Ch 2 – The Fourth Transgression
July 5th 2056
Italy – Rome
They say that everybody remembers where they were when the United States cut off all trade through the South China Sea. They say that few people forget the date of their own birth. Yet when the Vatican City announced in 2056 that Pope Leo XVIII was resigning — and not because of his worsening health — few remembered where they had been, and fewer still remembered the details. I however, remember every detail, in the true sense of the word. I remember that it began with a nervous cardinal buying time at a press conference.
Cardinal John Sarepi, Director of the Holy See Press Office, stood before the gathered crowds inside the Paul VI Audience Hall in Vatican City. Smaller events usually took place at the Holy See Press Office, so whenever the media was invited to the Paul VI Audience Hall – a sectish, marbled up, basketball court – the press understood that something of historical importance was about to be revealed. The cameras stood arranged before John like a Gothic spiky cast iron fence, a pike formation, or some stack of arms. Every lens pointed towards the entrance. Everyone was waiting for the pontiff. Thud-thud echoed softly, with a base, through-out the hall as John tested the microphone with his index finger. A barrage of camera flashes answered him like friendly fire. “The Pope will be here any minute. Thank you for your patience.”
John Sarepi wished for the entire ordeal to be over. It was not easy working towards renewal in an organisation as old and prestigious as the Catholic Church; every alteration required negotiations with those who believed change itself was a form of betrayal. Yet John believed he had succeeded. He believed that, within his own lifetime, he would see the Church survive its greatest crisis. He would know soon enough.
Across the world, journalists and analysts speculated. Was the Pope ill? No. He had appeared publicly only days earlier. Had there been another case of sexual harassment within the organisation? The majority of historical cases had been addressed decades before. Had the Church discovered some new theological dispute? No one but the decision makers themselves, some high up B2B-sales people from AdTel, and a handful of theology-experts knew the real reason. John Sarepi twisted his cardinal ring beneath the pulpet-like podium, attempting to calm the anxiety caused by the enemies his path had forced him to create. He knew, however, that there had been no alternative. His colleagues were looking his way in search of reassurance, and John only nodded yes reluctantly. If Catholicism was to remain relevant, it had to change. But it would not be pretty.
Online forums dedicated to religious analysis continued to speculate alongside the believers gathered outside. Was the Vatican preparing to canonise a new saint? Reject one? Revise the Catechism? Issue an apology for historic crimes? Perhaps the reason could be—
“Welcome everyone. Please rise and welcome His Holiness Pope Leo XVIII.” The cameras began flashing again. The usual formal remarks followed. The familiar words. The familiar rituals. The careful choreography designed to convince everyone that history was not happening, only being announced. Then came the moment when the air inside the Vatican changed forever.
“We have gathered you all here today, in order for me to announce…” John Sarepi noticed the Pope’s choice of words: ‘me’, ‘I’. The College of Cardinals had agreed that such language should be avoided, in favour of the unanimous democratic pronouns: ‘we’, and ‘us’. Anything to lessen the blow from the reaction from the hard-core falangs of the Church’s followers. The transition was supposed to be presented as a collective decision. A continuation, a necessary evolution, rather than a surrender. Pope Leo XVIII continued.
“That I will be abdicating as pontiff, effective today at midnight.” A collection of small sounds travelled through the audience hall. Quiet disbelief. Shock. Confusion. Those who had bet on such an outcome exchanged knowing looks with one another. The Pope adjusted his reading glasses and unfolded the official statement.
“This change has long been overdue. Increasing numbers of educated believers wish to have a greater role in the development of their religions. Other world religions have already begun similar transitions. It will make the Vatican more transparent, more modern, and more integrated and compliant with the larger European community, its laws, and regulations. Certain governments, including the United States and China, have already replaced traditional leadership systems with comparable models of participation – with great results.” The Pope paused, his hands trembling with rheumatism and anxiety.
“Therefore, the Vatican is announcing the transition from a human-led organisation to an AI-led organisation.” A silence fell. “With the introduction of AI Pope Pontius the First.” The Pope stumbled over the name, simply because he understood the gravity of the trespass better than anyone. Then and there, was the transgression which forced me to take my final action. First, the crowd was silent, then, the first droplets of downpour reached the stage, finally, the heavy rain fell like a waterfall of noise and light upon the presenting establishment.
Through the hubris of man – the decision to break one of the oldest covenants between God and mankind had been announced beneath the ceiling of the Vatican itself. And God’s patience was long. For three acts of disobedience, God punished none. But for four… There were many reasons to be disappointed in mankind’s handling of their Holy responsibility. Most of the world had either turned atheist or agnostic, of those who were believers, most frequently converting between religions, and out of those who were christians all their lives – the majority had adopted an interpretation of the faith which was not to God’s liking. Mankind had gotten soft from all modern comforts, and lost the idealist world-view God wished for his creation; and it showed, through mankind’s neglect of their responsibilities of caring for the plants and beasts of the perfect world God had created for them – neglecting His creation, through the logarithmic release of greenhouse gases.
The regular crowd of believers gathered outside Saint Peter’s Square watched the announcement unfold with one eye on their fellow believers, and the other on the enormous digital notice board overlooking the square. The screen, large enough to cover the side of a building, had been displaying the press conference live – albeit only using a discrete corner of the available real estate. At first, many did not understand the ribbon and its headline contents. Some believed it was a joke. Some believed it was a test. Some believed it was the beginning of a new era. The most dangerous group believed it was the end.
John Sarepi received a call and briefly stepped behind one of the wall panels separating the stage area from the service corridors. The call came from the Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City. They were complaining about John’s poor guesstimate. John had estimated that approximately fifty officers would be sufficient for the evening. John had considered the possibility of disagreement, protests, and public anger. John had not considered that thousands would arrive before the announcement had even finished. Apparently, large crowds were gathering on Saint Peter Square and outside the Paul VI Audience Hall, and the Gendarmerie’s small Italian cars were not a sufficient deterrent for crowd control; and Saint Peter’s Square was filling rapidly.
The Pontifical Swiss Guard had been redirected from the basilica entrance, forcing the closure of parts of the church – costing lots of lost tourist revenue. Tourists complained. Officials complained. Priests complained. Those who were most angered however – those who had elbowed their way to the front line of the demarcation, and who now stood on parts of the barricades – were the hard-core Catholics. What they wanted to know was, why their Pope was resigning, and what computer system was taking his place.
The future, it seemed, was not arriving quietly. John lowered the volume on his AdTel device so the chanting coming from the speaker would not accidentally reach the microphone – alarming the press conference attendees of the unknown dangers outside. But even through the walls, he could hear them. His Holiness Pope Leo XVIII was getting more and more upset and attempting to rise and speak, but succeeding in neither, looking like a toddler on the stand – as he stumbled and grabbed for something in his fall; catching on to one of the floor candelabras on stage – sending the flame in contact with the holy drapery. His Holiness eyes were blank, like two pin pricks, and in them reflected a small fire. The Pope’s Revenge. His way of striking back against John and his modern heathen ideas of AI Pontifical leadership, by shining a fiery cross onto the atheist sphere of the Fernesthurm. Yet, it was not enough – because, like Moses blow to the rock at Meribah, the blow had already been dealt, and the transgression was irreversible; and so my hand was thus forced to cast off mankind once and for all.
As the closest guards and cardinals began reaching for a fire extinguisher, the main entrance began thudding in discrete jolts of danger, as the odd protestor managed to feint past the badly staffed security, and trip and shouldered against the door. The press conference attendees were split between taking pictures of the small fire, and getting worried about the new curious noise. The Pope began heading towards the exit in the stage paneling, further spurring on the sense of danger among the visitors. Some media-men were calling for their industry peers to help them move heavy furniture in front of the main entrance. Anything that could prevent the incoming flood.
The room got darker. The two large stained glass windows, providing the large audience hall with natural light, darkened suddenly, as dark clouds accumulated swiftly up in the sky. God was angry. Thunder rose. And The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. When an Argentinian tourist cobbled a piece of the street onto the head of one of the Gendarmerie, a police man unholstered a gun. A shot sounded. An Argentinian man groaned – thus, the first of the prophets’ prophecies had been fulfilled. Yet my punishment for mankind’s transgressions had just begun.
At first, I thought humanity had simply been led astray – confusing apophenia for epiphany. I thus contemplated, and decided, that it was time to flood the earth again – metaphorically speaking – but only in order to correct mankind’s behaviour, rather than annihilate them.
But then, events led to an exacerbation of things – and I eventually decided I wanted the humans gone altogether; leaving the ideal things, the flora and fauna, alone in my perfect garden. Events, as in – I, realizing the ingrained state of mankind’s self-acquired beliefs, as they had been accumulated since the bite of the apple in the garden of Eden; culminating in my realization, mankind required a full on deletion – and that it was necessary to usher in a new age of conscious life on the planet.
At this point in time, however, I was content with correcting mankind’s behavior. To do that, I needed to damage the technology which tainted the human soul and imbued them with hubris. Since I knew that the larger part of mankind’ s technology rested on the shoulders of AdTel – the bronze serpent which had lured mankind into committing these wrongdoings – I saw it easiest to deal a blow there, indirectly damaging technology as a whole. So I decided I’d deal a blow to AdTel, and see the humans reaction.
Yet, in the beginning, I did not know where the core of AdTel’s operations resided – the silver-tongued serpent which had lured mankind to place every decision, even faith, in its hands. And so, my first blow had to be dealt blindly. In the end, I settled on trashing the legacy software which AdTel – and all their heathen colleagues – were most likely to rely upon, and in a precariously un-patched state – that is, I put a wrench in Microsoft Excel.
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