Fellowship. It would all work out, he was told, if he made a clean breast of it. He said the alternative didn't bear thinking about.

Zac had isolated two things that he would share. The first; that he was a home sick Australian making his way back to Australia, and the second that he hadn't joined any group in opposition to the Federation. It soon became obvious that Taranto's mild mannered introduction was only an interrogation tactic. When Zac didn't divulge his real name, his English address or his involvement with Fellowship groups the major became nasty. It started with a few slaps on his face, hitting him on the head with his Bible as proof they knew he supported the religious fanatics, and rubbing his nose in wads of cash found in his car.

The questions went through a monotonous sequence as if they thought to wear him down.

"Where did you get the money from?" The secret police major waited. He had a junior strike Zac's face.

"What do you know of the black economy?" Another belt, this time across the ears.

"Why did you steal the uniform?... What is your computer password?" Two blows to his stomach were unexpected and winded him.

"You call yourself Will Durham. Several links to that name have no relation to you. What is your real name?" When no answer was forthcoming the junior readied to punch again.

The major held up his hand. "That will not be necessary Enyo. We will take him down and soften him up a bit. When the pain wracks his body, he will beg to tell us all.

Zac was led down steps. They removed the shirt off his back and had his hands tied to a ring as he faced a stone wall. A big man toting a long cane stood astride behind him. The first whack was a shock but it took seconds before he felt the pain. The second and third strokes brought gasps from him. He clenched his mouth and pressed his lips together. Each subsequent thrashing added to the pain. Soon he was in agony, yet still the beating continued. His eyes were squeezed shut. His body began to shake uncontrollably. He silently begged for deliverance as the cane struck him over and over.

Somewhere around sixty lashes, Zac passed out. His back was shredded with bleeding welts. He was dragged to his cell and thrown, face down, onto his bed. It was hours later that he woke to the excruciating throbbing caused by his wounds and bruising. He vomited and started shaking again. Hardly ably to move off the bed he gingerly reached for a cup and managed to half fill it from the faucet. He flushed the acerbic taste from his mouth. His dry cracking lips and parched throat could barely manage the dribble of quenching liquid without stinging and choking.

Zac spent all night on his stomach. His thoughts crossed from delirium to lucid memories of Ashley and the others in the game. One thing returned. It was his choice to accept or reject Jesus. Even if he had been chosen, as he had been for the game, it was still his choice. It was a contradiction more certain than anything he had known.

In the morning he worried about another beating. He was sure he would start wishing for death, but he hadn't chosen yet. By the afternoon Zac was hopeful they had forgotten about him. Crusty scabs had formed on his back. Moving was painful but the throbbing had eased. He managed to eat some of a broth delivered in the evening. He had witnessed the simulated death throes of Eli Benn and pondered on the agony that Jesus must have endured, having been whipped and beaten and then crucified.

The next morning brought hope. Perhaps they had given up on him. The hope was soon shattered. Syncopated footsteps thudded on the stone stairs. Guards came and roughly manhandled him back into the interrogation room. The major was waiting and, when Zac was seated, the officer dressed in black repeated his questioning routine. Encouraging, cajoling words soon devolved into snarling rage. Taranto ranted when Zac remained silent. The major struck him several times in anger.

"We know you came from London. You used the name Will Durham. Why doesn't photo recognition determine who you are?"

Zac still said nothing. He was pleased with the fact that his efforts to become anonymous, his accessing data bases and erasing any record of him, had been effective. A crunch to the side of his head disoriented him. Sprites of luminescent dots danced before his eyes.

"Give him a hundred lashes," demanded the incensed major.

"A hundred...it kill im sir." The response was imprudent, motivated by a desire to evade being accused of losing a valuable asset.

"Fai come dico." The words were growled. He was insisting on obedience.

"Si." The guard nodded his head submissively.

The walk down stairs filled Zac with dread. He pleaded with the mysterious deity to intervene, to demonstrate the love he was renowned for. Knowing what was coming added to his grief. The blows stung, then seared his back, igniting trembling spasms of uncontrolled suffering. He blacked out soon after being flayed fifty times. His tormentor desisted. There was no reason to flog an insensate victim.

When he awoke in the middle of the night, he writhed in agony. The blood had congealed on the wounds and trickled down his sides onto the bedding. Traumatised, he again slipped into unconsciousness. Hallucinations of illogical, nightmarish video games had him shuddering in trepidation. For some time Zac was heedless of when and where, all he knew was the pain that consumed him.

A few days later, the brutal sadistic beating resumed. He was so weak from the pummelling his body had received that unconsciousness came quickly. They would get nothing from him in his present condition. So frail was he that death might easily claim him.

Zac finally came to mid-afternoon of the next day. He was in the infirmary. A more senior officer had deemed it unwise to murder an inmate that might be tricked into revealing his contacts. The major had been told, in no uncertain terms, that he should have progressed out of the archaic tactics of brutalising the inmates to outsmarting them. The colonel outlined a plan that involved allowing the inmate to escape and tracking him to his destination.

***

It took a week in the infirmary before Zac had recovered sufficiently to be returned to his cell. The hospital wards had been a sanctuary. Doctors and nurses were career carers. There was a desire, on their part, to show compassion to promote healing; but it didn't extend to defying the demands of the police to return him to prison when he was well enough. It was done with fearful resignation.

Zac, for his part, was terrorised by the thought that his torture would soon resume. He began to pray for his death. But the second day back in his cell he heard a prisoner being deposited in the room alongside his. The new detainee objected to the rough handling. The voice sounded familiar. A small air vent in the stonework connected the two confined spaces. Zac waited until the guards had gone. He dragged his bunk over toward the wall and stood on it. Then he leaned close and spoke toward the grate.

"Is that you Rick?"

"Yes...Who's that?" he asked warily.

"It's Will...I gave you a lift to Venice...How did you get caught?"

"Will?...so you didn't make it either?" He sighed. "There was a random papers check on the boat. And there was nowhere to hide."

Rick explained that, being a tourist cruise, his ship had headed for Trieste. He had been off-loaded to the local black-uniforms. That was why he was there in the cell. Zac tried to get his head around the time lag.

"But you were leaving over a week ago."

"I escaped custody...I've been nipping in and out of places...The last place, a service station. I think the girl there ratted on me."

"Were you near Lacotisce?"

"Yeah...why?"

"I think the same girl informed on me too."

"We're suckers for a cute face," surmised Rick, then he appended, "...probably on the payroll."

There was a brief interlude while Zac heard his fellow prisoner shuffle the furniture so he could speak more discreetly. Rick's next words were quietly spoken.

"How long have you been here then?"

Zac replied, "Nine...no, ten days...no, you know...I've lost count."

"They treat you all right? I mean...you were impersonating a secret police officer. They don't usually take too kindly to that."

There was no answer. Zac was still aching and felt the rows of scabs on his back.

"Will...are you okay?"

"I'm still alive...and you're right, they could have shot me the first night. Apparently, I've got a lot of secret stuff they want to know."

"So lots of interrogation?"

"Uh huh."

"Were they rough?"

"Let's say...there were times I wish they had shot me." The moment he said it, Zac regretted giving a sob story. He knew many people had been treated far worse than he and perished from the violence.

"I guess I have something to look forward to then," was the almost inaudible summation.

Zac began to feel light headed, steadying himself as he swayed.

"I need to lie down Rick...I'm a bit dizzy...I'll tap the vent if I want to talk again."

"Okay...no problems.

***

It was sometime later when Zac awoke to hear Rick being returned to the cell that he feared the worst. There was no reply from his recent acquaintance for over an hour. When he finally did hear from him, Rick groaned in pain. At his query about Rick's condition, the answer was muffled. He was still lying on his bed. Zac got him to say again while he pressed his ear against the vent.

"They like hitting defenceless people," he croaked.

"They use the cane on you?" asked Zac.

"Is that what they did to you?" When he got no reply he said, "They did a lot of punching...I don't think I'd like to be caned." His voice was feeble and strained.

Wanting to distract him from the torment they were enduring, Zac went on a tangent.

"Do you understand Italian?"

"Why do ask?"

"There's some writing on the wall here. Maybe you can tell me what it says...Can you read Italian?"

"I'm reasonably good," returned Rick.

"Okay...I'll spell out the letters of each word and you can tell me what it says."

"I'll do my best."

Zac read, 'Tutti, senza, distinzione, sono dei peccatori senza la gloria di Dio,...' Zac had gotten half way when Rick stopped him.

"It's a verse of scripture...from Romans...I can quote it if you want."

"You are a Christian." The words came out as if he had caught Rick out for duplicity.

"I told you no...I'm a Jew...Some people call us Messianic Jews...We believe pretty much what Christians believe though." Zac continued spelling it out, then Rick recited the passage back. "'Tutti, senza, distinzione, sono dei peccatori senza la gloria di Dio, ma possono essere resi giusti gratuitamente, per dono di Dio, mediante la redenzione, che troviamo soltanto in Gesù Cristo."

"You're a New Zealand Jew who speaks Italian?"

"I had a job in Italy...One of the requirements was being fluent in the local language."

"So...what does it mean?"

Rick translated. "...for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus..."

The words percolated through Zac's mind. He remembered the book of John saying God gave and, now, here it was again, 'his grace as a gift.'

"I need you to tell me what to do." His voice was submissive. He was ready to surrender. He certainly was no longer winning the battle. Did God make this happen?

Rick set about telling Zac that nobody measured up...that everybody needed the gift that God offered—His Son, taking the wrong, the evil, the shortcomings of all onto himself on the cross.

"It's a mystery...how, but we believe he did," Rick hesitated. "But we are justified...that's made right in God's eyes...In a way, God sees in us the perfection of Christ when we believe and accept Him as our life leader."

Zac was incredulous. He had heard similar things before and hadn't trusted what was said. He still thought there must be some sort of gimmick to lure you in. There had to be more to it.

"You're saying all you have to do is believe?"

"In a way...yes...but it's how you believe. Can you imagine looking into the eyes of someone being punished and killed in your place, because of things you did wrong so that you could go free? Would you be grateful?...That's what Jesus did...He died on a cross. When you believe, he expects you to be sorry for what you've done, for how you've lived and for your pride...and then live with his plan for your life in mind."

"I can imagine," was Zac's muted reply still lingered on that past event. He thought of the game, of Eli Benn; that was the allegory.

"You know, Rick, you sound like a Christian."

"Yeah, Messiah means Christ...but for us, in a way, it's a second chance...so I prefer Messianic Jew."

He mulled over all he'd heard, all he'd read, and remembered that Jesus promised his disciples the road would be hard. The positive was that it ended well. There was also some stuff about a comforter. He would ask Rick. He leaned against the grate and spoke softly. There was no reply. Listening carefully, he heard the ragged, heavy breathing that battered bodies and exhaustion can produce. The answers would have to wait until tomorrow.

***

Three days passed. Rick was badly treated but they left Zac alone. The next morning guards roused him up early and made him dress in his own clothes. When asked why, a junior officer sneered, in halting English, that they executed spies in their own clothes. He broke into a cold sweat. Fear took a grip of him and he shivered and shook uncontrollably. Taken before the colonel he heard the list of charges. Nothing really registered apart from impersonating an officer. He was marched outside the enclosed battlements to the back of the castle and made to stand with his back to the rear wall. He faced half a dozen armed men. His hands were tied behind him and a black blindfold was tied to his head.

Quivering and shaking he awaited the command. His prayers were desperate now. He begged God to forgive him. He said sorry for every misdemeanour and bad attitude and wilful posture he could think of. With tear filled eyes he heard a volley of shots. He felt nothing. Was the journey to Paradise that painless? Several more sporadic shots rang out. Then hands grabbed him and tore off his blindfold; they released his hands and told him to run before reinforcements came out of the old fortress.

Zac ran. At first he fled along the shore as fast as he could go. Then panting and heaving, because of his weakened condition, he worked his way south into the outskirts of the town. Then crossing the highway and moving west instead of south, he sought to avoid the dockyards north of the city. Zac cautiously clambered across a railway line, entered a treed area between residences and staggered into a park. He was panting, gasping for air.

Maybe it was because he was a game player who examined the motives of other players or maybe it was his sense of the ridiculous. But as he regained his breath he contemplated. Something was wrong. His rescuers sent him running. Why? If you save someone from a firing squad, why wouldn't you help him find a hideout, get to safety and do the job properly? Immediately his suspicions were aroused. Zac dragged off his rugby top. Examining the collar closely, he found a minute tracking device, and then another. Running the material through his fingers located another two. Being out of sight amongst the shrubbery, he still thought twice before removing his jeans and inspecting them with equal vigilance. The process was painstaking. He had to be meticulous to ensure every device was removed. And even then he couldn't be certain. When he had ten, he decided a new set of clothes would be the safest course to take. He assumed that because the devices were so tiny they were interlinked. When one was almost out of battery power it turned on the next in the chain. There might have been some redundancy but that many suggested they were willing to follow for a long time.

He now knew the whole thing had been a ruse. They were planning to track him to some imagined Fellowship rendezvous. A smile stole onto his face as he conjured up how he could use that knowledge. He would send them on a wild goose chase. With the bugs in his hand he climbed steeply uphill toward the east till he reached the green zone of parklands inland from the city. Zac followed a meandering road for three kilometres before heading west to the centre of town.

Near a supermarket he spotted a taxi rank. Two drivers were standing nearby deep in conversation. He was adept enough as he walked past on the road side to deposit his handful of bugs in the windscreen channel of the taxi. One driver turned to check his car and Zac smiled giving him a cursory greeting salute. Walking away casually, he crossed the road and entered the supermarket. Short of stealing clothes and taking the risk of being caught, Zac couldn't conceive of a way to get a new outfit.

His alternate plan was crude and only effective if he was thorough in his treatment of the clothes. He found a smooth rock from an ornamental garden and went into the shopping centre washroom. There he removed items of clothes and pounded them bit by bit with the faint possibility that he'd missed a tracking device or two. None showed up and he was fairly confident that if there had been any he would have crushed them.

Getting dressed again, his thoughts now turned to Rick. He would try and help him escape. He was the only person he could trust, and, perhaps, together they could manage to get away. He would find some food and shelter for the night and then tackle this next problem after resting his weary, battered self.

His body was still a mass of aches and healing wounds but the implication that beyond this finite there was a sovereign infinite was becoming more plausible. It was a salve for his soul that despite his indiscretions, deliverance was on offer. The words '...he that believes is not condemned...' revisited and lingered in his mind. And he was coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't a ticket for an easy ride. More likely, it was a pathway of trials and suffering in this present reality. That was the message. This present was like the virtual. It was like a shadow, Andrew had said. Was that the gift of Jesus—a gift of suffering, a gift of his life to secure a greater reality? It had seemed a silly idea to him at first. But there was a noble purity in the sacrifice of Jesus that he hadn't appreciated until he witnessed the virtual allegory seen in Eli Benn. He wasn't sure what to do with that realisation. If God was God and he was beyond human manipulation then the notion that he interceded on behalf of man was a mystery. He shook himself from his deliberations.

Zac made his way to an outdoor market. There were plenty of customers milling about. All the fresh food and smells of cooking made him realise how hungry he was. One stall selling coffee had a queue ten deep. A dark haired girl with a bandana was struggling to keep up. He moved to the side as she scuttled about.

"Do you want help?"

She looked up, harassed as she was the words clearly echoed what she was thinking.

"What...you do?" She looked at the somewhat bruised individual, curious as to his motives.

"I'm a barista." He pointed to himself. "I can make the coffees while you serve the customers."

"What...you want?" Her look was doubtful. She almost overfilled the cup she was working on.

"Something to eat when I've finished?" The upward inflexion and raised eyebrows communicated his hope.

"Si...yes...you help." She pulled back the swinging door. "Sonia is not here."

Zac quickly recognised the machine and was grateful it was one he was familiar with. He tried to remember all he'd learned about Italian coffees and surprised himself when it all came back to him. A caffe` was an expresso, a cappuccino was the usual, a macchiato was a combination of expresso and cappuccino and there were marrochinos, café lattes and also a couple of local brews he would have to ask about.

His deft handling of the machine and rapid production of coffees impressed the young girl. Within ten minutes the queue had reduced and more customers were attracted by the rapid service. After half an hour, the girl brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, had a moment's respite from serving and introduced herself.

"I...am Maria." She stretched out her hand.

"Will," he replied pointing to himself before he wiped the machine clear, readying it for some more brewing and then took her hand in a gentle shake. Two more people arrived at the stall and as Maria took their orders, Zac filled the grinder with more beans.

It wasn't till four that the stalls started closing and Zac and Maria cleaned up and packed the remaining pastries in a basket. Zac had eaten several churros and was sitting on a stool feeling worn out and sore. He had explained as the afternoon had progressed that his car and possessions had been taken from him and he'd been beaten. Maria was full of sympathy and expressed her gratitude for his help. Her takings were double their usual level so she said she at least owed him a meal.

She drove them back north a kilometre and a half to a group of high rise apartments. Hers was on the second floor. Inside she read a note and said some rather harsh sounding words in Italian.

"Is there a problem?"

"My sister...Sonia...She has gone to Rome with Marco...her boy...friend. She leave me alone with the café."

"That is difficult for you." Maria understood the gist of what he was saying when her eyes widened.

"You help...domani...er...tomorrow?...I give food...credito."

"Maria...I...I don't have Federation credit card...no identity card."

Realisation came to her. "Ribelli..." She pointed as indication rather than accusation. "I help...you...you help Maria?"

It wasn't the solution he had in mind but it was a way to survive at present.

"Grazie..." he answered awkwardly. "A few days only...I have to go to Australia. It was his ultimate goal but he wasn't going to detail what he hoped to do beforehand.

Maria readily agreed and started making a pasta dish garnished with some greens from her fridge. She instructed him that he was to sleep on the sofa and the next day they would buy clothes at the market for him.

Following the meal, she probed as to the nature of the cause of his rebellion. He mentioned that the fellowship was one of the reasons.

"Ah...Cristiano...I too go church before...federazione."

"Not now?"

"Dangerous now."

"I think supporting the federation is more dangerous...no freedom and a web of lies."

"Si...you take me to Australie?"

"Maria...going to Australia is not an easy thing...and...and I have to release a friend from the secret police in the castle first."

The girl went goggle eyed, her mouth gaped open. "You...you resistenza?"

It took some time for Zac to tell his story. To recall the hardships and the brutal treatment. Instead of dissuading her, the girl was more enamoured by him and his quest. She was fully on board.

"There is no thing for me in Trieste...not café alone."

Unable to discourage her, Zac asked Maria if she had a computer. He was pleased that she had a relatively new device. After switching it to English he scoured the dark web for local contacts. The first thing he did was find an affordable money exchanger to funnel some of his considerable cryptocurrency profits. It was clear the pressure of illegal operations was driving the price higher and higher. It was only the nuanced algorithms of his app that managed to buy bitcoins every substantial dip and sell them at a peak that enabled him to make a steady profit. When that was done, he examined mapping apps for the regions around the castle. He had to have a good exit strategy and some backup plans.

Maria provided a sleeping bag for Zac and went out briefly to a local shop to purchase some pyjamas despite his protests. She argued that his clothes needed a wash. The odour they emitted and the smudges due to beating them with a stone attested to the truth of her statement. Zac showered and worsened the state of his lacerated back by loosening some of the scabs. He tried to dry the weeping sores before putting on his new pyjama top. Maria, after seeing his bloodstained undershirt demanded that she treat his wounds. The state of his injuries, though largely healed, sickened her. She tenderly daubed the wounds with antiseptic cream and dressed them with gauze and bandages. Her resolve to ally herself to him firmed.
Chapter 19

Coffees and clothes and cryptocurrency to cash were all sorted over the next three days. Zac was considering obtaining another car when news came that the Federation had commenced offensives against the African Union. Smaller bases like the castle fortress were to be disbanded to move to larger, more central units. Zac decided that he had to act. A Hyundai was purchased from a black market dealer accredited by numerous satisfied customers. Maria and Zac packed the vehicle with all they thought they'd need for the journey to Athens.

Over the three days, evenings were spent studying the movements in and out of the fortress. He recalled the strategies used in some of the game sessions. This was more dreadful, more menacing and the consequences, if caught, more horrible than any virtual simulation, yet the principles were the same. Zac had prepared diligently to try to be careful to address every eventuality. His body had healed sufficiently for him to have some confidence in being able to carry out the plan. Maria was prepared to play a part. It was something he was reluctant about but she insisted that he couldn't do it all by himself.

It was the nature of the fortress that gave Zac hope. It didn't have outer walls; rather, it had a broad pillared main entry and a small rear entry for supply vehicles and services. In essence, it was a castle that only offered those two entry points and no windows below the first floor. Having been a residence and tourist attraction, park trees had been allowed to grow alongside the wall in various places. Zac had identified one of these trees as his access point to a first-floor window. From there he would work his way to the rear, use the key that hung on the wall outside the cells and take Rick to the rear entry where Maria would be making a delivery of leftover pastries as a parting gift to the barracks. That was the plan.

***

The night was cool. A sea breeze rustled the tree leaves. Zac had scrambled along the shoreline, over rocks being splashed by small waves. In a more peaceful era, he might have appreciated the first quarter moon sending shimmering glimmers of moonlight off the water and the ragged silhouetted clouds scudding past. Instead, he crawled low against the stone walkway of the old harbour. Twice he froze, like a praying mantis feigning invisibility from its prey, waiting for patrolling guards to pass on. The men were relaxed, inattentive, accustomed to the uneventful routine of guard duty. Slowly, Zac made his way to the tall, turreted tower facing the bay. It was there a large elm spread its branches high up to the first level. He hoped the patrol circuit was consistent with his observations.

He waited. Uncomfortable, aching, he was crouched behind the stone wall that abutted the stone wharf. The cadence of marching steps was irregular and described the casual attitudes rather than disciplined vigilance. Zac primed his muscles. As the two men disappeared from view, he leapt over the wall, landing softly on his sneaker clad feet. He scampered to the tree. The ascent had been rehearsed. Hanging from a low branch that was head high, he swung both legs and wrapped them around. By worming himself outward and higher he came to a fork in the branch that allowed him to hoist himself between the two limbs.

The stress on his inflamed, injured back was more than he had anticipated and Zac spent precious time recovering from the pain and regaining his breath. He clenched his teeth as he resumed. From there he climbed the large, well-spaced limbs up toward the ledge of the nearest arched window on the first floor. Here the branches were flimsier, and he became conscious that the give under his weight made the ledge almost unreachable.

With desperate effort and knifing twinges slashing across his still tender wounds, Zac stretched his hands over the ledge of the enclosing parapet. A snapping twig made him hang motionless, trying to gauge whether it had been noticed. As the strain on his arms compounded, he scrabbled with his feet to gain a purchase on the wall. Resistance from a small knoll and a slight rut in the stonework was enough to thrust him to his armpits. From there he levered one leg over and it was quickly followed by the other.

A sticky sensation on his back suggested renewed tears to his healing skin. He panted breathily, keeping his mouth near his chest to dampen the sound. There was no time to waste. He had to keep moving, otherwise Maria would be trying to delay her departure with vacuous chatter and charm. Zac extracted the glass cutting tool from his small backpack. Attaching a hand-sized suction cup on the glass he hastily scored the window in a circular motion. The harsh scratching sound made him shiver involuntarily. Tugging on the shaft attached to the suction cup did nothing. He leaned on it and tapped the glass with the handle of the tool. The circle of glass popped out instantly. Reaching in with his arm, he disengaged the catch and eased the squeaky window open.

With measured alacrity, Zac descended the steps in the tower. He went down to the dank cellar level. An eruption of loud laughter struck him rigid. Surely they were nearby to the corner. He edged along the stone wall, pressing close. A short peek revealed an empty corridor. Another burst of laughter caused him to take more careful look. A half open door to his left showed a card game in action. The brightly lit room in contrast to the dim corridor was in his favour. He would be a shadow passing by. Would they notice? Would they query him if they did? "Just move," he silently scolded himself. He padded past, holding his breath.

The lengthy passage had several connecting rooms including the much hated torture room where he was repeatedly caned, a communications room and the original wine cellar. Zac navigated the remaining length without difficulty. He became excessively cautious, ascending the stairwell that led to the rear cells. It was there that traffic would be irregular as spot, night-time checks had been unpredictable when he had been locked up.

Step by step he climbed, listening and looking for any sign of guard activity. He poked his head around the corner at the top of the stairs. A small yellow light illuminated the passage accessing the cells. The key was on a hook next to the entry door. He tip-toed to the cell previously occupied by Rick. Looking into the gloomy cell through the small, square barred window, he waited for his eyes to adjust. A lump under a thin blanket suggested Rick was still there. Now was the time for action.

Scooting back, he grabbed the large key and fitted it into the heavy oaken door. The loud click of the old mechanism made him jumpy. Quickly, he went to the sleeping prisoner. Rick groaned as Zac tried to awaken him. He was in a bad way. Zac had to coax him to sit. He gave him some water and spoke softly but continuously.

"I've come to get you out of here...You're going to have to walk...I can't carry you...You have to help me get you out...Rick...We have to go now."

Rick looked glassy eyed. There was understanding but whether he had the ability to move himself was doubtful.

"Can you get up?" he urged.

The battered captive nodded his head. A husky yes followed. He swayed uncertainly to his feet and Zac reached out to steady him. If they had to dash for it they were in trouble.

Together they moved to the opening. From there they shuffled to the far side of the row of cells which linked to the kitchen and food storage areas. Anxiously, Zac leaned Rick against the wall and opened the door. It was quiet but he felt better if a quick reconnaissance was made. A few paces into the corridor that gave access to all the food catering facilities and eventually the rear exit and suddenly Zac was king hit to the side of the head. Pervasive blackness swallowed him up.

***

Events of real life drama rarely proceed as they are planned. The lateness of the hour and the thorough recording of patrol routines had reduced, greatly, the probability of discovery, but there was no way that Zac could have anticipated another rescue attempt on the same night by a far more proficient group—a squad of Israeli commandos. There were a number of things that Zac had not been aware of. Among the things he didn't know was that Rick's real name was Reuben. Secondly, he was an Israeli spy. Also, he possessed a device by which his handlers were informed that he was in trouble and it told them his location.

While Zac had been scaling the tree and breaking into the castle, eight commandos had been deposited on the shore from rubber dinghies that were promptly rowed to a small sheltered cove farther north. And as Zac was creeping along the lowest passage and Maria was chatting happily with the supplies officer, informing him she was closing her business and would he accept her gift of pastries. The highly trained band of men were readying themselves for a stealthy entry to the same rear entry. Once assured that they were ready to proceed, a message was sent to the dinghies to take up positions for a rapid departure. One of the commandos, speaking fluent Italian, asked for entry. The guard, annoyed that his usually quiet night duty was demanding his answering the door, was unprepared for the smashing cudgel to the temple. He dropped like a deadweight.

Zac had opened the door at the exact instant as the lead commando arrived. Instinctively, with a straight arm jab, the soldier clouted Zac as his head appeared, leaving the hapless, would-be, rescuer unconscious and sprawled on the floor. A few steps further on and the Israelis found their compatriot propped up against the wall. Two supported him as they left but Reuben insisted that they collect his friend 'Will' as he had also come to rescue. The men obliged and were carrying him out when Maria exclaimed "Will!" at seeing his body being hoisted on the shoulders of one of the commandos. At Reuben's direction, she also joined the exodus to some wry comments about an odd recruitment drive, and, should they order another submarine.

Hastily, the eight commandos and three escapees were hustled into the dinghies and taken to the submarine waiting offshore. Maria was shushed on several occasions as she tried to fathom her situation and destination. It wasn't until they were on board and submerged that she gave them a tongue lashing for the way Zac had been treated. She told of horrendous beatings he'd received and how his wounds were still healing.

***

In the infirmary, a doctor was treating Zac's freshly broken skin when Maria came in to visit. He was still unconscious. She gasped in distress as she saw Reuben lying on his stomach nearby with red raw lacerations covering his back.

"Oh...spiacente...er sorry...I did not know."

"No...no...You shouldn't be sorry...You did a very brave thing...I owe you thanks." He looked appreciatively at the girl. "How did you get tied up with Will?"

"Tied?"

"Why were you...with Will?" It was a struggle to avoid idioms to express a supportive relationship.

"O...I help him...he help me." She went to explain further. "He have no food, no money...no clothes...I help."

"No clothes!" Reuben's jocular repetition flustered the girl. She blushed.

"He...he was dirty...sick...I wash clothes...buy new clothes."

The Israeli laughed at her awkwardness. Then he flinched and moaned as sensitive, damaged flesh tensed from the humorous response.

One of the commandos joined them. It was clear he knew Reuben. The two chatted briefly in Hebrew while Maria stood uneasily, seeing the doctor redo the dressing on Zac. The doctor then requested they leave so he could fully examine Reuben. The commando eyed Maria, gave a broad smile and introduced himself.

"I am Amos." It came across with a thick Semitic accent. She smiled bashfully.

"Maria," she allowed hesitantly.

"Let me show you around the submarine, Maria," he enunciated her name with an imitated trill.

Words were penetrating into Zac's thinking as he became mindful of his prostrate position and the subtle vibration of motors. Eyes were still unwilling to cooperate with his suggestion that he open them when a fading, vaguely familiar, voice could be heard, "Where we go? You tell me? We have all things in car..."

His head hurt. His back ached, and he had no idea what had happened. It was a struggle to even piece together his final last conscious moments. Zac's eyelids finally responded. The glare made him blink. There, lying on the other table was 'Rick'. He was grinning and watching closely. A scan around revealed a medic of some sort treating him and they were in some sort of sickbay, maybe even hospital.

"You're awake. Looks like you're the victim of one too many rescue attempts."

"Rick...Where are we?"

"Well...we're under water at present...and on our way to the Promised Land."

"Promised Land?" It took a second to register.

Zac's voice was dry and raspy. He tried to raise himself up but his arms felt like jelly. The doctor turned, found a cup nearby and gave him some water; he lifted his chin and dribbled some into his mouth.

"What happened?"

Reuben proceeded to give Zac an abridged version of events. He was required to provide a reason why Israeli commandos would stage a rescue mission. His story included revealing his true name and the possibility that he had a role with the Israeli government. The inference didn't escape Zac.

Zac's questions then mirrored what Maria had been asking. Reuben outlined what lay ahead. It was difficult for the young Australian to digest.

"What am I going to do in Israel? I was hoping to get to Australia."

"Look at it this way..." said the other, now sitting up and bound with crepe bandages. "In Israel you are free. We are self-sufficient and welcome all who flee the despotic Federation regime."

"You're under blockade...The world is against you...Any wonder it's only Jewish refugees who are trying to get in."

"I wouldn't say that. There are many Christians who have sought asylum within our borders."

Zac remained lying down, feeling week, and pondering his options. The Jewish state, though tiny, was still a significant obstacle to the Federation's expansion. It was able to survive the blockade because its innovative science and industry produced all its energy, water and food. Of greater concern to its adversaries was its nuclear capability. Like a cornered wildcat, the country would lash out with everything it had if it was attacked by a more powerful foe.

He relented. "Maybe I could stay for a little while, earn a bit of cash and then make my own way back home."

"You realise Israeli currency is not accepted anywhere else?"

"I was thinking of black market euros."

Reuben's head tilted. A lop-sided grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. He was intrigued.

***

The doctor said he probably had concussion. It wasn't from the strike to the side of the head, though that wouldn't have helped. More likely, it was from where his forehead had hit the stone floor. He had been sick twice. There was nothing left in his stomach. His head pounded now. He had been visited in the sick bay by Reuben, by Maria and, apologetically, by the commando leader, Moshe, who explained several times that their training emphasised instant reactions.

For the first time Zac had concluded that if God was real, he was there. That he was in need of God in his life. If only his head didn't hurt so much, he might be able to construct some acceptable admission of guilt. He couldn't think clearly. Stabbing pulses of unbearable pain made his face contort and involuntary cries escaped his lips. Bouts of delirium overtook Zac. Occasionally in more lucid moments he was aware of the two medical officers hovering over him.

On the third day of their voyage to Israel, before Zac had lapsed into a coma caused by bleeding on his brain, he had said in his delirium, plainly, "Great is the mystery." Reuben had been there. He left and came back with a Bible. He read from it: "Great indeed, we confess, is the mystery of godliness: He was manifested in the flesh, vindicated by the Spirit, seen by angels, proclaimed among the nations, believed on in the world, taken up in glory."

Zac whispered, "Eli Benn, Son of God."

"Why is that important to you?" asked Reuben.

There was no answer. Zac was insentient, unresponsive.

Chapter 20

A sanitised smell and pastel colours were the first things that Zac noted as he awoke three days later. The curtain, the monitors and the bed itself spoke more descriptively than any words that he was in a hospital ward. His head was bandaged but the agonising compression he had endured, when last he was conscious, was gone. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. Trying to recall where he could be also eluded him. He lay and tried to organise his last memories. Italy, Maria, Rick, and rescue all slowly solidified from some amorphous blob of thoughts. Then corrections filtered through. His rescue was interrupted, Rick was Reuben and he had been on a submarine.

When the doctor came in, Zac had worked himself into a sitting position. Seeing that he was awake, the doctor spoke to a nurse to run through his vital signs. His words were that mixture of grating guttural and lilting vowels that typified the Hebrew tongue. The nurse spoke comfortingly, knowing he had endured severe beatings and a near death experience.

"How are you feeling now Will?" The accent was American.

"A bit woozy...How long have I been out?"

"Several days...You're bound to feel the after affects for a while." She wrote down his temperature. Her dark eyes, dark hair and honey complexion spoke of Middle Eastern genes. She was kind, efficient and not unattractive. He watched her as she took his blood pressure.

"I take it you're Australian, Will...What's your second name by the way?" She had returned to the chart.

"Gould...and my name's not Will, it's Zac."

"Oh...Well, that's a good Jewish name." She smiled and her face lit up.

"You sound American," he stated.

"Mm...I was raised in the US...kept my Israeli citizenship, and so then I had to do military service. After two years of army service I decided to stay. Married an engineer and finished my nursing degree."

The doctor cut off their conversation as he came in with scan images and cleared his throat.

"Well...you are a very lucky man. We caught your brain haemorrhage just in time." Though correct English, the sound was a conglomeration of indefinable language origins.

"You operated?" Zac's hand went to his head.

"Had to...pressure on your brain had put you in a coma." His cavalier approach didn't seem to fit Zac's view of a brain surgeon. Surely they should be restrained, undemonstrative and conservative, judiciously weighing every step.

"The procedure had an almost immediate effect. If you weren't under you probably would have sat up."

"Thank you doctor." He didn't know what else to say.

"Don't need to thank me. It's my job...You know, I spent some time in Melbourne as part of professional exchange," he diverged.

The interchange between the two encompassed places familiar to both, how accents are affected by sojourns in foreign climes and concluded with the crisis facing Israel due to international threats. The surgeon was launching into his Israel-can-defend-itself spiel when Reuben came in with Maria and Amos, his commando friend. The doctor excused himself as the visitors renewed acquaintanceship with tales of his near demise and became familiar with his real identity.

Reuben revealed that, as a matter of course, Zac's background and activities were researched by Mossad.

"We found out you're a bit of a software and hacking hotshot. Is that how you generate your black market cash?"

"Something like that."

"Maria told us you were destitute one day and the next you had enough to buy a car and pay her back for the clothing she bought you."

Zac eyed Maria as if to say 'thanks for nothing'. She lowered her gaze, fluttered her eyes coyly and slipped a hand into the hand of the commando alongside. He grinned.

Reuben defused the unease. "Look, we're not interested in your ill-gotten gains...but I think we could use your computer expertise in our cyber intelligence division...The general feeling is that something big is going to happen soon."

"When I get out, I'll see what I can do...but you know, I want to get to Australia as soon as possible."

"I think that's easier said than done."

Zac ignored the last comment. He hated unhelpful clichés. He would bide his time and head off once he'd gained a better understanding of the issues.

***

It was five days later when Zac was finally released. Reuben had organised a hotel room for him and, once settled and outfitted again, he visited one of the electronic surveillance agencies. Zac got the impression right away that it was an intermediate level intelligence bureau with none of the high tech eavesdropping equipment that most in the digital world suspected the Israelis used. Nevertheless, he was supplied with a sophisticated computer and, with his knowledge of the dark web back doors, he acquired some decrypting software he had stored in a private cloud repository. With that, and the knowhow to insinuate it into the Federation network, he started monitoring top secret cyphers within the military wing of the Federation.

Among the appalling developments was the edict that house to house searches were being planned to eradicate all those not registered with the Federation. Those refusing to accept imprinting would be declared enemies of the state and summarily eliminated. The main target for this sweep were the Fellowship. The fear he felt for those he knew, prompted Zac, without permission, to provide warning messages in the hidden networks of dissenters and Christians.

It brought to mind his growing affection for Ashley. They had parted under acrimonious conditions and even though, in retrospect, her motives had been pure, he still struggled with the sleight of hand approach. Why hadn't she been up front? They could have told him they needed him for the cause. It hit him like a fist in the solar plexus; God didn't need him, he needed God. That had been the problem the whole time. That's why they persisted with the allegory, hoping he would recognise the truth.

The limited conflict in North Africa had ground to a halt. Zac's next major breakthrough was the amassing of forces in some weird standoff. The Middle East was at the juncture of all the prospective invaders. The armies of the East sought access to Europe and Africa. The armies of Africa sought access to the east and Europe and likewise Europe wished to stomp on Israel on its way through to conquering the other regions. Zac passed on the secret communiques. Satellites confirmed the messages regarding the ground troop movements. It was sobering to see the clinical response of the Israelis.

A general evacuation was announced. Then, much of the non-military populace moved to huge underground shelters south and east of Jerusalem. Kilometres of tunnels filled with all the necessary provisions for survival began to accommodate the fleeing citizens. Nuclear weaponry was readied and would be computer controlled from the subterranean refuges. Many service men and women were resigned to face the onslaught, with the hope that at the last minute they would be able to retreat to a shelter. Zac was moved out to one of these deep caverns where he continued to monitor enemy communications. Where possible, he slipped disruptive software into enemy operating systems. He frustrated, at a distance, attempts by the Federation security forces to round up residual groups of Christians.

He had been three weeks in the surprisingly habitable caves when Reuben, an occasional visitor, walked in on him as he was busily tapping on the keys of his computer.

"There's someone here to see you," he announced. Zac looked up and detected the lop-sided grin he had seen before. The agent stood aside and Zac saw Ashley standing at the entry to the side shaft he and several others were working in.

"I'll leave two alone." He called out something in Hebrew, laughed, and the others in the room got up and left, some sniggering.

A moment of stasis, time and the universe came to a halt. It was an instant when two people deciphered, interpreted and analysed the reactions of the other. Whether it was the glimmer in eyes, the quiver of lips or the suspension of breaths that elicited their concerted movement, neither of them may ever be able to say. Maybe it was an inner voice that cried out 'yes'. The provocation was unclear but it happened. Simultaneously, Zac and Ashley rushed to each other. Wrapped in an embrace, there were whispers of apologies, of confessions and regrets, and then there was a kiss.

They both sat and shared stories. Ashley told of her journey to the caverns deep underground to shelter from the expected nuclear holocaust.

"I should tell you that I met up with dozens of the Fellowship who had used devious methods to get into Israel. Some with the assistance of the Israelis and some by means difficult to comprehend in physical terms...and it was largely because of the warnings you gave."

She told of night time rendezvouses, of fishing boats shuttling refugees to submarines and a freighter commandeered by those fleeing the Federation. The influx of Christians into Israel had compelled them to hastily begin constructing more shelters. Ashley told how she had met some of the original team and heard that Chris and Georgia had been martyred for their faith. The mood became sombre as Zac thought about the friendship that had developed between them. Ashley told how a refugee service in Israel called 'Are they here?' led her to an interview with security people that led to him.

Zac related some of his tale of getting to Israel. He told of meeting Reuben, who had called himself Rick, and how it was ironical that he was a normal citizen pretending to be an agent while Reuben was an agent pretending to be a normal citizen. He spoke of losing everything at the border with Slovenia, of meeting Maria and of finally coming by submarine to Israel.

"You missed a few bits," she challenged. Reuben told me how you've been brutally beaten, how you rescued him and then almost died."

It was then that Ashley drew back little and asked him where he stood regarding faith in Jesus. It had to be said that it wasn't Zac's finest hour. Instead of conceding his position. He contested that they examine their methods. And yes, they argued about the ethics of using the game to promulgate the Christian message.

"Don't you think it was dishonest, even deceitful to veil the message in a virtual reality game?"

"No, I don't...and I'll tell you why. We couldn't preach openly anymore so we had to find a way to get people to think of the message of Jesus without getting caught. We'd identified dissenters and non-conformists to target and we invited them to join the game. Other groups have used book and film clubs and even board games. You just happen to be one of those caught up with the VR craze."

He chewed his lip agreeing that it was a fair point that without the freedom of speech, sharing the message had become more complicated.

"And remember..." she went on. "The game was just an allegory...like a parable where you become a participant. The whole idea is to make you think of eternal truths and values. We helped you make a connection by inviting you to secret sermons...something you came to of your own volition. You knew then what it was all about...but you kept playing the game."

"You don't drop out in the middle of a VR series." Zac tried to sound surly but it only made Ashley giggle.

"Anyway...The apostle Paul suggested we become all things to all in an effort to share the truth, so why not game facilitators?"

"Mm...It was pretty shattering the way Eli Benn was treated."

"Nothing compared to the way Jesus was treated. Christians seldom can visualise or comprehend the magnitude and horror of Christ's physical suffering...and we believe the spiritual suffering was far worse. What we did was harsh but it was meant to portray a violent event."

She tilted her head and Zac was captured by the pose. This was a turbulent time to be thinking of a long term commitment to a relationship.

"You haven't answered my question. Have you trusted in Jesus?"

Zac capitulated with a smile. He talked about how there was some stage, must have been, where he had transitioned to faith in Jesus as a personal saviour redeemer. He wasn't sure when. It was like God was using a wedge to slowly break him apart. He knew now that there was a sovereign God. His love meant that despite circumstances suggesting the opposite, the treasure of eternity would cast this evil present into a joy filled perspective.

"You have no idea how much trouble I got into because of my affection for you. I was told I was breaking all sorts of rules and confusing the issue for you."

"By whom?"

"You know him as Andrew."

"The pastor?"

"He's my father. He wasn't happy when he found out."

"I fell for you too, Ashe," he confessed. He licked his lips as he recalled their first meeting. "Why Keela...I mean, I get 'Will', and the others made sense...but writer?"

"I wrote a lot of the scenarios for the simulations." It was a succinct explanation. Zac beamed broadly.

"What?"

"So...after I was recruited...you wrote yourself into the scenes of the game." It was a jubilant realisation. She gave him a punch to the arm.

"You do have a problem with pride?" she joked.

Zac then explained that it wasn't until he recognised his need that he accepted Jesus. He spoke of how he had wanted a God of his own design but eventually understood that He is the God who is. Zac started to regurgitate much of the teaching he had digested over the past weeks. "You can't change him by imagination or wish fulfilment or criticism, or demands that he conform to your own set of criteria. I read a verse that said 'He is immutable'—an unchanging God. The good news is that he is good, perfect in fact, and more loving than we can conceive. All that is not good—and on Earth the list is endless—is rebellion against God."

He paused realising he was getting het up, bubbling with the discoveries he'd made in scriptures. Looking at Ashley he smiled. "I asked myself...Why does he allow this rebellion? Because love gives free will—it invites and allows choice so that we too can love and enjoy his love. If he constrained us against our will, we lose our choice and our ability to choose to love."

"You have been reading haven't you?"

***

As the uproar of opposition mounted, hope for any scenario that didn't involve the annihilation of the state of Israel deteriorated. There was going to be an unprecedented nuclear conflagration. The chance for negotiations had spiralled down to nil. Zac and Ashley talked about a relationship that had developed into mutual affection but, it was apparent, the culmination of history might intervene on any future development. They prayed a lot together.

It was Reuben who encouraged them. He was confident. Somehow, Israel would be saved—God keeps his promises. And, somehow, Christ would reign.

When armies were gathered on the borders and the battle seemed inevitable, Zac and Ashley were standing watching the sun set over the Negev. Renee and Stephanie along with Curtis were standing with them.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that game," remarked Curtis.

"Did you notice how it confronted us with scripture...we didn't realise it until we heard it again from Andrew's sermons," observed Stephanie.

"God kept pursuing me even after I said no," added Zac who had draped his arm over Ashley's shoulder. "It's true about the mystery of godliness...the mystery of God. How can we ever understand one so great, so immense, so wise, so eternal, so other...so unknowable?"

"Look at Jesus," answered Ashley, simply. "Remember he said, '...whoever has seen me has seen the Father'."

Renee contributed, "He also said I and the Father are one...Jesus is God in the flesh."

"That is a mystery," concluded Zac. "Does that mean that God the Father also suffered at the crucifixion?"

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer?

Thanks!

Anthony van

About the author:

What does a retired teacher do? Especially a teacher with a hyperactive imagination and ingrained work habits. Well this one writes. And being a Christian, each novel I have written necessarily is pieced together from a Christian perspective.

I have a broad range of interests which include science and technology, mathematics, travel, sports and the interrelationship of people. Much of what intrigues me about people is that some pursue truth with the determination of a bloodhound while others almost ignore existential ideas and while away their short time spent on earth being distracted by pleasures or possessions or power.

Other titles by Anthony Van

The Only Thing That Counts

Dying to Live

What Is the Lie

More Precious

The Profit Prophet

Impossible to Please

Stand

**Crossed Over**

Persuaded

Weightless

Hidden Kingdom

Desperately Wicked

Images
