Prologue

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      In a future just distant enough to spark our imagination, yet close enough for events to be close to heart, an extraordinary thing unfolded. It began with a revelation from the brilliant minds at the CERN Institute in Switzerland and Fermi Laboratories in the United States. Their groundbreaking article unveiled the creation and sustained existence of negative mass and negative energy.

      In the realm of genius, Albert Einstein himself had long ago unveiled the cosmic dance where reality bends in the presence of massive objects. Near such gravitational behemoths, time itself would leisurely slow its relentless march. But in the shadows of this epoch-defining discovery, a tantalizing notion emerged – a whisper of theories that once danced on the fringes of scientific speculation. They dared to dream that, in the proximity of a colossal negative mass, time would quicken its pace. Alas, these intricate ideas elude my grasp, and thus I implore the wise among us to await this future and discover its meaning for themselves.

 

        The experimental wizards of physics, in their relentless pursuit of understanding, demonstrated the acceleration of time and broadened the horizons of human knowledge. It was the inevitable course of history that such revelations would become the common inheritance of all. Engineers and inventors wielded these newfound principles to craft marvels, while visionary entrepreneurs and Venture Capital funds managers harnessed this potential.

      With these new insights into the very fabric of the universe, enabled constructing structures where time flowed faster than in the outside world. In these accelerated meeting rooms, hours passed like fleeting minutes in real-time. Technology conglomerates seized the opportunity to drastically reduce the time from product inception to market launch.

    Those who underwent time acceleration demanded commensurate compensation, but the gains reaped by corporations dwarfed any such considerations. Entire corporate complexes and factories concealed themselves beneath acceleration domes. The frenetic race for dominance propelled the coverage to encompass entire cities. Small, densely populated nations held a decisive edge in this race. Israel, as a shining example, cocooned its cities from desert to plateau, and from mountain to sea.

 

      Earth's climate, scarred by the tumultuous 20th century and deadly unbalanced, let loose. Capricious natural disasters became the unwelcome norm, testing humanity's resilience to its limits. Climate upheaval birthed both resource wars, but also a burst of hope. Even the enduring two-century conflict over the Holy Land paled in comparison to the horrors unleashed by nature.

      At the dawn of extensive coverage, two intriguing, and seemingly contradicting, phenomena emerged. Firstly, the air temperature surrounding the time acceleration fields plummeted to near absolute zero. Moisture froze to blankets of ice that accumulated to vast surfaces. Secondly, once reaching a critical size, on the boundary of the time acceleration 'bubble', energy oscillated wildly between positive and negative states at a staggering frequency. When matter interacts with the field, its constituent atoms are torn asunder, releasing massive torrents of radiation. The confluence of these phenomena unleashed an immense torrent of gamma radiation into the field and beyond.

      Advances in materials science elevated the domes from mere sunlight-to-electricity converters to highly efficient gamma radiation harvesters. The constant atomic disintegration upon the field spawned a ceaseless cascade of icy sheets cascading to the ground. Soon were their waters harnessed for the enclosed domains.

      Sprawling cities, whose darker footprint once contributed to environmental heating, now donned vast blankets of snowy whiteness that reflected sunlight into space. This extraordinary phenomenon, christened "the Chill", exerted immediate control over the unruly climate. In just a few short years, the relentless march of global warming stuttered and slowed. Climate patterns found their rhythm once more but held no sway over the sprawling domes inhabitants.

 

 

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The Peace War

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Spring 2070, Out-time / Spring 2135, In-time

​

The Kippa – Dan Arcology – Department of Defense complex

 

      Ominous red tactical signs blink relentlessly on the screens, tracing the borders of Israel in a foreboding manner. Their malicious intentions are known and clear. Whispers echo in the imaginations of those tracking them.

"Israel is weak. Its meagre forces will not withstand our might. Our time has come!"

The atmosphere, hundreds of meters below the Israeli Defense Forces headquarters, is tense.

      Operators occupy their designated positions. Concentric circles reflect the hierarchy of command. Juniors on the outer rim, with seniority increasing to the center. Straight passages divide the sections, allowing for seamless shift changes. In one station a fresh operator interfaces with the control armchair, which automatically reclines to alleviate the physical strain of their prolonged duty.

      Control chairs absorb military personnel, monitoring their physical condition. At their request, the chairs move. Easing an aching shoulder, or a stiff back. Amid the tense silence, a voice cuts through the air.

"Recliner, a back massage. Yes – there."

An immediate command resonates within the operator's mind. "Silence over on the net!"

"Sorry, Ma'am, my mistake." the embarrassed voice responds, in kind.

      A mechanical hum, more felt than heard, reverberates within the room, changing slowly as armchairs add to it, and subtracts. The hum aids to deep concentration. Their brains are linked to the systems through implanted interface, at the base of their skulls.

      Commands and readiness confirmation requests flow from their minds to the Edge units. The replies update a summarized tactical image, in their field of vision. As rank increases, so does the information resolution. The Israeli border shimmers with a sequence of green dots, symbolizing the Edge units.

      The long awaited report flashes through the Chief of Staff's mind.

"All positions are locked and charged, Sir. Activation pending your command."

Readiness gauges above each unit display present full power yet herald no insight into what's coming to pass. The armed forces leader commands, aloud rather than by mind, as protocol dictates.

"Chiefs of Staff, your current situation report. Climate Command?"

      The Aluf's (General) deep voice resonates immediately through the war room.

"The arctic front in the northern sector continues to intensify, producing thunderstorms and twenty lightning strikes per minute. The Straits of Gibraltar are frozen, forming an icy barrier. The barometric pressure over Jordan causes scorching temperatures around 50 degrees from the Sea of Galilee to Eilat. Ten kilometers high sandstorms prevents flights."

      "Navy, your turn."

"The closure at the Straits of Gibraltar prevents surface naval access to the Mediterranean."

The naval general speaks with composed determination. "We lost track of the Two Iranian submarines, previously spotted north of Cyprus. Threat is low. Sea condition prevent rising to launch depth. The Egyptians sealed the Gulfs of Tiran and Suez. The Saudis repelled the Iranian aircraft carrier groups from the south of the Red Sea, which are now anchored outside Aden's port."

      "Air and space.".

"Visibility extremely poor throughout the airspace." A laconic female voice replies.

"Over a hundred thousand missile launches detected throughout the Empire, of various types. The majority was destroyed by lightning or crashed. Ten thousand missiles hit the Kippas, causing no damage. Seven hostile combat satellites destroyed, and our spaceborne defense & interception arrays are at full alert."

      "Southern Command."

"South here. All survivors of commando units crashed yesterday due to the sandstorm have been located. Military police have arrested a hundred prisoners, and the wounded are receiving care. Thank god, we have suffered no casualties."

      "General Nazam? We are honored by your presence."

"Greetings from the Rais, General Shar'abi. The vigilant Preventive Security of the Free State of Palestine has apprehended hundreds of enemy agents and treacherous collaborators. Our armed forces hold defensive positions along the eastern border, guarding your rear. There is no sign of enemy movements. Inshallah, and with God's help, we shall prevail!"

      Finally, the chief of the Northern Command reports. "First reconnaissance units will breach the rock line in the Golan heights within minutes. It appears the Empire commences a major offensive, with all nine divisions that advances through Syria. Thus far, the deception is working."

      Negev Sharabi, the 52nd IDF Chief of Staff, rises and straightens his uniform. His eyes scan around, his mind transmits command for attention. The neural link immediately informs all on-call forces throughout the country. The command room fills with commotion, as all present stands. All eyes in the war hang upon the commander, the embodiment IDF's strength.

      Rav-Aluf ​(Joint Chiefs of staff) Sharabi surveys his people with a piercing gaze and declares.

"The time has come. Our actions today will determine the fate of nation and homeland. We shall reshape of the Middle East for eons to come. I know each one of you are doing your utmost. I am proud to serve alongside you and grateful for the privilege to lead you. Now, we await the onslaught."

      The waiting prolongs, stretching for what feels like eternity. Shifts change as time pass. Then, finally, twenty Out hours, nearly forty in days since the attack begun, news arrive. Enemy main forces are crossing the rocks line, in the southern Golan Heights. The Chief of Staff awakens from fitful rest, in his chambers at the Bor - the IDF's war bunker complex.

* * * * *

      The anxious countenance of the war-room commander materializes before him, his voice tense. "Shar'abi, it's starts."

The temporal gap allows for orderly preparations. Face washing, proper dress check, deep breath, and to station in mere seconds - relative to the advancing red forces. The enemy's intentions are clear, his goal - the nation's proper. The timing is symbolic, annoying, and infuriating. The attack began on the very date of Israel's declaration of independence, May 14th.

      "Activation by my authorization alone!"

The Chief of Staff interfaces with his armchair, reclines and closes his eyes. In his enhanced perception, the detailed tactical map unfurls, ensuring ranges and destruction yields align precisely to the operational plan's specifications.

The waiting lingers for many hours, in superhuman concentration. Its purpose - including the bulk of the enemy forces within the annihilation radius. At last, the Chief of Staff exclaims.

      "Methuselah stations, engage- engage -engage!"

Behind them and all around, an electronic hum suddenly escalates, akin to a colossal electric motor reaching its apex velocity. The heroes of Baghdad and Tehran gaze upon the blocks of black basalt, withstanding their onslaughts thus far. Radiance that outshines the mid-day sun, erupts from the rocks. The sky vanishes, and with it, the threat from the east.

      "Total annihilation. Repeat - total annihilation at the contact points!"

The Chief of Staff surveys satellite feeds, assessing what remains of the attackers' formations. Before his eyes, colossal rings of dust clouds expand and dissipate. The heart of the Golan Heights, spanning from the Syrian border to the slopes of the Hula Valley, has been utterly flattened.

      The surviving remnants of the enemy forces are lost, their retreat haphazard. Vehicles and equipment are abandoned as soldiers scramble their way to the logistical rear. The room fills with gleeful shouts, and hugging operators. In stark contrast, the Chief of Staff is distraught by the monumental loss and wary of the dire unknown brought by him upon the world.

 

​

Imam Hosseini Hospital, Tehran

Tuesday, April 15th, 2070, Out-time

 

      Layers of charred skin break, in a futile attempt to find a less agonizing position. Breath bubbles, and murky eyes fixate on the ceiling, yearning for the final release. Instruments beeping mourn, and the morphine infusion is useless.

A nurse whispers softly. "Colonel, can you hear me? An important guest arrived."

      The senior doctor senses the visitor's impatience and halts the infusion. "General, please, speak slowly and clearly to him. His hearing has been damaged by the blast."

"Can't see. Who?" A whisper escapes the lips remains.

The Quds Force commander inches as close as possible to the bed, draped in plastic sheets. "Abu Jawad, this is your general. You don't have much time left to suffer."

      "Sir, what about my soldiers? What about the war? Did we win?"

"Allah tested, and we failed. Only a few survived. I've come to offer grace, and vengeance."

"Vengeance? I'm dead. I can only curse the Zionist dogs on the way to the heavens."

"Colonel Mahdi, you're not done serving the revolution. You will rise and fight!"

      Moans of pain escape clenched teeth as the wounded man attempts to nod. The effort renders him unconscious, and the nurse rushes to resume the pain relief.

"Doctor, prepare him for transfer, now. My men will drive the ambulance."

The doctor considers telling the general there's little point but yields. With a quick nod, he rushes to assemble a team that will fight to keep the colonel alive for a few minutes more. The hospital has seen enough death today. No point adding his as well.

* * * * *

Secret research facility, somewhere in central Iran

 

      "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

The voice registers clearly, for some reason. "Strange. I'm in no pain, but I can't feel my body at all. You gave me painkillers? I'm completely lucid."

"We're treating you at a military medical facility. Can you say who you are?"

      "What? Of course, stupid question. Colonel Sahin Mahdi, Quds Force. Why can't I see anything? Have I gone blind? Who are you? Get the general!"

"Consider me your doctor. Your body died two years ago, but we've managed to save your consciousness. That's why you're not in pain. We're growing a new body for you, Colonel. I'll deactivate you now. Trust in Allah and rise again."

* * * * *

      "Good morning, Colonel. Can you see me?"

"Yes, strangely. Like through a television screen. Who are you? Your sound differently. I still can't feel my body. What's happening with me?"

      "My name is Doctor Fahrazad, I'm the director of this laboratory. Thousand apologies, we haven't yet been successful in growing a sustainable body for you. The radiation your original body absorbed corrupted your DNA, and the bodies we've cultivated keep developing defectively."

      "Wait, what? Where is my family? Why don't I feel any emotions? How am I not angry or afraid? Where is my commanding officer?"

"I have the capability to dampen your emotions, preventing psychological trauma. It has been thirty years since you died. Your commanding officer's time has also passed, and he departed our world. Your family was told that you're a Sha'hid (Martyr). Do you truly wish them to see you like that? Rest assured - the state provides for all their needs."

      "At least let me see them. Videos, pictures, anything. My Javad, he was only six months old. What happened with my wife?"

"Wait, I'm accessing your file. One moment, there. Your wife joined the police and is highly regarded. Be proud, your son followed in your footsteps. He's also a colonel.

      "The war widows have been granted permission to remarry. The security police monitor your family to ensure they're fine. Her second husband is a devout believer, they wouldn't have consented otherwise. He's a doctor and treats them properly."

      "And pictures? What about pictures? Show me already."

"Here, I'm sending what's in the file to your memory. I'll ask to take more. Now, I must get back to work. I'll deactivate you in a few minutes. Goodbye, Colonel. Trust in Allah and rise again."

* * * * *

      "Good morning, Mr. Mahdi. My name is Riza. How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy. Hey, I'm feeling again! You managed to get me back into my body!"

"Sir, a thousand apologies, but I have bad news. Your son passed away a few hours ago, and we decided to let you to observe the funeral from afar."

      "What?! How? Last time I was awake he was my age. Wait, how long it's been? What about my wife?"

"Nearly a century. Your ex-wife passed away approximately sixty years ago, and we didn't have a body to upload you into. You might just make it to her resting place."

      "89 years old?! May Allah punish you. You've taken my entire life! Ouch! Doctor, why do I hurt like this?!"

"Not us, the Zionist devils. You're in pain because this body is dying. We haven't solved all the issues with cloning you. It will endure for a few more hours, after which we'll upload you back into the computer. We'll undoubtedly be more successful in the future."

      "I'm in Jahnam (Hell), and you're demon. I finally understand - this is my destined decree. Allah is punishing me failing in the war!"

"Allah is the Merciful, Ya Sahin. You're wrong. He's granted you a second chance, if you'll be patient. Now stop wasting your time. An orderly will come to Dress you up."

​
 

Four years after the Peace War

The Seam – Passage between Dan Arcology & Tel Aviv

Spring 2074, Out-time / Summer 2481, In-time

 

      Alon exits the terminal, entering the lengthy approach tunnel. The twin exit doors at the tunnel's end seem to spit him into a dense, freezing mist. The Chill gusts assault him. Despite the thick sweater, he shivers, regretting his omission of a woolen hat.

"Always the same mistake," he grumbles to himself. "So what if we're in the Middle East, at the end of spring. It doesn't matter here."

      Alon clutches the safety rail and follows as sunlight brightens around. The air warms swiftly, moist stickiness clinging to his skin, making shedding layers challenging. The hum of drones, sealing a link between the access tunnel and the terminal, resonates behind him.

      When the construction is complete, months from now, the bothersome fog will be of little consequence. A few vacant shops down the road, a changing room awaits to accommodate the outdoor visitors’ needs. Alon stows his warm attire in a locker, dons shorts and a light cotton shirt, and is of on his way.

      Ficus macrocarpa fruits are decaying to a soggy pulp, rendering the pavement treacherously slick. Half walking, half slipping, Alon curses the planners of Tel Aviv for selecting this tree to shade the city. Eradication attempts of the tiny wasps, responsible for fruit ripening has failed. In Tel Aviv, the Ficus, and the wasps, thrive. Climate shifts have transformed it from a Mediterranean city into a rainy subtropical one.

      The routine goodbye to his family, on the other side of time, makes him feel much older than his forty-five years. They call him multi-grandpa, even though he’s a complete stranger to them. How well can one know a person, through hour long meetings each time? Once a week in Out–time, and once every three years at In-time?

      To combat melancholy, Alon turns to his routine ritual - Falafel meal and a glass of lemonade, at the venerable street corner stand. Afterward, he’ll stroll by the longer path to the market square at the city’s north, along the coastline. The memorial service for those lost in the Gathering starts in a few hours, and there are still arrangements to oversee.

* * * * *

      "...He who creates peace in his celestial heights, may he create peace for us and all of Israel; And say, Amen."

Tens of Thousands of voices resonate back an ancient prayer of hope. The spiritual leader bows his head and exits the small stage to the left. Alon, the unofficial ceremony's host, retakes the lectern.

      Before him, numerous faces portray sorrow, and here and there handkerchiefs dab tears of remembrance. Far aside stand to the dissenters, waving Israeli flags in which the Star of David has been replaced by symbols of protest. Here a broken clock, there the number 168 bounded by a red circle, crossed out with a thick line.

      "Next week will be marked under the Kippa, in mourning and celebration, 533 years of independence. Our brethren bear for us the official burden of remembrance. The Holocaust and Revolt, Israel’s military campaigns and hostilities against our nation, climate disasters, and memory of rebirth – our Independence Day. We were left to carry a different memory in our hearts.

      Eight years ago, 12 million souls were wrenched from our personal lives. Our children, siblings, parents, entire family trees. Some – compelled reluctantly, seeking a future possible only under the Kippa. Others – by the horrendous destruction, by the climate disasters. Some unwillingly, abducted in their bodies.

      Babies and children, loved ones, parents and siblings, childhood friends and lifelong companions, neighbors, and colleagues. All of them - the Gathering Generation – fulfilled, within few years, entire lifespans before our yearning eyes. Our lives trees uprooted from us. Replanted beyond our reach, beyond our hearts.

      We, the fallen seeds, remained in the soil of hastily torn roots. But seeds sprout, and take root. We cultivated grove of memory and vitality for the nation glory. Young, but vibrant. Sparse, yet fruitful. As long as sense prevails in us, we shall never cease growing. We shall never cease remembering. My neighbors, siblings, beloved - a day will come, and our world will be restored. There will be no use of the domes, and we’ll unite as one great forest. The peoples of Israel live on."

​

​

Secret research facility, somewhere, central Iran

 

Resurrection Day, Spring 3156, Israel in-time

 

      "A wonderful and blessed morning unto you, the returnee. Open your eyes and rise to a new life by the grace of the Almighty!"

The cleric is dressed in a style that Sahin is unfamiliar with, as are the other half dozen around his bed, but the rhetoric... yes. Definitely an Ayatollah.

A hand offers a cup, to moisten the mouth and throat. "Blessing unto you, wise one, and thanks to Allah!"

Everything around him is strange. futuristic. His emotions are in full control, and his body is awakened and alert.

      The cleric finishes and leaves, accompanied by senior officers.

"Truly blessed! My name is Ali Moussawi and I'm your guide. It's my honour to know you. You are a true legend!"

The speaker appears his age, the age he died.

"Say, is this body going to die soon? Because it feels wonderful."

      "No, Sahin. All the problems have been solved. It's been a thousand years since you died and this body is equivalent in age to twenty-six. Theoretically you have at least another hundred - one hundred and twenty years to live. In the last six months they prepared your body. Soon you'll see that it's in top physical condition A body worthy of a warrior."

      Sahin is stunned and speechless. Ali's thick beard breaks out into a genuine smile, winkling the corners of his eyes.

"I'll let you get organized and in ten minutes we'll go on a tour. You have a lot to learn before you collect your promised revenge."

* * * * *

      His new body longs for sleep, but thoughts rattle in his head like the peacocks of the Malat Zoo. A finger traces the decoration of the book cover on the nightstand, in a futile attempt to relax. The happiness of the resurrection, the loss of his family, and the chance of revenge intermix with each other.

      Sahin despairs falling asleep, dresses, and goes for a walk. A thought strays. 'Does Malat Park even still exist? Maybe I will visit it when we get to Tehran. Jawad loved the fountain there so much.'

His feet lead to the base mosque, the courtyard gravel crunching under his shoes.

The ornate doors open for him, and the domed entrance towers above. The gold decorations spell out familiar verses on the blue marble walls, and for the first time a feeling of homecoming stirs inside. His heart draws to the central prayer chamber. Sahin takes off his shoes and cleanses his body with water from the basin next to the entrance.

      The prayer rugs welcome his feet, and the young man sits down by a pillar. A thankful prayer mutters in mouth, after which the thoughts return. Sahin knows now why this is where he came to.

'The beloved prophet, the way, the truth, and the life. Listen to my heart and cleanse my mind of doubt.'

The thoughts and questions unfold in his mind, and the heart answers the word of God.

* * * * *

      "...Peace and mercy of Allah and His blessings upon you." Warm tears stream down Sahin's cheeks, his eyes closed in deep gratitude.

A hand touching his shoulder abruptly pulls back from his deep soul delving.

"Did you even sleep at night ya Sahin? I envy the exaltation you feel now. First Fajr after a thousand years! Basically any prayer at all."

      "Ali, good morning. No, after you revived me yesterday, I began fearing for my soul. I read in the Koran and then tried to fall asleep. I failed, so I came to the mosque to thank Allah. And reveal my heart to the blessed prophet."

The mentor nods in appreciation of his friend's devotion, and gestures towards the exit.

      "Come. I have something to show you."

The two pass the mostly empty corridors, to a roof terrace. The sky pales in the light of a young sun, which has not yet emerged over the mountain range behind them.

"Look around and tell me what you see."

      "A military base, a dark desert, mountains, and according to the stars we're in spring. What's that, far away? A lighted cloud? Fog? I've never seen anything like it."

"Very good. It's a dome over a city. It makes time move much faster under it than outside. That's how we live today. Here take a closer look."

The field of vision dims, and suddenly the spectacular sight is before him. Sahin extends a hand but does not see it.

"What's going on here?!"

      Ali laughs lightly. "We started the training. We're all implanted with a small and very sophisticated computer that enhances abilities and connects directly to the brain sensory centers. It also sharpens balance and stability and now prevents you from getting dizzy and falling. You'll find that it is a great gift. Now take a look."

      Glowing mists roll from an opaque wall of ice, blocking the sky. A deep turquoise color echoes in his eyes without a sound, and the ripples of mist beckon to stare at them forever. "It's spectacular! What is that light?"

"The time acceleration is caused by an energy field. The Physics is complicated and you'll learn more about it. The colour is caused by what's called The Cherenkov effect. An insignificant phenomenon of nuclear reaction in water or ice environment. Let's look inside."

      "What are these - buildings? No, minarets. Like a huge mosque. They literally touch the sky. This future is wonderous!" Sahin's voice is innocent and excited. "Say, how is it midday inside? The sun just came out."

"Remember I talked about a nuclear reaction? The people inside need to be protected. Under the dome there's a protective shell that the towers support. The inside is a screen that projects the sky according to the time of day. Right now, it's noon for them."

      "Then why don't I see them moving fast?"

"The picture is being slowed down intentionally. Otherwise, we won't even be able to see movement inside because the pace is too fast for us. Don't worry. You'll get inside in due time and see everything for yourself."

Ali cancels the transmission to their brains, and Sahin suddenly feels a sharp pain in his palm.

"Stupid me, got hurt grabbing the railing too hard. It's a deep cut."

      "Concentrate on the pain and order it to stop in your mind."

With a skeptical look, Sahin closes his eyes and concentrates. 'Pain, enough!' The pain is gone. "Is it magic, or did I hit an off switch?" The blood oozes from the wound is thick and dark, but the flow quickly stops.

"Did you make any changes in me? Something genetic?"

      "No, no. In order for a body to accept consciousness it must be an exact copy of the dead body and close in age to the consciousness recording. That's why it took so long to succeed. The scientists had to grow a body that would fit exactly. Healing the incision is simple technology. Billions of Nanobots in our bloodstream that repairs damage. By tomorrow you won't even have a scar left. Now come with me. You have a lot to learn about your augmentation and what it'll enable you to do."

* * * * *

Resurrection day+1, Spring 3156, Israel In-time

 

      "Ali, don't think I'm ungrateful, but what happened to the food in the future? The texture feels right, but what little flavor there is, doesn't fit the type of food."

"It's because I'm dumb Ya Sahin. I forgot to teach you about taste experiences. Look – all our food comes from the domes.

      "They're an almost completely closed system that lives under full recycling. Natural food is very expensive. Crops consume a lot of resources that only the leadership receives. We use artificial ingredients called savings food. Healthy and with all the nutritional values. It has no taste and that's why we use recordings of the real food being eaten. We taste from the leader's mouth instead of what we actually ate."

      "How...strange. Wait, but how does it work? The augmentation does something to the taste buds on the tongue? Wait, no, in the whole mouth."

Ali smiles. "Definitely not. Remember the augmentation? It connects directly to the neural input before it reaches the brain and changes it. Your mouth will feel tastelessness, and the augmentation will transmit real taste instead."

      Sahin ponders for a moment, careful to hide his concerns about the intrusive technology. "These are amazing abilities. Wait a second, is this the same for all senses?"

"Of course. When you focus on something, the augmentation will sharpen the sense. Say sight? Your eye hasn't changed. The augmentation magnifies and improves what you'll see."

"Walla. And how do you get flavors for the food? And the meat? Also not real anymore?"

      "Heroes like you deserve everything. Just ask your augmentation and he'll take care of the rest. The meat is actually real. To maintain genetic diversity, Out farms raise small flocks and herds of poultry cattle and sheep that are not eaten. Instead they take samples from the edible body parts. Huge factories inside produce Very quickly by three-D printing meat parts for the entire population. Lamb chops? You won't be able to tell the difference from what you remember by eye or mouth."

      "Is it like this only with us, or also with the Zionists? How does it work there?"

"Their corrupt government doesn't care about the people. If you don't have money, you're in trouble. But other than us there's no money in the world as you used to know. Everyone can sell their experience. Even the most obscene and private.

      "Products from the Out are worth a fortune and only the rich can afford them. Those Out take advantage of it and live like leeches at the expense of the masses inside. With us all foreign produce is lovingly donated to the state."

"I don't understand how it works. Why is it so complicated?"

      "You have a briefing on the subject later today. Want a summary now?"

"Sure, why not. It's strange and interesting."

Ali shrugs. "We talked about food. Let's say you ate dessert in a restaurant. Strawberries in cream. Real. Maybe from some Inside farm or imported from the Out. Keeping this memory for yourself will cost much more than a monthly salary.

      "What you'll do is offer the experience to a culinary exchange that operates exactly like the stock market in your time. Of course, you'll haggle with the exchange's AI on the pricing. The restaurant will be automatically updated and when the bill arrives the dessert price will be significantly lower. Within a day, the memory of eating the dish will be erased from your mind and augmentation. You'll sell more experiences and such that are in demand. Your rating as an Experiencer will go up and you'll get paid more when they buy memories you've created."

      "Ali, about this In-Out business. Why would a government allow such parasites?"

"It's impossible for them to enter. A very small part of people suffers from a genetic disease in the brain called 'Terminal Consciousness Destruction Syndrome'. You're going to learn about it this week. Medical training will be part of your cover."

* * * * *

Resurrection day+3, Spring 3156, Israel In-time

 

      "Ah'lan Ya Sahin. How's school today so far?"

"What can I say. Honestly? The new technology scares me a little. Back in my days, academic studies took years. Today they implanted an entire medical profession in my brain in just a few hours. Even muscle memory of complicated procedures, which I've never done in my life!"

      The comment makes Ali laugh. "I can't imagine another way to learn so much information. You have to tell me about it sometime. Actually years?! How do you even remember at the end what you learned at the beginning? Yalla, come to the technical department. We'll squeeze in a lesson before the evening prayer."

* * * * *

      In terrariums and cages along the walls, a variety of insects, reptiles, and birds dwell. A significant part of the space is dedicated to a clean room. Biological samples refrigerators and freezers stand next to workstations.

"I didn't expect it to look like what I know, but it's more like a laboratory than a workshop. Do you keep the technology somewhere else?"

      "You are the technology Sahin. And all the animals here. There are also no more miniaturized storage devices because they are very easy to discover. Everything is stored and encrypted in the augmentation and in recent centuries also biologically codes into animals."

Ali recognizes the look in front of him, and gestures to avoid questions. "There's a whole day tomorrow on science and technology and I'm really not the address. I'm a field guy like you."

      "Okay, so let's talk field work. Explain slowly, and from the beginning. How to infiltrate the border? How do they check what comes in? How do we bring in equipment?

"Sure. Entry is relatively easy. You cross the border to Jordan and through it to the border with Israel. From there, the transition into the dome is simple. You just need proper documentation. And there'll be. We have sources Out-side and In-side to take care of it.

      "Bringing or extracting equipment is an operation in itself and we avoid it. It's easier to get it In or Out by bribery or theft. The field is traversed in a time lock. One side opens while the other's closed to completes the acceleration field. To reduce energy expenditure, the goods are transported in carts that pass through a short tunnel. The field surface area involved is significantly smaller and adjacent to the carts. After the goods finish passage they're decontaminated from radiation and transfer to a sorting center."

      "All cargoes are scanned for biological signs to prevent transmission of diseases in both directions. Organic material's shipped in radiation-protected containers under the strictest supervision. Advanced technology isn't sent Out."

"Well, all in all very clear, and quite elementary. Really no different than any secure border crossing I've bypassed in the past. When do I get a mission briefing?"

      "First of all complete the training. The plan is until tomorrow afternoon. After the prayer we'll go to the headquarters in Tehran."

Sahin hesitates, gambles. "Say, Ali, what's the war about, actually? The empire is large and stable, and from what I see much more prosperous than in my time. Why is there a need for more killing, and what good is an ancient warrior like me, consumed with longing and grief?"

The young man answers passionately. "The Jihad needs you and will end in complete victory!"

* * * * *

Resurrection day+4, Spring 3156, Israel In-time

 

      Sahin finds the shared breakfasts pleasing. The dining room commotion alleviates the immense loneliness felt every time his consciousness was awakened. Ali is chatty as usual, and an important source of knowledge deliberately. Or unbeknownst.

"Say, so when we looked inside Tehran - was it through cameras, or someone's eyes? Is it telepathy? Can you tell what I'm thinking?!"

      "I wish. There is no such thing as telepathy and believe me we've tried. It turns out that like fingerprints each consciousness is unique. They cannot talk to each other directly. Even with insane computer resources it's impossible to create a common interface or a  language."

"A little disappointing, Ali. And a little encouraging, really. Yalla, let's go to training."

* * * * *

      Sahin's eyes follow the intricate pattern decorating the plush study chamber interior. The repetitive movement helps keeping his calm. In the new world it is hard to know who is listening. Probably everyone. First of which - the computerized consciousness in his mind. The briefing loaded into his memory in the last seconds covered a millennium of upheavals. He returned to one of the sections. Intuition and lifelong experience shouts deeply in his mind, insisting important information is kept hidden from him.

      "In 2030, the Chinese stunned the world, presenting an active prototype for uploading consciousness to a computerized system. The first successes were reported roughly two years later, using regime opponents assigned to the experiments and dying shortly after the upload. The Nanobots essential to the process were still mechanical, not biological, and caused complications and damage to the brain.

      "The devils from the West - the International Science Council and the UN - demanded cessation of the research and threatened not to share knowledge of time acceleration with the Eastern axis. The destruction God wrought on our world subdued the weaker, and the axis fell apart. China and Russia submitted to the requirements of the Scientific Ethics Treaty. The homeland and North Korea refused, in the name of national pride. Our development delayed, until intelligence agencies were able to obtain time acceleration knowledge, keeping the enemy none the wiser.

      "Brave Chinese patriots handed over the torch of consciousness uploading to the motherland, and we continued research. At the beginning of the experiments, uploaded consciousnesses were observed to make the same choices, and answer in the same wordings, as the original minds. But after a few days, independent development ensued.

      "The brains were extracted from the subjects' bodies, and deep scans proved the uniqueness inherent to the intelligent brain cannot be duplicated. It is its nature to create one-off brain pathways, which define character and choices. A duplicated consciousness will not remain identical to the original."

Sahin pauses the lecture. 'Why would the world reject such a gift? No, something amiss.'

      For his training, the chamber was given unlimited access to global information networks. A search for courses related to consciousness duplication brings up thousands of results, mostly them from the fields of philosophical and legal knowledge. He chooses several hundred, from leading worldwide academic institutions. Within seconds, the vast volume of information loads into his mind, and gut wrenching understanding flashes.

      The world forbade keeping consciousness outside the body, bodies and minds cloning in any form, except for body parts intended for transplantation. Such beings are devoid of rights, including the right to life. The sages of Islam, from all streams, also decreed...

      His eyes return to following the chamber's decorations, to calm the rage boiling in his blood. Against Ali. Against this future. Against the country that robbed him the holy judgment of Allah, to heaven or hell. He - Colonel Sahin Mahdi, Sha'hid, and hero of the people - an abomination, a disgrace, a cursed soul forever!

* * * * *

 

Military facility, Tehran Dome, Central Iran

Resurrection day+5, Spring 3156, Israel In-time

 

      "Peace be upon you, the returnee! You look good. Alert and determined. Ready to complete your thousand-years old mission?"

Blank faced and stiff postured, Sahin replies. "Allah's Peace and blessings upon you, the great imam. I am ready with all my soul."

      "And you, ya Ali, ready to give your whole to our holy cause?"

"My life and my soul in the name of the prophet!"

The spiritual leader nods in satisfaction and raises his arms. The two kneel and are rewarded with hands on their heads and blessings of success.

"Ali, my son, wait briefly outside. I want a word with the returnee."

      The imam rises from the head of the conference table, and nods at his aids who follow Ali and close the door after them. Fringes of a black robe rustle on a carpet as the Grand Ayatollah approaches, stopping in front of Sahin. Fingers tap the shiny surface, and sharp black eyes peer deeply into his soul. The heavy rhetoric is completely absent from his words.

"What's your conclusion from the informal research performed yesterday?"

      Sahin keeps his face emotionless, ignoring the frozen currents of fear running through his blood. In resignation, he decides that there is no other way but the truth. "Ya Imam, this is the day the believer will see reward for being honest! I learned that I was recreated an abomination. Why didn't you allow me to receive my punishment after death? Let the Holy Allah punish me for my failure?"

      His expression cracks, tears filling the corners of his eyes.

The old man purses his lips in mock appreciation, bowing his head theatrically. "And you even managed to receive accreditation as Grand Ayatollah, and your insight is equal to the commandment of the Prophet? Very good! Please, bless me, O great one!!!"

Sahin is confused. "Imam? Allah forbids, I'm nothing compared to you! But those great in the Koran stated that reviving people is an abomination. Yesterday I read hundreds of fatwa rulings, saw thousands of sermons..."

      Fingers gently hold his chin, raising his bowed head to the imam's face. "My son, neither you, nor I, nor a thousand sages will decide what is God's will. You are here, aren't you? Your body died again and again, and your soul came back to life again and again. You think if He had wanted otherwise, you would be standing here in front of me, on the verge of your greatest test?"

      "So, what am I? How will I prove I'm worthy? My head is filled with questions and my heart consumed of doubts. The devils are also tools in the hands of Allah, like all the creatures of creation. Maybe I've returned as one? My body and mind are here, but what about my soul?! You brought me back to complete a great task, but As I prepare for it I..."

      The young man looks down, hesitant to continue. Afraid to disappoint. and for his new life.

"You are a miracle, the returnee, and the edge of the sword. You are one and only. Remember - Allah does not demand more from the soul than it is capable of. When you succeed in your noble mission, you will return as a saint. Worthy and entitled to the grace of Allah. Doubt is the stone upon which the blade of thought is sharpened. Speak your mind, without fear. Open your heart to me."

      Sahin dares not looking up, and answers simply.

"I don't know if the fire is still in me, great one. All those who harmed me, who robbed me of my son and wife, have vanished into dust. The enemy is far away, and harmless, and the empire is safe. What is there to fight for? Does Allah still want this jihad?"

The imam pats him firmly on the back and laughs happily.

      A distraught Sahin smiles with relief, and without understanding.

"Oh, my son! I knew we made the right choice. You are merciful, a noble virtue. But the secret I'll share with you, it will light a flame in you that you didn't know could exist!"

A short while later, the imam kisses Sahin's cheek goodbye. The young man leaves with a straight back and a determined heart, sure of his path.

* * * * *

     "Ali, I'm worried about the operational preparation. We haven't received any details."

The men do what warriors have done since the dawn of time - wait.

"Everything is too classified and details are irrelevant anyway. By the time we infiltrate the enemy's dome, current intelligence information will be outdated. What we'll need to know will be uploaded in the briefing. They'll call us anytime now. Patience."

     "Patience? Really?! A thousand years aren't enough for you? I've waited enough."

"You have no more doubts I understand? The Ayatollah is truly an impressive man."

A door opens in front of them, and a colonel motion to enter. The briefing room locks and secures, and information streams flow between the participant's minds. After half an hour the commander of the Intelligence Force stands, summarizing the main points.

     "You will be completely cut off from us, except in case of extreme emergency. That's why you received full approval for independent actions. Intelligence Gathering phase will begin Out-side, you will both assimilate into the Bedouin community in the Negev and be updated on the intricacies of life in the dome and Out. You will be provided with spying devices for their communications rooms, which you'll plant in the southern sector.

     "Following that, Ali will infiltrate the Kippa, to implant devices inside. In addition, he will gather intelligence that will allow both of your to assume suitable covers for next. Immediately after that, he will go back Out, to reduce the time gap between you. Sahin will infiltrate shortly after and pass through the Kippa to Tel Aviv at the Out.

     "Sahin will plant additional devices and establish contacts with the regime opponents detailed in the briefing. I caution again, the group is very suspicious of strangers. Your main goal – obtaining information and access to the enemy's dome control systems, including everything possible on the devil Alon Alleyn who operates them."

     Ali raises an enthusiastic hand, his face lit as if experienced inner revelation.

"Why don't we just assassinate him? The moral damage to the Zionists will be enormous!"

The general smiles condescendingly. "Sahin, explain to your overzealous partner."

"Ya Ali, you want to kill snakes in the hole, not upset them. It's better to collapse it on them and crush them all at once."

"Well said. Young man, learn from your elders, and don't talk nonsense."

     'Let the general will his orders by all day long', thinks Sahin with a blank face. The Ayatollah's words burn in his mind.

'You are a soldier of heaven, not of earth. Alon Alleyn is not just a technician. He is the great secret of the Zionists, who brought them the kippa and to you hell. If the Merciful and Compassionate One presents you with an opportunity to avenge your family and soldiers, you will gladly present him this infidel's the soul for trial.'

     The commander of the infiltration team clears his throat, and deliberately changes the subject. "Commander, our cover as a romantic couple – the abomination screams to the heavens."

"In their corrupt society, this alone is considered justification for men of your age and status to live together. Remember - the goal justifies an apparent sin."

The commander of the Quds Force stands up, and with him all present. "God willing you succeed!"

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