Metropolitan Square was the social hub of Metro7. Cinemas, malls, cafes and restaurants were all neatly packed in beside one another for everyone to enjoy. But there was one building that took obvious precedence. It was set back from the road, and built atop an immense cement dais. It was four stories tall and could comfortably fit three thousand people beneath its vaulted ceilings.Compared to the gaudy arcades and cocktail bars that flanked it, it was understated in the extreme. But what it lacked in colour, it more than up for in severity. Brutalist stone and blackened steel seemed to devour the sunlight that beat down on the rest of Metro Square. There were white ceramic plates around the doors and windows. At each corner of the building stood a faceless statue. Heads downcast, palms raised upwards in praise, they towered above the steady stream of people that filed in through the immense double doors. Above these doors was a beautifully polished, golden disc. Easily three metres across, it dominated the outer façade of the otherwise unadorned building. It contained a smaller, darker circle within.

Marcus took a moment to look at the Aperture, as it was known, before entering the Church of the One Truth. He enjoyed the way that it gleamed in the morning sun, which was already oppressive, despite the early hour. A river of people swirled around him, their blue and yellow halos filling his vision. As each of them entered the church, their Techlens earbuds chimed. Sermon attendance cost less than a cocktail, but was worth ten Civix points. Fostering a strong sense of community and togetherness benefitted everybody, after all.

The chorus of chimes was lost as soon as Marcus passed through the doors. Hidden speakers played the Binaural Chorus. A blend of two frequencies that was said to enhance focus, promote clarity and channel inner peace. It was a soothing, flowing chorus that reminded Marcus of his childhood. His mother, father, Derek and himself would catch the tram to the Church in their district. Marcus and Derek clutching their flasks of Chocolux, a sickly sweet, vitamin-filled drink given to children when dairy shortages struck the food supply. He shuffled along the aisles and found a seat between a large, shabbily dressed man and a severe-looking woman in a black, high-necked pantsuit. People were murmuring politely as they waited the Liturgical Registrar to take the pulpit. Marcus’ eyes roamed across the familiar walls, pillars and ceiling. The Aperture, vast and tiny, engraved and embossed, was everywhere. Several people wore small versions as hairpins, or brooches. He saw it, but his thoughts were of Derek.

Nobody knew where he had gone. Nobody could even tell him why all his data had disappeared. After a week of late nights at work, scouring the servers for information, he had lodged a formal missing person’s report with the Police. That had been five weeks ago. He was at a complete loss. His friends were tired of hearing about Derek. Even their mother had exhibited stronger and stronger reasonings of denial instead of coming to terms with what had happened to her youngest son. Remnants of Marcus and his mother’s last conversation echoed in his head as he was jostled by the crush of worshippers.

No, Derek didn’t take a job in another town without telling a single soul. No, he hasn’t been recruited to a secret branch of government. He has been taken. Marcus had come to Church only because he was at a complete loss for what else to do. Maybe he could find some explanation, or some semblance of comfort at Derek’s disappearance.

 The Registrar emerged from a small door to the side of the stage. He was an older man, probably in his late sixties and slightly stooped but still powerfully built. His large hands clutched the black and gold Truthtome of his trade. He wore a dark suit with a high collar. His sleeves were adorned with golden Apertures. His thick, grey hair was slicked back with a high fade.  As he walked, the chatter died and everyone sat facing forward. He placed the book on the lectern and as he opened it, the binaural tones faded away. A small microphone on his lapel subtly enhanced the delivery of his opening passage, but it was hardly needed. The church was a perfectly designed acoustic space, and Registrar Price had a voice like distant thunder.

‘We gather together, to seek peace. We work together, to build harmonyAnd we worship together, to stave off sin.We are grateful for the six Tenants of Truth that give us meaning and direction’

As one, the gathered crowd of people began to recite the tenants.

‘HarmonyCompromiseOrderEducationSacrificeLoyalty’

Registrar Price looked down at his Truthtome and blinked hard. Marcus noticed he was sweating, despite the powerful air-conditioning that worked around the clock.

The big man peered at the page at began to read aloud.

‘The fifth Tenant of Truth, is sacrifice. In order to gain, first one must lose. The crop of tomorrow can only be watered with the sweat of today. Work hard and work often, and you will reap all that you deserve.’

He paused to take a sip of water, and began to speak not verbatim, but in an explanatory tone.   ‘This applies not only to individuals, but to societies. We understand the importance of the corporations that feed and house us, and grant them the freedom to act on our behalf. There was a time where every person over the age of eighteen, had an opinion about the way that the Nation-State should be run.’

He grinned to highlight the absurdity of the idea.

‘Can you imagine such a world? People, children some of them, voting en masse on matters of defence, and economic growth, without the qualifications to make such decisions? Wreaking havoc on the carefully laid plans of those public servants whose duty it is to care for us!’

There was a murmured chuckle throughout the crowd.

‘It was this, vote that caused so many of the problems that our current government inherited when they took office. And they have been trying to put out those fires ever since!’

This was received with a lot of the older people nodding their heads as they too, recalled the turbulent decades past. Registrar Price continued, wagging a finger for emphasis.

But there are murmurings, ungrateful whispers; Of the grey oceans, or of species that have been lost. But it is a fact-

He punctuated this by slamming a meaty fist on the steel lectern. It made an ominous boom through the speakers. More than one person flinched.

‘It is a fact, that ninety-nine percent of ALL species that have ever lived on this planet are already extinct. What is the death of some inedible, unproductive, poisonous tree frog, when compared to the birth of stability? The wilderness was wild — now it is tamed, and so are we. Thank the Ones who tamed it.’

People in the crowd were nodding, their faces animated. The children present looked on, wide eyed, drinking it all in. Price took a moment to sip deeply from the glass of water before dramatically pouring the contents onto the floor. People gasped as he went on, enraptured. Marcus was not among them. He stared unblinking at the Registrar.

‘They say the rain once fell for free — but it also fell unpredictably, and dangerously. The twenties and thirties were dominated by deadly floods that killed thousands!Now the rain comes as we need it, sterilized, dosed, and for only a fraction of the cost price. That is progress. That is control. That is mercy.So that we may enjoy, all of this!’

He waved his immense hands at the world in general before going on. ‘And in turn, those we entrust this most difficult and thankless task, they sacrifice… They sacrifice.’ He faltered. His face screwed up, as though from pain. Marcus finished the question in his head.

They sacrifice what, exactly?

When Price spoke again, his booming voice was a husky croak. He seemed to be leaning on the lectern for support. His facial expression had changed, from a benevolent smile to a sinister grin. ‘They sacrifice all of you.’

People gasped. They didn’t understand. Registrar Price looked down at the Truthtome, as if seeing it for the first time. His lips moved as he reread the passage to himself. He sneered, and swept the heavy volume onto the floor.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Although Registrar Price’s sermons tended to border on the theatrical, this was unprecedented. His powerful fingers gripped the lectern as he continued to speak. His voice shook and he gasped as though the words burned his throat.  

‘They take from us, whatever we will freely give. Our attention, our small freedoms. Our whereabouts, our right to choose, our data, anything. And of course, our money. And whatever we won’t give up willingly…’

He turned and looked directly at Marcus before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper.

‘They take by force.’

There was a hushed silence for several seconds. An older woman near the front muttered, but quite loud enough for those around her to hear.

‘How disgusting. He’s drunk.’ This was immediately followed by a chorus of whispers and more than a few sniggers.

Price left the lectern and crossed the stage to face the woman.

‘Drunk? No, madam. Although, you’d have to be. To believe any of this.’ He said, casually kicking the Truthtome across the stage. It slid to a stop just before it fell off the edge.

Dozens of people, mostly towards the back, were standing up. Whether to leave or to get a better view, Marcus couldn’t tell. He was still shaken by Price’s words. How could he have known?

People were beginning to shout at the Registrar, outraged at his ramblings. Cries of ‘fool!’ and ‘Liar!’ were coming from the crowd. But he was undeterred. His voice grew in power until it boomed through the speakers causing people to cower.

‘Liar, am I? Fool, you say? There are no lies that I could tell, dear people, that could be worse than the craven acts that those in power orchestrate in the shadows.’

His face was reddening with the effort of speaking. He gritted his teeth as though a great weight was crushing him down.

‘There is nought more foolish than the folly we find ourselves in. We are SLAVES to these powers. And it was we who locked the shackles!’

‘Why are you telling us this?’

Marcus was stunned to discover that the question had been asked by himself. People in the crowd turned to look at him suspiciously, before looking towards the Registrar for a response. The large man, with pools of sweat marring his suit and a grimace on his face that bordered on agony, looked calm for a moment.

‘Because you need to know.’ He said simply.

Nobody knew how to respond to this. It was at this moment that the double doors burst open and four large policemen strode down the aisle, weapons at the ready. If Registrar Price was alarmed at the sight, he gave no sign. Instead, he laughed mirthlessly.

‘Here we see, the fist of peace. The hammer of understanding is being brought down upon-

The rest of his sentence was inaudible as one of the officers pointed a device directly at the speakers. They cut out immediately. The squad was only a dozen paces away from the stage.

People were beginning to panic. A few began to shout, at the police, at Price. It wasn’t clear which.

Price began to shout to make his voice heard above the din.

‘We are all guilty. We have all failed. The Axiom must be known! It is deeper than God, and older than the Earth. But this, this reality you know CAN NOT GO ON!’

The ranking Policeman turned and raised his hands. Wide eyed, panicked people looked on as he spoke calmly, but firmly.

‘This man is wanted for a multitude of crimes, including some against small children. We are detaining him as a matter of public safety.’

The onlookers were horrified. Half of them made straight for the exits. Nobody wanted to be associated with a disgraced Church.

Price looked down at the officer and opened his mouth. No words came out, but a tremendous, clattering of static began to resonate through the speakers. The officer with the EMP device looked confused, certain he had disabled the electronics. He pointed his device again. As if in response, the sounds grew louder, more jarring. There was almost swirl of tones and grinding static, underlaid with a repeated chime. People were in hysterics now, shouting and screaming as they ran for the doors. The noise was awful.

One of the policemen vaulted onto the stage and without ceremony, tasered the Liturgical Registrar. He made no attempt to catch the big man as his legs locked and he fell, face first, onto the stage. The noise stopped immediately.

Marcus had stayed seated mostly, fascinated by Price’s meltdown, but the sonic assault had been horrendous. He was trying to hurry past the front of the stage when he was knocked to the ground. He managed to stay on one knee as people continued to jostle past him.

The police were dragging Price into his chambers on the side of the stage. The Church was almost empty now, less than two minutes after the initial outburst. Marcus stood; his hands clasped around the Truthtome that had been knocked to the ground in the commotion. He walked for several blocks before he dared to open it. Once he was safely seated on a tram and heading back home, he turned to a page at random. It was filled with notes, scribblings and sketches.

You were fed, but not nourished. Sheltered, but never safe. You were numbered. Loved, perhaps. But only as inventory.

There is no salvation within walls. Only stasis. Only decay.

They watch over us, pulling unseen strings.

The Axiom is open,

The Aperture never shuts.

Marcus closed the book. Suddenly afraid.