The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(51)

In the background, I hear footsteps and the voice of the warden, increasing in loudness as he approaches. The guards now prop me up on a chair’s surface—I think.

The warden asks, “Is the prisoner in position? He had better be, because I only have five morgets. Where is he?”

“Right this way warden, as requested,” the veteran guard says.


“Dim the lights on my end, and place the spotlight on that prisoner,” the warden says.

“You heard the warden—move!” the veteran guard yells, “Free up the prisoner’s sight.”

They press a few buttons on the temporalysis. I have visibility, but the light blinds me. It is painful. The temporalysis continues to immobilize my body, and the warden says, “I appreciate your cooperation. Most of the information you have provided so far is at least a bit strategically useful. Maybe this will be good enough for us to reward you a bit more.” I start to speak, but this temporalysis had me wrangled completely still.

“So, I bet you are wondering why you are here. I want to make this quick.” I hear whispering, and the warden continues, “Guards, get the cannons hot in this room and get the firing squad ready.”

The shuffle of feet, the hissing noise of the lock and the clattering of metal weapons fill the air.

“Squad, guns at the ready! Go turrets hot in room seven-two-three—over,” the veteran guard says.

“If you cooperate, this will be fast and painless. Tell me everything you know about Sephera. Where is Nezatron?”

I feel this temporalysis release me, but I am too weak to fight. I ask, “Another ghost of Sephera gone rogue?”

“That is not what I asked for,” the warden retorts. “Again, Sephera. The whereabouts of Nezatron—now. Start with Sephera.”



I speak to satisfy the warden’s request, saying, “It’s complicated. See, Sephera is the forefront for digital resurrection. It is as most imagine. It is a collective collaboration of multiversal dreams and hopes of what an afterlife should be. That is it.”

“I bet you love that, thinking there is a place to go once you die. Right?” he asks.

“Earthlings are not the only people longing for a Sepheran conclusion. Everyone in the multiverse shares the need for hope. Hope at the end of life. You could even say reincarnation,” I say.

“Not the Multiversal Council. The Council believes in truth. Namely, that there is nothing after death. To infer otherwise is misleading and is propagating a living falsehood,” he says. “Keep going.”

“Keep in mind; I am not saying spirituality or God does not exist. I am only saying that I have seen Sephera with my own eyes,” I say.

The warden speaks, “Some gullible people are talking; they say, ‘If a heretic is blind enough not to choose the path to Sephera, he chooses hell.’ Given how vile the concept of Sephera is, I would say that hell and Sephera are the same thing.” He paces across this room a few times. “Enough. So how has Zane been performing this evil deed—sending people to Sephera, to their deaths?”

I throw caution to the wind, by saying, “I don’t know how this helps you, but I have to tell you, people try to destroy Sephera all the time and fail. That I know.” At this point, given my lingering doubts, I wish they would just destroy Sephera and get it over with.

“Answer the question, prisoner,” the veteran guard says.

“Alright. Whoever believes in a sort of utopia or god fathoms an image of them, right?” The warden twirls his finger, and I carry on, “The Dietons strategically extract, format, and use the majority of people’s mental images to represent a utopia in Sephera. This is my earliest perception of it anyway.”

“Okay, carry on,” the warden requests, and sits.

“Sephera is a tangible creation that represents an afterlife. A planet, with a massive physical metropolis made from the dreams, thoughts, and memories of everyone”

“How?” The warden asks, finally showing signs of curiosity.

“I am tired. Can I just go back to my cell?” I ask. Suddenly, as I scan my surroundings, I notice that many of the guards have expressions of unease on their faces. What’s going on? My hands are in restraints, and yet they fear me! Maybe there is a way out of this after all. They know something I don’t, and I have to find it.

“Listen prisoner, if you want your son to live a full—”

I interrupt him, and shout, “There you go with my son again! I don’t have a son. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

He slides a digital certificate of birth in front of me. There is no photo on it. I look at it and the last name matches up with mine. It could have been fabricated in order to deviously manipulate my thoughts, but I cannot chance it.

I say, “You’re just pulling off a ruse. Can we just end this? Look, I’m telling you as much as I can. If you’d at least have the decency to feed me properly and give me a warm bed, maybe I would be in better shape to answer your ridiculous queries!”

I received a sharp blow to my head.

“All right,” I say. “They use a telepathway. It is a device made by Zane to intercept and interpret brain waves at the time of one’s demise—I think. Again, this is all rumor, and I have no clue where the transmitter is. Honest.”

“How do you know about digital resurrection then? If you don’t have a clue about where the telepathway is and how it works?” the warden asks.