Christianity was all but dead, mega city inhabitants worshipping their company more than any deity. That did not stop, however, weddings and funerals being conducted in traditional ways. As Princips power spread, they swallowed up other traditions from different countries. Only the slums held tradition in their hearts, family and friends still more important than any forms of consumerism.

What would have been considered as state funerals now only existed for those high up in Princips, and none were higher up that the Chief Executive. The usual faux emotion flooded through the amazing cathedral that had been created for just this occasion. A mixture of gothic and renaissance styles towered over the congregation. A high vaulted ceiling, painted gold angled to a great dome depicting a king sitting within the clouds. Winged men and women stood just under them, next came shepherds and holy men. Though this linked to early Catholicism, none really understand their meaning. What history they had been taught was displayed in vibrant colours on stained glass windows. Scenes of heroic knights fighting the heathens off; the beginnings of the Order of St. Francis, which became the founders of the new world and renamed themselves Société Principe, meaning 'the beginning of a new community.' The story continued in glass, depicting Princips Ltd. freeing the modern world from tyranny and using business as a way to help those less fortunate, an idea easy to buy into when you were one of the lucky ones who could afford to live with some luxuries.

The cathedral's outsides were a thing of beauty, a classical stone building set amongst the bright lights and modernism of the city. Once one of the larger structures, it now hid, a dwarf among giants. Decorative arches protruded from the roof, clover and leaf patterns appearing all over. Statues of the great and good from Princips' version of history adorned every available service. Had there been a scholar around, they would question why someone took a great green dome from the renaissance period and slapped it atop a gothic cathedral. But scholars of the old era no longer existed, the ones around now had been indoctrinated by Princips, believing the lies they spread. In fact, bar a handful at the top, for everyone, Princips' teaching were true and there was no reason to question them.

The angelic dirge bounced from wall to wall, filling the vast space with a sombre atmosphere. Two coffins processed passed, toward the great altar which was decked out in every golden artefact that could be found. Atop each coffin lay a white flag with the blue 'P' of Princips embroidered on top. The pallbearers wore white as well, tailored suits that linked spirituality to business. None of the mass crowd of mourners knew why white was so significant, happy in the understanding it was tradition. They even blew noses into, and dabbed eyes with, white handkerchiefs.

Towards the back, away from grieving families, stood the Princips Ltd. Board of Directors. It never paid to push yourself too far into the limelight, let the families feel they are the most important mourners, build respect by stepping back and offering a supporting hand. Even at this point, business needed to be conducted in the proper way. Amongst the small assembly of directors, Marcus Alkan surveyed the coffins with a smirk on his face. Kendra had said as long as he was loyal to her, she would find a place on the board for him. He expected to take his father's, but Kendra was so true to her word that she gave her own life to pave Marcus' succession.

Not even the priest's monotone rambling, telling generic stories about how kind and generous the deceased were, could wipe the smug grin off Marcus' face. He let the blabbering wash over him, mouthed the words to songs he did not understand the meaning of, stood when told, sat when told. Behind his glazed eyes swam visions of the future, a future where he would run the world, age not a problem now they had perfected the drug. Once, Marcus saw himself sitting at Kendra's side, now he would hold the power, he would run the world. Little did the world know, that might be a worse fate than letting his late leader take the baton.

As the funeral ended, the directors allowed family and friends to leave first, nodding solemnly to show their condolences as the men, women and children processed past. It was the last act of the uncomfortable part of the funeral, they would stage the next section on home turf; a lavish reception put on by Princips back at more stately rooms in one of their office complexes.

~

The hubbub of voices filled the room, echoing off the almost bare walls. To differentiate it from other, more work inducing, rooms, the walls had been painted a dull yellow and, like the conference room, a large window had been placed at the far end to look out over the city. A gaudy chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, swaying slightly on its long electrical cable. Rather than classic art on the walls, screens had been placed. At present they showed some of real history's most important paintings, but could easily be changed to advertisements or information. In the centre of the room sat the reason most people now bothered to attend a wake, the food. Decadence itself, the platters contained pastries bursting with ingredients, exotic fruits cultivated by exploiting slums in far-off islands, and cakes covered in caramel and sugar sculptures. To many here, this was standard fair, but then these were the rich, the lucky ones, those born into money who rarely saw the world beyond the walls of their city.

Marcus stood near a group of middle-aged ladies who preferred to share stories of their children rather than the deceased. Marcus' presence was enough to halt the conversation; he stood tall, strong shoulders, a smirk on his face. Stepping toward one to cut her off from the others, he said, "I am sorry for your loss," sincerity absent from his tone.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Kendra was a wonderful person," Marcus talked in monotone, unsure how to express veracity, "she will be missed."

"Maybe for you," the woman was unable to hide the venom in her voice.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's nothing."

Noticing a chink in the woman's armour, Marcus tried to sneak inside her defence. Hearing news of Kendra's inadequacies would only make him feel stronger. "There clearly is an issue."

"It does not matter."

Concern was his not forte, maybe a different tact would work better, "well, I just wanted to let you know how much she was loved, what an inspirational leader she was." Marcus tried his hardest to control the smile that overcame him; watching the woman's mouth contract and eyes narrow felt delightful. He pushed on, "she did so much to help me personally, I had hoped to sit on her board one day, it is sad that she is not here to see me achieve my dream." The task appeared almost complete, anger visible in the woman's eyes, a woman strategically chosen for her relationship to Kendra. Marcus tried to let the faux emotion take over his body, but he could not quite push it to the forefront. Crying would be good, but he rarely cried for real. Unable to force through a tear, he considered if one more line would do the trick, "I just wanted you to know that she gave of her time well, looking after us all, you should be really proud."

"Proud," she spat, "why should I be proud? She put her career over her own sister." The other women moved away, not wishing to be in the warpath.

"I'm sure that was to give you peace of mind and security," Marcus unable to hide the frown.

"It's because she's a bully," Leanne replied, "ever since our mum died and she had to look after the family she thinks she is in charge, she always said she was hard on me to keep me safe, but I know she has a power trip."

"Sometimes people show love in different ways."

"What? By ignoring me? Jimmy is the only one she ever had time for."

"Your brother?"

"My son. Sent him lots of gifts, but rarely ever visited. She once told me the reason she did not want to see us is because one day we will die and she doesn't want the heartbreak again after Dad went, then Mum a few years later."

"You see, she is just trying to protect you."

"Funny way of protecting me. I told her people die, you just have to cherish the moments you've got. Cheesy I know, but there's no magic pill that will make you live forever."

Concern hit Marcus' face, his body started to shake, "what pill?"

"There's no pill, that's the point, it's just a silly saying my Grandad used to say when he was ill. God, I sound like everyone in my family just drops dead."

Breathing deeply and composing himself, Marcus replied with a fake chuckle, "yes, it would be great if there were, but no pill I'm afraid."

"No pill, and since leaving home, no Kendra for me. I try not to be bitter, but we were such friends before Mum died, sometimes I wish it could have just stayed like that."

Marcus had no intention of listening to Leanne prattle on, he had got what he came for, to lord it over his former boss. Hearing she was not as 'evil' as she appeared did not make him feel happy, maybe it was that side of her that got her killed. Love often led to people doing stupid things, it was a gap in defence that could be exploited, and Marcus intended not to offer that opportunity to anyone. "Well, I should let you get on," he did not wait for the reply, hurrying away from the scene of his defeat.

~

Martha stood a few metres away, unable to bring herself closer. The sadness, the tears, the droops of bodies whose world had been stolen from them. It was her fault. She jumped to conclusions, worried the world was out to get her. Her paranoia had caused this. Martha tried to tell herself, with Kendra gone, the world would be a better place, but this did little to change her mood. Inadvertently, she had caused great pain to others. She edged closer to Ukrit's family, another milestone completed; just a few more before she was with them. The nearer she got, the more her tears grew. Another step, more pain. Only a few metres away now, she could feel the anguish emanating from the group. It was almost too much to bear. Something flashed in the back of her mind, the image she tried so hard to block out. The shattering of glass, the falling of bodies. Martha, unable to complete the task at hand, turned and walked away, wobbling with nerves, wobbling with disappointment. She knew she would beat herself up about this later, that not telling them how sorry she was for Ukrit's death would haunt her for the rest of her life. But in that space, at that time, she did not have the confidence to proceed. She told herself that she would remember Ukrit's memory by completing his mission, making certain a better future for the world, a future where the mega cities and slums became one harmonious society.

~

"Thank you for today," Derek said, "and sorry for making you come here afterwards, but we do not have the luxury of time on our hands. It appears that Kendra's scheming ran deep into the veins of this company. I have news that one of our planes attacked a," he paused, looking for a suitable word, "rebellion ship. Before they were taken down, they said they were doing it in the name of Kendra. We all agree on what needs to be done, but we must be wary of those still loyal to our former leader. Luckily, the rebellion ship in question is still flying, it was picked up a little behind the others but will still join the fighting. We expect the first set of planes to get there early tomorrow morning, unless they need refuelling of some kind."

Marcus smirked, his own father did not know even half of it. A secret empire that Derek's own son now controlled. It felt good to sit here, he had been in this board room a few times, but always as an outsider, never part of the covenant of power. Soon he would be the main power.

"So, whilst we wait for the fighting to begin, and pray this rebellion succeeds..."

"Sorry," Marcus could no longer sit idly by, "we want them to succeed?"

"Yes, we do not want innocent lives lost."

"Surely we need to snuff them out whilst we have a chance, if they destroy our fighters they will come for us next."

"We have plenty of protection here, we need to show the world that we are not prepared to destroy a slum, to kill people as part of someone else's game."

"But..."

"Look," Casper interjected, "we decided that we needed to be better than those who came before us, that we needed to sacrifice some of our own to save more lives. We are in agreement that we need to make the world a better place for everyone, and that we have neglected the slums for too long. When we asked you to join this board, you knew the rules, you accepted the path we were about to take. Have you changed your mind?"

"No...sorry," Marcus looked down, scolded by a higher power. This Casper was too good a speaker, Marcus vowed to not let him become the new Chief Executive, he would be too formidable a foe. Luckily, the plan seemed to put someone altogether more virtuous in command. Marcus looked across the table to the woman with smudged makeup, more like a distraught panda than a business leader. She would be much easier to manipulate, much easier to mould into what Marcus needed before he could become Chief Executive himself. That may take a few years, it had taken long enough to get on the board, he was not about to waste his chance now by rushing.

"Right," Derek appeared confused, taking a few seconds to form what he had to say, "so...erm...yeah, tomorrow we will have presentations from the potential new Chief Executives. Those who want to apply need to be ready with their visions for the future tomorrow. We will start early, meeting here at 8am. The information about what needs to be included is attached to the message you have all been sent. Let's try to get this done, and a vote held by lunch, with any luck we might stop some of the fighting." Derek observed the room, giving them time to think, "any questions?" No-one proffered a hand, "good. Well, get some rest, or polish up your presentations," he looked to Martha, nodding slightly, "and I will see you back here bright and early tomorrow." As they started to move, Derek defied his years, darting to place a hand on Marcus' shoulder, "a word please?" It was less of a question, more of a command.

They watched as Fatir ambled out, being given space and time due to his age. Behind went Casper, then the other new board member, Jenny Du Sousa, finally Martha. When all were well down the corridor, and the door securely shut, Derek asked, "what was that?"

"What was what?" his son replied like he was a teenager once more.

"The outburst." Before Marcus was able to reply, his father had moved into a dictatorial mode, "you knew the plan when you were given this opportunity. Just remember who got you here."

"Yes Dad," the response sounded weak, but it was all Marcus could do to hide his rage.

"I don't want to see you act like that again, people are already questioning how my son got on the board so easily. Remember what I have done for you before pulling another stunt like that."

"Sorry Dad." Marcus stood, clenching his fists as his father left the room. He wanted to scream, tip up the tables and throw the chairs. But this was just a bump in the road, his father always treated him like a failure, always made it appear that, without his influence, Marcus would be nowhere. Marcus knew what he had done to get this far, who he had confided in. When he was in power, his father would be the first out the door, then he would realise how strong his son really was.