The Rising Dawn

Prologue

Matthew couldn’t meet his master’s eyes. He knew that if he did, his own conscience would get the better of him and he would say something that he would regret though, if truth be told, he would probably only regret it briefly. His master was notorious for, ah, terminating objectors.

“It is not wrong, Matthew,” his master said calmly, as if he could read his secretary’s mind. “They are dying happy, painlessly, instantly, amongst family. They are the lucky ones.”

“The-the lucky ones?” Matthew stuttered, unable to help himself.

“Of course,” his master looked surprised. “They are being given a quick and easy way out, a free ticket to wherever they can go next. They won’t be here when the dark days come. They won’t be here when the riots and the skirmishes and the disasters need…attending to. They are the lucky ones.”

Matthew couldn’t prevent the shudder that ran down his spine. He admired his master – the man was, after all, a genius – but he couldn’t repress the feelings of guilt that came with every incident like this.

“Behold, Matthew,” his master waved at the window, “a world on the brink of death. A world hovering, teetering, ready to fall into oblivion. I must balance the scales. Surely that is my duty?”

Matthew swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his narrow throat.

“I shall be a saviour,” his master continued, without the symptoms that would betray insanity and let Matthew run but merely as though it was a given fact, something unarguable and undefeatable.

“Yes, master,” he managed.

“Oh, silly little people. They are like children, running around the playground and fighting every time they fall over. When it seems the ground they run on will disappear, they keep on fighting as though it will not. They cannot fit their minds into it. They cannot make themselves see what they have done.”

“Yes, master.”

“Somebody must be the parent, the doctor, the teacher, the priest. Somebody must lead them away from the dangerous ground and repair the damage. Somebody must teach them how to live again. Somebody must show them the way forward, into a new world.”

“A better world,” Matthew added, bravely.

“Perhaps,” his master allowed. “I am inclined to think so. Particularly better than the alternative…”

The silence was so long that Matthew couldn’t stop himself from asking the question.

“Which is?”

“Oblivion.”

Matthew’s knees were knocking, terror making his stomach grow tight.

“Any moment now, Matthew,” his master turned to the window again. “Any moment now.”

Then, to Matthew’s horror, he began to count.

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

Matthew’s throat was speechless as the dead. The counting finished. There was nothing to mark its ending. There was no boom, no lights in the sky, no sound or sign to be witnessed. But there was a feeling of cessation that could not be denied.

“It is done,” his master announced. “The population of the world is reduced to one third of its former size without, I reiterate, harming the planet or any bystanders. I have achieved what no other could: painless annihilation of the surplus product.”

“People,” Matthew croaked. “With families.”

“Families who are also dead,” his master pointed out. “There is no one to grieve. It will never be you that this tragedy touched, not for anyone. It was never their friends. Never their families. I made sure of that. I was…merciful.”

“But…”

“Oh, some of them were good people, insofar as anyone can be called good in this world. They are like sweet fruit with a maggoty core. Corruptible, greedy, hate-filled and simmering with bile…Matthew, my own species disgust me. Some of those people, true, were useful people. But now they are gone and that is the end. No amount of speculation will change it.”

Matthew was frozen, sick to the stomach with horror. And yet, somehow, it seemed very insignificant. They were distant people, not his people, not his world. Unbelievably, it wasn’t hurting him like it should. It made him hate himself, yet it wasn’t even strong enough for true hate.

“Yes, Matthew,” his master said suddenly. “Yes, it was wrong. It was murder. But sometimes a butcher is required to do what the shepherd cannot.”

Matthew bit his tongue to prevent the outburst of guilty horror that would not have escaped anyway. He had too much self-control, given the circumstances. He wasn’t failing. The guilt wasn’t consuming him. It was terrifying.

“You’ll see,” his master assured him. “You’ll see. I am doing the right thing. I am doing the only thing. Where negotiation has failed, a knife will do the trick. Where gently leading fails, the meat cleaver will always be ready. Sometimes you must amputate a limb to prevent the rot spreading. Are you sure you’re alright, Matthew? You look a little green.”

“I think…I think…” Matthew scurried for the door. “Be right back!”

His master watched him go with faint amusement.

“I am not wrong,” he said, softly. “I am not wrong.”