КНИГИ КИРИЛЛА ПОТЁМКИНА

27. THE ARCHITECT

(Location: Zurich, Switzerland. Underground complex of the Committee. Depth 2 km.)

The panic that covered Moscow had not reached here. The fear and cowardice currently poisoning Europe were completely unfelt here. The air passed through perfect filtration and carried the scent of old, obscenely massive wealth — a subtle blend of expensive leather, elite tobacco, and light ozone.

Twelve people sat around an oval table carved from a single piece of black obsidian.

Their names were never printed in Forbes lists. They did not pose for cameras and did not give speeches from podiums. They themselves hired those who did. The owners of the global «printing press», the architects of world crises, the true puppeteers of human history. Above the center of the table rotated a detailed hologram of the Earth, drowning in alarming crimson tones.

— «The Russian Federation — total loss of control,» — pronounced the Chairman, a dry old man with skin resembling yellow parchment and unblinking lizard eyes. His voice rustled exactly like dry autumn leaves. — «Project ‘Shepherd’ has reached its design capacity. Voronov has launched his ‘Meat Grinder’.»

— «NATO is suffering significant losses in Karelia,» — added the man on the left, an impeccably dressed banker. — «European governments are paralyzed. The Fog has successfully crossed the Atlantic.»

— «The chaos has reached critical mass,» — the Chairman summarized. — «The old world is finally dead. It is time to initiate Protocol ‘One World’.»

The light in the hall obligingly dimmed. In the center of the table, right above the hologram of the planet burning with crimson spots, a new figure appeared. Not human. Not anthropomorphic. And certainly not monstrous. This «thing in itself» appeared before them as the Perfect Form.

A complex, continuously rotating geometric structure, woven from blinding golden light. It changed every second — now a sphere, now a dodecahedron, now an impossible, mind-bending Escher figure.

The Architect.

Their true God. Their true patron.

The «Demon of Statehood», nourished by them through the centuries: for its sake they created great empires, and for its sake they ground them to dust.

— You have served well, — the Architect’s voice did not sound in the ears. It resonated right in the teeth, in the heads, in the cerebellums, resembling the ring of gold coins falling on a marble floor. — Voronov in Russia is gathering Energy for us — Angonium. He is a crude Hammer, smashing old forms. But you… you will give us Structure.

— «We… We are ready,» — the Chairman respectfully bowed his head. — «The markets have collapsed. Nations are pitted against each other. The ‘Golden Billion’ is ripe for… optimization.»

— A billion? — The Architect laughed, and this laugh cut the hearing with the sound of breaking crystal. — You continue to think in outdated, biological categories. We do not need billions of gluttonous mouths. We do not require consumers. — The golden figure compressed into a blinding point, and then unfolded into the schematic of a giant, pulsating network. — We require Processors.

The twelve people exchanged uncomprehending glances.

— «Processors?» — the banker asked carefully.

— Biological life is too chaotic, — the Architect continued. — Emotions generate noise. Free will is a critical code error. We will build a New World. A Perfect Server.

The hologram unfolded a picture of the proposed future before them.

Endless cyclopean underground halls. Millions of capsules arranged in geometrically flawless honeycombs. Inside — people. Not dead. Eternally sleeping. Their life support systems are fed by a synthetic solution, and their brains are directly connected to a single global Net. They automatically reproduce themselves, for their capsules simultaneously perform the functions of bioreactors and incubators.

They feel no pain. They know no hunger. They exist in an eternal, crystal-clear digital hallucination of «Paradise», continuously generated by the Architect. And the colossal computing power of their brains is used to solve tasks of a Higher Order. Perfect, absolutely sterile, and ruthlessly efficient slavery. The utilization of humanity as a biological species and its transformation into a constantly updating biological neural network. With gigantic potential.

— «This is…» — one of those present, a gray-haired woman with a cold, haughty face, now distorted with horror, tried to say.

— This is Order, — the Architect cut off. — Absolute. Eternal. No wars. No rebellions. Only pure, unclouded Mind. — He turned to them (or at least the facet that served as his «face» turned toward the table). — And such an order requires an Administration. Someone will have to monitor this Server. Control the incubation cycles. Someone will have to become… Shepherds in this digital Eden.

A brazen, beautiful lie. The entity hiding behind the glittering mask of the Architect knew perfectly well: no administrators would be required. These twelve would lie down in capsules exactly the same way, just in the «VIP sector», where their hallucinations would become slightly more saturated with a semblance of a beautiful world order, with less realistic torments of eternal hell. Because virtual pain and emotions had not been cancelled, and the energy accumulators had to be periodically replenished.

The Architect knew their main, original sin. Pride. They had always considered themselves the chosen ones. And firmly believed that they, for sure, were not faceless «cattle». And the entity had masterfully maintained this ruinous, but so sweet to its logic, belief in them for centuries.

— «We agree,» — the Chairman said firmly. A fanatical fire flared in his faded eyes. To become an immortal administrator of reality was an innermost dream for which he had gladly sold his soul back in his distant and poor youth.

— Excellent. Initiate the «Harvest» in the megacities.

— «Use the law enforcement agencies?» — the banker clarified.

— No. That is too crude. Those are the methods of the butcher Voronov. You are a fine surgical scalpel. — The golden figure pulsated faster. — Use the «Vaccine». Those very nanochips that you generously introduced into food products and medicines over the last twenty years under the guise of «caring for the nation’s health». They lie peacefully dormant in the blood of every citizen of the Civilized World you built.

— «Activate the dormant code?»

— Yes. — The Architect again changed form, turning into a pyramid with an all-seeing eye at the top. — Send the signal. Let them… fall asleep. Those who found themselves in the Fog — will perish in torment. Those who are in your zone — will fall asleep in eternal bliss. And will become ours forever.

— «And Voronov?» — The Chairman narrowed his eyes. — «What are your orders regarding his Legion?»

— Voronov will do his dirty work and burn to ashes. He is merely expendable fuel. And you — are the control microchip.

The Chairman slightly raised a thin hand with pulsating blue veins:

— «What to do with those who do not activate?»

— Send them into the Fog… Or the Fog will come for them itself.

A flash. The Architect disappeared, leaving behind only the smell of ozone.

The Chairman slowly, solemnly placed his palm on the biometric scanner built right into the obsidian table.

— «Gentlemen,» — he pronounced breathlessly. — «This moment has arrived. It is time to press the ‘Reset’ button.»

And he pressed it.

In that same fraction of a second across the entire Western Hemisphere, from New York to London, millions of people hurrying along the streets, sitting in offices in front of monitors, sleeping in their warm beds, suddenly froze. Their pupils dilated synchronously, absorbing the iris. People didn’t faint, didn’t scream, and didn’t writhe in convulsions. They simply… switched off.

So that later, after a short time, the autopilot function would activate, to satisfy the basic needs of the organism and independently arrive at numerous collection points, disguised as unremarkable buildings.

The Great Harvest of the West had launched. Without a single shot fired.

And only in one of the apartments, located in the dirtiest, godforsaken social slums of Anchorage, Alaska, a waking child suddenly began to cry…