Published: 30 Jan 2017

Part XV

THREE WORLDS
Formerly Published as “0300 Books I, II, and III”

Chapter 45: Senior Chiefs

Will and his team figured out how the veil worked. It was not, as I had once told Admiral Davis, involuntary. It was more subconscious, and automatic, like breathing. But, just as we could control our breathing when we thought about it, we learned to control the veil. As soon as we figured that out, we started revealing ourselves to more people.

I invited the captain of the Honolulu, the second battleship in the task force, and two members of his staff to visit. Danny and George, and Captain Moultrie escorted them to the conference room where I waited with Artie and Cory. Before the Honolulu crew walked in, I shut down the veil. I don’t think they caught on, though until Captain Moultrie did the introductions.

“Gentlemen, this is Captain Fairburn; his XO, Commander Allen; and Ship’s Senior Chief Jones of the Honolulu. This is Captain Cory Long, Colonel Artie Stewart, and Commodore Paul Stewart.” I was liking Captain Moultrie a lot: he had an uncharacteristic grin when he made the introductions, and was as anxious as I was to see what the men’s reaction would be.

The men’s eyes swept from a 14-year-old captain to an 18-year-old colonel to a 20-year-old commodore. Commander Allen opened his mouth, but quickly shut it. Captain Fairburn accepted Cory’s handshake, then Artie’s, and then mine.

“Captain Fairburn, I’m glad for this opportunity to meet,” I said.

“Thank you, Commodore.” He then came straight to the point. “You must understand that I’m a little surprised. Your bio and official photo suggest you’re quite a bit older than you appear.”

He’s taking it well, I thought. No need, yet, to push. “The photo and some of the earliest dates in the bio have been altered; everything else is accurate including schools and service.

“You’ve met my son, Artie, the Colonel in Chief of the California Liberation Army; let me introduce two of my other sons, Ensign Danny Stewart and Ensign George Stewart-Rogers.”

I probably shouldn’t have hit Captain Fairburn with quite so much. Danny and George had dropped their veil, and were revealed as 14-year-olds under arms—heavy arms.

It took the captain several moments to get his thoughts together. He was quite diplomatic. “I understand that Colonel Stewart is your son by adoption.”

I answered his unspoken question. “As are Danny and George, and the two boys Artie and Danny took as brothers in the Funeral.” We never had to say what funeral we were talking about. Just ‘the Funeral’ without any other qualifier was enough.

Captain Fairburn nodded. He didn’t offer to shake hands with the boys, since they were on duty. “Pleased to meet you, boys. My son, who is also a George, and his boyfriend Ollie are serving on the Adelaide with Ollie’s dad. They’re about your apparent age. I hope you’ll have a chance to meet them.”

Apparent age. Yes, I caught that. “Danny and George are 14. I’m 20, although Admiral Davis says I look younger.”

“What can you tell us, sir?” The Senior Chief interrupted. Gutsy, I thought.

“Quite a bit, Senior Chief, but not without coffee,” I said. I read him correctly. He appreciated a good cup of coffee, and the flag mess had the best.

When coffee had been served, I started answering their questions, including the unspoken ones.

“We—Danny, George, a few others, and I—have been a secret for some years. Admiral Davis instructed me to let key people in on that secret. And, I stress, secret. What you learn about us is classified Cosmic Top Secret, with a strict need-to-know.

“A lot of people fear things they don’t understand. Whatever genetic change that gave us our talents also gave us a mental screen that made people ignore us entirely, or overlook or forget when we did something unexpected—like being promoted to commodore at age 20.”

“We’re human; it’s just that we’re on the edge of standard normal distribution when it comes to IQ, reflexes, and strength. Some folks have thought we might be aliens, perhaps come through a rift. Danny was born in Seattle, Washington. George is from Waycross, Georgia. I was born in Valentine, Texas.

Valentine, Texas triggered a memory. “Your father, he was Commander Alexander Stewart,” the chief said. “I was a 15-year-old Cadet Seaman Apprentice on his ship. He gave me my first real position. He put me on the helm. You look just like him.”

How can I say how I felt at that moment? The chief was the first person I’d ever met who had known my father—a man I’d never met except once in an imaginary world created by Tobor.

“I never knew my father, Chief. He died two months before I was born.”

The chief caught my meaning, and my yearning, and spent fifteen minutes or so telling me stories about my dad, about the chief as a sixteen-year-old Able Bodied Seaman in the battle of Novosibirsk, and about my father’s death. I had to struggle not to show my tears.

The chief’s stories and his affirmation were enough that I didn’t have to push the captain or his exec. I felt their understanding and acceptance. Danny and George said they would invite Captain Fairburn’s son and his boyfriend to visit. The meeting was cordial and fruitful.

Revealing ourselves (so far, just Danny, George, and me) got easier after that, especially when the chief put out the word through the Senior-Chief-old-boy-network that he’d served with my father, and that I was a ‘chip off the old block.’

The Flag Bridge was quiet. Jonathan worked his console, tracking and routing messages, including those to and from George and his Press Gang. Avery was working Fleet supply points for the ever-increasing demand for communicators (with the Tobor chip), weapons, iPads, and pizza. Jonathan hit his enter key, stood, and walked to the fridge. He took out a lemonade and stood for a moment. Avery left his console and walked to the fridge. “That looks good,” he said. “My throat’s dry.”

I felt Jonathan’s nervousness. (Yes, I was monitoring. Being a good commander, I pushed a little reassurance.)

“Uh, yeah,” Jonathan said. He was closer to the fridge, so he reached in and handed a lemonade to Avery.

“Humidity always seems low onboard ship—every ship I’ve been on,” Avery said.

“What ships?” Jonathan asked. “I mean, what ships have you served on?”

“Well, I’d been on the Hope for only a week, so that probably doesn’t count. Before that, on the Zabiskie … ”

“That was the cis-Mercury expedition!” Jonathan said. “You were on that?”

“Fleet fooled me, good. I thought I was going to get assigned with my dad to a supply tender running back and forth to the Venus terraforming fleet. The captain of the Zabiskie wasn’t sure what to do with me, so he assigned me to be a runner for the chief scientist. Pretty soon, I was helping him with his studies, and got my name on one of his papers as a principal co-researcher.”

Jonathan radiated wow and cool. I sent, now’s the time to ask. He picked up on it. “Hey, tonight, in the rec center, there’s a virtual-reality shuttle orienteering competition? It takes two. I’ve signed up, but I need a partner? Would you? You can be the pilot if you want.”

Avery took a moment, perhaps he was just startled by the change of subject. “Sure. What time?”

“1700.”

I sent a don’t quit, now. Jonathan picked up on it, and asked, “Um, maybe, after, um, we could have a pizza or something?”

“Like a date?” Avery asked.

Jonathan blushed. “Um, yeah, kinda, if you don’t think I’m too young or anything.”

Avery smiled. “I’d like that. See you about 1630 in the rec center, to plan strategy?”

Jonathan nodded. “Sure! Uh, thanks.”

There were 10 teams, and their progress and scores were displayed on screens above the VR simulators. I sat with several of the guys and watched. Besides Jonathan and Avery, there were two other teams from the Flag Team: Kevin and Casey; and Bobby and Alberto, the youngsters. The computer and judges made sure there was real competition. Kevin and Casey were regular shuttle pilots, and were handicapped, for example.

It was a close race. Bobby and Alberto came in fifth, which absolutely thrilled them and the GWGs. Cory and Alex Long were fourth. Kevin and Casey came in third, which was okay with them. George Fairburn and his boyfriend, Oliver from the Adelaide, who were on an “exchange visit,” were second. (I wasn’t entirely sure what was exchanged, but the boys were sharing quarters and duty shifts with George and Danny. Danny told me, after the second day, that I’d have to invite Captain Fairburn and Ollie’s dad back to visit so we could tell them their sons were Metas. More of Tobor’s manipulation of the personnel system.)

Jonathan and Avery won the race. When they came out of the simulator and saw the scores, Avery put one arm around Jonathan and half-hugged him. I felt a little hesitation, and pushed Jonathan until he put his arm around Avery. I didn’t feel anything sexual, but I did feel acceptance. I figured Jonathan no longer had to worry about the age difference.

Two weeks or so later, Jonathan made an appointment to see me. He didn’t say what it was about, so I guessed it was personal, and, since I had told him that he could talk to me about sex stuff, I guessed that’s what it was about. As soon as the door opened, I knew what had happened. Jonathan was so happy his feet barely touched the floor. (Yes, some of the boys were developing telekinesis, but Jonathan wasn’t one—yet.) No, it was easy to read: he and Avery had done sex stuff and it had been very, very good. Why, then, does he want to talk? Not just to tell me, I wouldn’t think. It didn’t take any encouragement to get him talking.

We went to Avery’s room and lay on his bed, just cuddling. I figured this was the right time so I asked him, “Avery? Will you do sex stuff with me?” I was so afraid he would laugh, or push me away, or think I was too little. But he didn’t! He hugged me tighter, and told me that he wanted to, but wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I told him I’d never done it, nothing but cuddles and, you know, fooling around in the showers or the locker room, but nothing with anybody.

He asked me if I ever played with myself, and I told him yes, that I knew about masturbation, and did that. He nodded, and then he surprised me. I think he was feeling what I was thinking!

“You’re worried,” he said. “Afraid, I think, of something. Please tell me? I promise, I’ll keep your secrets and not laugh at you. Please?” Avery hugged me, and kissed my cheek.

I took a deep breath. I felt what I felt when I talked to you. I really knew that I could trust him. I knew that he was telling me the truth.

So, I told him. “I’m just 12,” I said. “My penis, it’s awfully little. I can’t make sperms. I’ve never done it, before. I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid and make you hate me.”

Avery was looking straight at me, and I felt nothing but concern. I’m smart enough to know it wasn’t love, even though it felt really, really good, and I knew it was what Avery was thinking about me.

“Jonathan,” he said, “Every boy’s penis is little when he’s 12 years old! And, besides, size truly isn’t important now. Later on, when you want to … uh, maybe we’ll talk about that, later… it’s good to be bigger, but not too big.

“You can’t make sperms, yet, because you haven’t gone through puberty. It’s not like it’s because there’s something wrong with you. You’ll make sperms when your body’s ready to.”

Avery hugged me and kissed my cheek. He held me, and looked into my eyes. “Jonathan, I feel really good just holding you. I would feel good making you have an orgasm, and I know a couple of ways to do that. I would feel good if you made me have an orgasm, and I’ll show you ways to do that.”

Chapter 46: Team Australia Reports

Noah was remarkably calm. Remarkably only if one didn’t understand the Metas. He was not only well prepared but also linked telepathically with all of his brothers who were offering pride in his accomplishment and their support as he stepped into the limelight.

It wasn’t really limelight—we no longer burned quicklime to illuminate stages, or video studios—but the lights were bright. Noah’s newly won insignia as Ensign shone.

“G’day mates,” he began. “I am Ensign Noah Ainsley from Sheep Station Ainsley, Australia. I’ve been privileged to work with a number of fellow Aussies as well as men from as far away as Iceland on an assessment of the Australia of the Fundamentalist Universe.

“First, the initial assessment is correct; the Aussies of F-U—”

He blushed, but quickly recovered. “…from the Fundamentalist Universe are feisty, and while they trade with the Pan-Asians, the Aussies are definitely not under the Pan-Asians’ thumb.

“Second, they are largely descended from a mix of people from the British Isles, including transportees and refugees.

“Third, they’re restless. We have strong indications that they would like to declare their independence from the Pan-Asian hegemony, and go it on their own, including negotiating more favorable trade treaties. Our recommendation is that Fleet help them in that effort.”

Noah paused to allow folks to grasp what he was saying, and then continued. He described the Aussie’s technology—something more than the Reverends, but less than the Pan-Asians. He described the people—independent and hardy. He described their political system—a liberal republic that grew out of many of the principles of the Enlightenment. And he described their aspirations—self-determination and autonomy.

“You seem to have a great deal more information than might come from remote sensing,” one of the destroyer captains said when Noah opened the floor for comments and questions.

“We positioned humint resources in Australia,” Noah said. “Their language, including the dialect and vernacular were identical to ours. That plus the continent’s isolation and its people’s isolationism made the risk acceptable.

“We found a sub-culture of young people, mostly in coffee shops and bars, as well as some disaffected adults. More of the former than the latter, but perhaps the adults are not as open as the young people.

“And, speaking of bars, Australian beer is awesome!”

“What do you plan to do with this information?” That question, from one of the senior planners on Captain Moultrie’s staff, was more to the point. It was intended for me, and I didn’t want to put Noah on the spot.

Noah, tell him that I will answer that question.

We had laid a lot of groundwork with the captains, executive officers, senior chiefs, and other key staff of the ships of the task force. It was time. Noah was more nervous about this than his own presentation. He took a deep breath, and then said, “Sir, Commodore Stewart will take that question.”

I stood and stepped behind the second lectern. Tobor had taken control of the video cameras and network, and was ready for this moment. He zoomed in the camera so that my face as well as my shoulders with the single, wide, golden stripe with a centered silver star were visible not only on the big screen in the auditorium, but on the screens of every ship in the Task Force where people were watching the briefing. Since it dealt with Australia, my guess was that was just about everyone.

The buzz and whisper that had greeted Marty when he had been the first Meta to reveal himself was, this time, a babble of conversation that died quickly when I spoke.

“At ease, please, gentlemen. For those who don’t recognize me, I am Commodore Paul Stewart and, like the members of the Flag Intelligence Team who have been briefing you, I am considerably younger than you expected.

“The reason for our deception will become clear before the end of this briefing.

“For the moment, however, information about me is not to be disseminated outside Task Force Rift until Admiral Davis releases this information. He will do that in the next few minutes.”

Tobor as also prepared for that, and had shut down all outgoing communication from Task Force Rift the instant I stood up. We needed to give Admiral Davis time to act.

“Some of you know that Admiral Davis visited the Charleston not long ago. It was his decision that we should reveal ourselves to you and the rest of the world, today.

“However, Commander Sterling’s question about what we are going to do about the Fundamentalist Universe Australia is indeed, the question of the moment.

“I have given the Flag Intelligence and Operations Teams two constraints on their activities on the Reverends’ world. They are to allow none of our people to be captured, and they are not to reveal our technology to the people of what we are calling the Fundamentalist Universe, even though we now know that there are many other cultures than the Reverends’ theocracy.

“Until such time as we are ordered into battle in the Fundamentalist Universe—and I have no doubt that the day will come—those constraints apply to whatever approach we decide to take with respect to the Australians. Frankly, gentlemen, I don’t know the answer to Commander Sterling’s question. The final recommendation will come from Team Australia through the Flag Intelligence Team. On the other hand, I know that neither group has a monopoly on ideas. I will throw the question back to the Task Force: what should we do about these Aussies?

“Now, about the age thing, and about why you thought I was so much older than I now appear.”

Without mentioning telepathy or the push, which we were keeping secret for the moment, I explained that the Metas were Earth-human kids, who just happened to be a little smarter than average.

“We’re the kids you used to hate in school, the ones who busted the curve.” That got chuckles from the audience. “On the other hand, we learned pretty quickly that people didn’t like that and, for the most part, we kept to ourselves.”

“We are your sons and your brothers,” I said. Then, I lied, and told them that there were only twenty of us. “However, we continue to search for others.”

I told them who my father was, and about Alex’s father, now a Lt. Commander and serving as Helmsman on the USF Enterprise. I told them that some of them had been students of Avery’s father, a Lt. Commander and Provost of Fleet School, Cardiff. Bobbie’s father was the Senior Chief of the Venus Terraforming Fleet. There were others, and I felt the men relaxing as they heard familiar names. Even though Fleet had more than 150,000 members plus some 25,000 Marines, it was a close-knit group, and the boys’ fathers were all in responsible and often highly visible positions. I wondered again if there might be a genetic component to being Meta.

It was a little more difficult to explain the veil, but I used the analogy of the tiger’s stripes and the zebra’s stripes. “Both predator and prey have camouflage. We are neither predator nor prey, but the same notion applies: because we were hidden makes us neither bad nor good, neither better nor lesser. What makes us good or bad are our beliefs, our oaths, and our actions.

I described the oath that each of us had taken—first to Fleet and second to Humanity. I saved the third part—to our brothers—for another time.

“I probably haven’t answered all your questions, and we still have time for a few.”

“Sir? I remember you from Fleet School Australia,” an ensign said. “The information in the yearbook—how much of that was true?”

“Everything but the dates and the photograph,” I said. “I did attend Fleet Schools Edmonton, Cardiff, Nazca, and Shemya; I did serve on the ships listed and in the positions shown. The only things wrong were the dates. My correct record will be available on the Charlestons web site later today.”

Already up, Marty sent. He also gestured, a thumbs up.

“Correction… it’s already there,” I said.

Admiral Davis had already briefed the Fleet Council, and won their support. The response from the members of the task force and from Admiral Davis’s announcement to the Fleet were considerably milder than the response from the rest of the world.

Admiral Davis didn’t make a big deal of it. The public announcement wasn’t sent from his office, but from the Fleet Public Information Office, and was buried in a “men in service” press release—the kind sent to newspapers and television stations about local sailors and marines. And, it was sent as a correction to an earlier release that had been sent to the Marfa, Texas newspaper since there was no longer a newspaper in Valentine.

Correction: The press release of 1 January concerning the assumption of Command of Task Force Rift by Commodore Paul Stewart on that date, listed his date of birth as April 15, ____. Commodore Stewart is the son of the late Commander Alexander Stewart and his wife, Alice Goodson Stewart of Valentine, and was born on April 15, ____.

It didn’t take long for someone in Marfa to do the math and contact Fleet Public Information Office for confirmation. The PIO was primed, and sent electronic confirmation—and my current, correct official photo as well as a correct biography. It took Marfa only a few minutes to get the story on the wires to major newspapers, and within minutes of that, the television networks were interrupting their broadcasts. “There’s a nineteen year old commanding the Task Force that’s guarding Earth from invasion…” was about the least sensational thing they said.

Admiral Davis made a brief announcement through Fleet Net, which was rebroadcast by the commercial networks. It was followed by appearances of members of the Fleet Council—including the President of the USA, the Governor General of Canada, the Emperor of Japan, the Tsar of Russia, and Queen Elizabeth of the British Empire—on networks and stations in their home countries. Their entire tone was “no big deal, we knew this, now let us get back to important things like the Fleet Olympiad, thank you.”

That satisfied the majority of the population. There were pockets of Religious, who demanded I be burned at the stake. Some Luddites called for my forced sterilization and I shuddered at the twists and turns of logic taken by the so-called heirs of Ludlum, the British boy forced to work in a knitting factory who, when told to “square up” his needles, took a hammer to them, instead, and gave birth to the Luddites. There were also calls for Admiral Davis’s resignation, but they came from Survivalists and others who had no say in the matter.

Chapter 47: Fatima

USF Charleston

My twelve-year-old Communications Officer, still the youngest Flag Comm-O in Fleet history—was about to have his first birthday party. Most of the Geeks never had birthday parties: the veil screened them even from their parents. As children, they’d been neglected and ignored, much as I had been in the orphanage: some more than others, some less.

The party couldn’t be a surprise: the Metas were notoriously unable to keep secrets. In fact, most were still reeling from the gifts Avery and Jonathan had exchanged the night before.

Avery had performed extensive foreplay before bringing Jonathan to climax with his mouth. Jonathan had tried to copy what Avery had done, and did so fairly well up to the point that he bent to put his mouth on Avery’s penis. Avery had stopped him, gently. “Not now, just with your hand, please.”

Jonathan had protested, but Avery was firm. Jonathan did as he was told, and watched as Avery spurted seminal fluid into the air and onto his stomach and chest. While Avery was still gasping with release, and before he realized what was happening, Jonathan had scooped a bit of semen on his finger and stuck it in his mouth. When the younger boy realized that it wasn’t going to make him sick, he dropped his mouth onto Avery’s penis and closed his lips on it. Avery’s involuntary spasm drove his penis into Jonathan’s throat for a moment before Avery could control himself. Jonathan’s sensing of Avery through their link brought Jonathan to a second climax—hands-free.

It was that which everyone felt—and teased Avery and Jonathan about the next day. Their teases were overlaid with love, and accompanied by hugs, so neither Avery nor Jonathan objected.

Jonathan’s parents arrived on the Flag Shuttle at 0900, and were escorted to my ready room by Captain Moultrie. Their orders from the head of the Fleet Comm-Electronic-Nanotech command, where they were both stationed, were deliberately vague—something about liaison on some comm requirements of the task force.

Captain Moultrie introduced Commander and Commander Hanson. Captain Moultrie and Jonathan’s father accepted coffee. I had heard something in Jonathan’s mother’s voice that suggested she was a native of the British Isles, and offered tea. She accepted and watched the Mess Steward prepare it in the traditional British manner.

“Thank you, Commodore. I don’t often have time to prepare tea as carefully as that,” she said.

“You are welcome. It’s something I learned when I was commandant of the school in Wales.”

We engaged in small talk until I felt them relax. Then I dropped the bomb.

“When is the last time you have heard from your son, Jonathan?” I asked, and pushed gently to unlock their memories.

“Nova sol!” they both said. Their eyes flickered for a moment.

“We heard… Admiral Davis said… camouflage… you and others…” The Commanders babbled briefly and then pulled themselves together.

“Jonathan’s one of you?”

“Yes. And he’s very anxious to see you. Are you ready for that?”

I heard their thoughts; I didn’t pry, but they were so strong. They were afraid they might have their careers ended on charges of child neglect. Overlaying that, however, strongly, was their fear of what Jonathan would think of them. I could not let them continue.

“You had no choice, and there is no blame. It was Jonathan’s mental camouflage, what we call the veil that kept you from knowing him past his sixth birthday. I know it, Admiral Davis knows it, but most important, Jonathan knows it.” I pushed a little reassurance before signaling for Jonathan to come in.

Their reunion was a private matter, and I left the room the instant Jonathan entered. After a while, Jonathan called Avery in.

The birthday party was somewhat anticlimactic after Jonathan’s reunion with his parents. Afterwards, I managed to get them alone for a few minutes, and gave them the same message I’d given Alex’s father and others: we’d make sure they didn’t forget him, again, but Jonathan was an important part of the Flag Team, and his duties and theirs would keep them apart for some time.

After the party, Jonathan and Avery got hugs from both Commanders, and then found a private moment to give me a couple of serious hugs. Sometimes, it was good to be the Commodore. Sometimes. But before I could savor the hugs, I was paged.

“Paul? You want everyone at Intel Level 1 to look at this,” Alex’s voice came through my communicator. “I’m sending a file to the Flag Bridge.”

I acknowledged, and moved toward the Flag Bridge, followed by the rest of the Geeks.

“Jonathan? Alex is sending something for us to look at,” I said. Alex had made it clear that I should see what he was going to send, and that knowledge was to be limited to Intel Level 1, which was just about everyone with any clearance above Secret, so I asked my now thirteen-year-old Flag Comm Officer—who blushed every time I caught his eye and winked at him—to put it on the big screen, and invited Captain Moultrie and his staff, as well as the on-duty Flag Team to watch with me.

“Does this mean anything?” I asked after it was over.

We had watched a broadcast from the Reverends in which three young girls spoke of having been visited by Mary the Mother of Jesus, who told them that Jesus was disappointed that some of his children believed the lies they’d seen on the televisor, and that God would provide a miracle. The miracle would be a greater fire than had rained down upon Las Vegas. It would occur north of Winslow, Arizona, in two weeks.

“North of Winslow. There’s nothing north of Winslow except the Grand Canyon,” Jonathan said. “My family went there, once.” Everyone heard in his voice the residual happiness from the reunion with his parents.

“The girls’ speech was odd,” Artie said.

“Rehearsed,” Cam said.

“Winslow is on the main rail line, and there’s a spur that leads to the south rim of the Grand Canyon. They can assemble a crowd, but it’s remote enough that they can control the situation,” Alex said. He put an annotated overhead photo on the screen.

“When was this image made?” Kevin asked. As head of the Flag Intel Team, he worried about things like that.

“Six days ago.”

Alex made an entry on his iPad, and orders for more imagery went out.

“What sort of miracle?” I asked. “Any clues? Any idea?”

“A greater fire,” Kevin said. “Natural or man-made?” He hunched over his terminal.

“Three young girls. And Mary. Let’s see what Google can do…” Deacon muttered. He was one of the newest members of the team, but I was pleased at how calm he sounded. There was a ping from his terminal. “It’s Fatima all over again,” he said.

Everyone else must have looked pretty blank, because he said, “Our Lady of Fatima, 1917, the Miracle of the Sun.”

“Where were there miracles in 1917? Is Fatima in Italy?” Someone asked.

“No, Portugal,” Deacon said.

Portugal. I thought. Other than Italy, one of the last Roman Catholic strongholds. Too scarred by the Inquisition for the Enlightenment easily to have taken hold. And peasant children whose minds had been filled with myths and superstitions.

“Deacon? Are you ready to brief the fleet?” I asked an hour later. The boy looked a little pale, but nodded.

“You’ll do fine,” I said, and sent him a mental hug. He was just coming into his powers, didn’t know he was a Meta, and probably felt the hug only as a diffuse good feeling.

“Jonathan? Let us know when you are ready, please,” I said. Jonathan nodded to Deacon when all the commanders or execs of task force ships were on line.

Deacon began his briefing. “The Reverends are planning to create a miracle to answer the effect of the Funeral,” Deacon began. “The miracle will likely be patterned on the Miracle of the Sun, at Fatima, Portugal, in 1917. According to Catholic Church accounts, between 30,000 and 100,000 pilgrims at Fatima saw the sun move from the sky to the ground. According to a later account, the pope himself, said he had seen the miracle from his garden at the Vatican. The fact that no legitimate observers, scientists, or astronomers saw this—as well as the fact that it would be physically impossible without destroying the Earth—was discounted, and it was declared to be a miracle.

“We believe that the Reverends will assemble a large number of people on the south rim of the Grand Canyon and recreate the alleged miracle. The miracle at Fatima occurred on October 13^th in our reality. We don’t think the Reverends are going to wait nearly that long.”

Deacon cut the video feed from his console, and looked at me. What now? He mouthed. I gave him a physical and a mental thumbs up, and opened the link from my console.

“Thank you, Cadet Pierce, and congratulations on spotting the similarity and on your analysis.

“We know that our history and that of the Fundamentalists Universe diverged perhaps 300 years ago, and that the Enlightenment was a significant factor in that split. Apparently, there wasn’t a single split, but multiple splits or a slow split with multiple events. We will continue to collect bits and pieces of history, as well as personal recollections, and use judicious research to help us understand all that. For now, we will focus on the early 1900s as well as the devolution of the Catholic Church in both universes.

“The clues are in the Reverend’s televisor message, which you all should have by now. References to the Miracle of the Sun will be forwarded as soon as this conference is ended. Please make this information available widely among your staffs, and look for answers to these questions: What, exactly is it that the Reverends are planning? If not a repeat of the Miracle of the Sun, what might it be? Most important, what can we do to counteract their so-called miracle?

“We have some of the best minds of Earth in Task Force Rift. We need your input. Please make this information available to everyone—we never know who might have the answers.”

Jonathan cut the feed, and sent Deacon’s files to the other ships.

Deacon wasn’t as happy as I thought he would be. I walked to his console and put my hand on his shoulder. “Deacon? What’s wrong?”

He looked up. “Do you think I’m wrong? Is that why you asked everyone to figure out what the Reverends were really planning?”

My tummy seemed to press on my bladder, and I was afraid I was going to piss my pants.

“Oh, no!” I said. I’ve screwed up, again, I thought. I’m asking too much of these youngsters, and Deacon’s not yet aware!

“Deacon, please follow me.”

I led the boy to my ready room, and asked him to wait while I pissed. When I came back, he was still standing just inside the door, no happier than before. I crossed the room and stood in front of him. I wanted to hug him, but his hurt was still too great.

“Deacon, I messed up, badly. And I hurt you. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make it seem that I doubted you, but that’s what happened. Actually, I was so proud of what you’d figured out, I wanted to hug you. I didn’t think you’d want me to do that during a command conference.”

I hoped for at least a smile, perhaps a giggle, but neither was forthcoming. So, I kept talking.

“Deacon, I think you are absolutely right. I think the Reverends are going to re-create the miracle of Fatima, somehow. But we don’t know exactly what they’ll do or how they’ll do it. That’s what I want everyone to think about.”

At least that got a reaction from Deacon. He nodded, briefly.

“If you were a twenty-five year old intel officer, you’d know that instinctively. It would have been drilled into you for years. I went too fast.”

I stopped talking, and let Deacon think for a minute.

“I understand, sir,” he said. “I’m too young to be on a Flag Intel Team. Request reassignment—”

“No!” I said. “You must remain on the Flag Team, and I’m screwing up again! Deacon, please help me!”

By now, I had tears in my eyes. I blinked, and they rolled down my cheeks.

“You’re crying,” Deacon said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Because you feel sorry for yourself?”

It took a moment, and then a few more, to think about it before I could answer. “Yes, I feel sorry for myself because I hurt you and I may lose you,” I said.

“Lose me? You’re a commodore. My daddy is just a gunnery sergeant. You outrank him so many ways it’s not funny!”

I was shocked to silence that he would think I would use rank to separate him from his father, or to overrule his father’s desires for his son’s career. On the other hand, I admired his spunk.

“Deacon,” I decided on another approach, one that if I were wrong would be problematical, but if I were right, would solve the problem. It was risky, but it was a risk I had to take.

“Deacon, there is a very important reason that you must be on the Flag Team.

“I know that you and Isaac are boyfriends. You can feel what he is feeling, can’t you? You can feel when he is happy or sad, you can feel when he is proud of himself—and of you. You can feel what he feels when you touch each other—”

The boy gasped. “How do you know!”

Because I feel the same things about my boyfriends, Danny and George, I sent. I pushed hard, and it got through. Deacon’s eyes grew wide.

“Nova sol!” he said. “You’re a telepath!”

“Wait!” he said. “I am, too? And Isaac?

“All the guys are telepaths, aren’t they?”

My relief at his epiphany must have been palpable, for he put his arms around me and hugged me.

“Oh, Paul! Why didn’t I see that?”

I knew the answer: because I was pushing them too hard. And I was afraid that there was no alternative.

Chapter 48: Rescue

Monterrey, California—CIA Headquarters

It took several days for the heliograph message from the roof of the _____ Palace Casino to reach the California Intelligence Agency Headquarters.

“What or who is Fatima?”

The young man who had brought the telegram to the Colonel, and to whom the question had been addressed, looked at the silhouette on the wall—the silhouette in the shape of a cross where once a crucifix had hung. The irony of the Colonel’s question did not escape him.

“Sir, Fatima is a location in Portugal, the site of a supposed miracle.” He related the story of the peasant girls, the pilgrims, and the vision of the sun crashing into the earth. “I could find more detail if you wished, sir.”

“No,” his senior said. “Although we do need someone on the ground at the… the Grand Canyon.”

USF Charleston Kidnap Team Meeting

We had not resolved the need for humint from the Reverends’ territory. We needed information from people on the ground but I felt the risk was too great. George’s suggestion that we kidnap someone had more and more appeal. I agreed that we would try that.

Artie and I sat in my Ready Room with Cam, Marty, Alex, their mentors, and George, who had demanded to be chief of Kidnap Team I. We were looking at real-time imagery of the Nevada-California border—real-time, that is, except for the speed-of-light delay and a few milliseconds from the transponder that relayed signals through the rift. We had located the orphanage from which Artie and his army had come; now, he was telling us about it in detail. We had decided to take one person from U-Cal, perhaps a teacher from the orphanage; as well as someone from the Reverend’s Army, a Reverend from Las Vegas, and one person from a Sheriff’s ranch. The Santa Ana Orphanage was judged to be the easiest and safest target. It would be the test-bed for the other attempts. If they worked out, we’d look at more sensitive targets such as Lynchburg and Fort Belvoir.

“That’s the Don’s quarters,” Artie said. “It’s where he holds meetings, where the telegraph is, and where the only televisor is. They say the Don watches the Scudder’s message every night.”

“How does he get the signal?” one of the kids asked.

“There’s an antenna on top of the mountain that picks up the Las Vegas broadcast, and a microwave transmitter that is pointed toward Camp Santa Ana,” Alex said. “There’s also what looks like a solar panel.”

“Solar panel? That’s a little more advanced than we had thought. Have we seen solar panels elsewhere?”

“Not in the Reverends’ territory, nor the Mujahedeen territories.”

“The Pan-Asians used them extensively to power their microwave relay towers,” Marty said. “We knew, earlier, that they don’t sell their best to the Reverends. We know, now, that they sell more to California than to the Reverends.”

“But not as good as they sell to Australia, I don’t think. Let’s get that question to Noah’s people,” I said.

“That’s the classroom building,” Artie brought us back to the subject of the meeting. “For when we got to go to school, that is. Most of us worked most of the time in the fields. There are two new buildings, too. I don’t know what they are.”

“How hard did you have to work?” Cam asked.

“It wasn’t too bad,” Artie said. “We grew all the food for the orphanage, and we knew that what we grew was what we would eat. That made it easier.”

“That’s where water came from,” he pointed to an aqueduct, built of masonry arches in the Roman style, and that ran to the west and out of the picture.

There was a blip as the satellite we’d been using moved in orbit out of range and another satellite took over.

Alex panned the image, and the new satellite obliged as he followed the aqueduct to its source: a lake about halfway up the mountain.

“What’s that?” someone exclaimed. There was something or someone splashing in the water. “That water’s got to be ice cold. There’s snowpack on the edges of the lake.”

Cam answered the question. “There are two people … they’re getting out… I need a better image.”

Alex tapped his iPad, waited, and tapped again. “Omega-6 is on line… will be in position… switching, now.”

A new picture appeared on the screen.

“It’s a boy and a man… he’s putting on green robes. He’s a eunuch,” Artie said.

“Huh?” Marty asked. “You can tell that from here? Even the Omegas aren’t good enough to tell if somebody’s balls—”

“It’s the clothes, the green,” Artie said. “The eunuchs at the casino wore green robes, but I don’t know what one would be doing up there… or the boy.”

“Get us more on the boy,” Cam snapped. “All resources, Tobor? Can you synthesize? Quickly, please.”

The screen blipped again as Tobor took over and displayed an image.

“Nova Sol! It’s Andrew,” Artie said, and then froze, mouth wide open.

“You know him?” I asked the unnecessary question to shake Artie from his trance.

“He was a child, just brought to the _____ Palace Casino when I escaped. It’s been five years, but it’s Andrew, I’m sure of it.”

“The man?”

“He’s one of the eunuchs who served the Reverends and trained us,” Artie said. “They all looked alike… they were all fat, no beards… their balls… uh…”

“Like you, they have escaped,” Cam said. “We need to rescue… kidnap, whatever, them. Immediately.” He looked at me. Hadn’t I said that Cam was 100% right?

“Make it so.” I said. “George? Minimum team size. Don’t worry about a sonic boom. Let them think it’s a warning from their god. It’s more important not to be seen. Hot, straight down and straight up.”

George nodded, and ran from the room. I felt rather than heard his call to a strike team. Artie looked at me. I nodded, and he ran behind George.

Artie reached the flight deck only seconds behind George. A six-person strike team was standing by in the alert shuttle. A second shuttle was moving to take the alert position. Such was the synchronicity of my command.

“Briefing on the way,” George said. “Board and strap in for maneuvers.”

Cam had fed the coordinates and imagery to the pilot of the shuttle. George’s command to make a full speed approach and a twenty-g landing were acknowledged. There was a gut-wrenching jolt and the strike team was pressed into their harnesses as the gravity compensators took care of all but about three g’s. The pilot’s comment that, “I assume you meant a twenty-g takeoff, too,” was unnecessary.

“We’re going after two people,” George began his briefing. “Whether we rescue them or kidnap them depends on their attitude, but we’re not going to have much time to assess that, and it really makes no difference.

“Artie, you’re first out. Sidearm only, and keep it in the holster unless you come under fire. You’re sure the boy is Andrew, so call his name and tell him who you are. If he or the man runs, or doesn’t at least look interested after 10 seconds from the time Artie’s foot hits the ground, the rest of the team will move out, surround them, and force them into the shuttle.

“We need them, and we need them alive. If we come under fire, activate shields first. Return fire except from the two target individuals.” George’s words established the rules of engagement.

“Artie? You don’t have a shield,” George added as he began stripping off his jumpsuit. “You and I have about six minutes to get into combat gear.”

Two of the strike team grabbed Artie and stripped off his uniform before helping him pull on a skin-suit. “No time for the catheter,” one said. If you’ve got to piss before we get back on board, well, …”

“I get the picture,” Artie said.

As soon as he was in a skin suit, George triggered comm. “Give us the latest imagery, please.”

Images appeared on the shuttle’s screens.

“I don’t see any weapons,” Artie said. By then, he’d returned to his seat. “If they escaped, they probably wouldn’t have any.”

“What are they doing?” George’s question was addressed to Cam who was still in my briefing room and who had better quality imagery.

“Filling canteens—”

“Deceleration begins in thirty seconds,” the co-pilot’s voice interrupted. “Brace.”

“Touchdown.” The pilot said less than a minute later.

The door opened even before he’d finished the word. Artie had unstrapped and was at the doorway. He hesitated only a second before jumping to the ground and calling out, “Andrew! It’s Artie! I’m Artie! Do you remember me?”

Whether Andrew remembered Artie from the _____ Palace Casino, or remembered him and the boxy aeroplane that flew without wings that he’d seen in the video of the battle, was never actually determined. It made no difference; it was sufficient that Andrew rushed to Artie and hugged him.

Artie returned the hug, and felt Andrew sobbing. He kissed the top of Andrew’s head, and said, “Andrew? We need to leave, now. I’ll hug you again when we reach safety, okay?”

Andrew nodded. “You must take John, too,” he said.

“Of course,” Artie said.

The boys told me that Andrew was frightened by the idea of being in a spaceship, but that Artie had taken charge of him, and that Andrew was slowly growing accustomed not only to being in space, but also being in an entirely different universe. Cam, the most telepathically sensitive of the Metas, said that Andrew was a telepath, but afraid to admit it.

“Does he know the Metas are telepaths? Does he know that many of Corey’s people and Artie and some of his people are telepaths?” Danny asked.

“I think he knows it, but he doesn’t understand it,” Cam said. “He hasn’t internalized it—accepted it. I’m way, way over my head, here.” The boys all looked at me.

Guess it’s time to earn my pay, I thought. “Ask him to visit me, please.”

George brought Andrew and John into my ready room. “Andrew’s afraid,“ George sent. “He feels safe with John.”

“Thank you, George,” I sent. “You made the right decision.”

“John, will you and Andrew please be seated?” I invited. “There’s something important I need to tell you about my sons, George and Danny, and about the boys who brought you here, and about me.

“You see, we can speak to one another without words, even when we’re apart. We speak to one another with our minds.”

I felt Andrew’s fear, and realized I was going too fast. Still, I didn’t want to spend the next month breaking it to him gently.

“And it’s all right,” I said, perhaps a little too forcefully. “It’s all right even though it’s not something you are comfortable with or something you like. It’s the way we are. It’s the way we and a lot of others you will meet are.”

“Are you witches?” Andrew whispered.

Witches? That was my first thought. My second was that John was utterly shocked—at what I had said, but not at Andrew’s fear.

John recovered first.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. That is written in Exodus 22:18,” he said. “Andrew, that does not mean you!

“Commodore Stewart, more than your wingless aeroplanes, more than your space ships, this tells me you are not of our world.

“Andrew?” John continued. “You have trusted me to bring you here. Please trust me, again. The Reverends cannot reach you. They can’t, can they, Commodore Stewart?”

“No, they cannot. I promise you on my life and the lives of my sons and the lives of all of us who have sworn to protect and defend you.” I pushed a little when I said that, not to convince Andrew that I meant it, for I did mean it, but to help him believe that it was true.

After Andrew had calmed down, I asked him and John to meet with the Flag Intel Team. Actually, what I asked was if they would be willing to talk about their escape with some of the people who had sworn to protect them. Andrew looked to John for approval, and then nodded.

John accepted the situation with seeming equanimity and very few questions. When the team had assembled, John was calm, and spoke easily when he explained why he and Andrew were at the reservoir.

“This was not the first time I had prepared for an escape. I was not as well prepared as I should have been,” John said. “We could not take the route that the other boys took. There was food in the motorcar, and water. Enough, I thought, that we could reach California by an alternate route. We ran out of food two days ago, and water yesterday, but still we were not over the mountains. Had we not found the reservoir, we would likely have died. Even with the water, we might have died. We owe you our lives.”

“The route the other boys took?” I asked.

“Yes, we had helped two boys escape after one of them killed the Scudder’s son.”

“That may help explain one thing we’d wondered about,” Cam said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Artie has told us what went on at the _____ Palace Casino,” I said. “He has told us that the eu— men in green were servants and not responsible for the evil that was done to the children, there.”

John chuckled. “You may say eunuch, I know what I am, and have had a long time to understand and accept that. We were servants, as you said. We were responsible for the boys’ training in how to be servants—how to serve, not the sexual part of it, although we did try to warn them and prepare them. We knew what happened to them, but were powerless to act openly.

“I was a physician. Usually my patients were Reverends; although sometimes I was allowed to treat one of the children.

“Some of us hated the Reverends enough, and trusted one another enough to help prepare for the eventuality that a child would have to escape. We thought that it would be from a particularly sadistic Reverend, and were able to intervene in a few such cases. Murder—and certainly the death of a prominent individual like the Scudder’s son—never crossed our minds. However, when Hamish killed Deacon Jerome, we implemented our plan. Hamish and his—uh, boyfriend—Matthew were spirited away by Andrew and me.”

I heard and felt John’s trepidation when he said boyfriend, and decided to settle that right away.

“John, Andrew, we know what went on at the _____Palace Casino,” I said. “We also know that boyfriends can have a loving relationship. You will be interacting with a group of boys on the Flag Team. They—and I—are homosexual and have boyfriends. I hope you can accept our version of that relationship.”

“The Reverends have perverted that relationship,” John said. “They have used the words of the Bible to teach that the evils they practice are blessed by the Lord God. I understand, and I will help Andrew to understand.”

A memory from medical school at Nazca demanded my attention. “Yes, thank you, John. And, you need not accept your current physical condition.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“There was a case,” I said. “About 30 years ago, a doctor made a horrible misstep while circumcising a boy. When he realized what he’d done, he completed the removal of the boy’s penis and testicles, and convinced the parents to rear the boy as a girl. There were several other operations as well as hormone treatments to effect the physical changes necessary.

“The crime was discovered when there was an epidemic at the school, and Fleet collected DNA—tissue—samples from all the children. The samples were analyzed to help find the right medicine for each child.. Of course, the sex of each child was obvious to the data team. The boy was, to put it simply, a mass of contradictions. It took longer to rebuild his penis and testicles—both to fully functioning status—using stem cells, and a lot longer to treat his mind, than it took to execute the doctor for his crime. Today, the boy is a member of Fleet and the father of two youngsters.”

John pursed his lips. “I think I’d like not to have this metabolism, but am not sure I’m ready to go through puberty at my age.”

There was a laugh in his mind, so I wasn’t afraid to laugh aloud. “I think we can handle that, too,” I said.

Andrew told us a lot about the Scudder’s son, and his death, but was unable to tell us much more than we already knew about the Reverends’ world. John, however, was much more helpful. He had been to medical school in Lynchburg, and had served the Reverends in Las Vegas for two decades.

One of the first things John did was to give us a clue about the fourth telegraph network.

“There is a group of Reverends who wear the title of Inquisitors, and who work for a man known as the Inquisitor-General. Their headquarters are said to be Mount Zion, but I don’t know where it is or if it’s really a mountain.”

“Marty?” I said. “It’s a clue for you. We need to know.”

Word of John and Andrew’s rescue spread quickly through the Task Force. I was proud and pleased by the way people accepted John despite his obvious difference, and of the members of the Flag Intel Team who kept him busy with questions. No one seemed surprised when he sat with the team on the next Task Force-wide briefing.

Kevin kicked off the program. “At our first briefing, Lt. Commander Cousins asked how we could reconcile the existence of the Hoover Dam and its electrical generation capability with the rest of the technology in the Reverends’ territory. That was a tough question to answer. We had a lot of imint and a little sigint, but didn’t know how to tie it together. However, since John has joined our team, we’ve learned enough to make some educated guesses.

“Since it was the Imint Team who led the effort, Cadet Alex Tremaine will conduct the briefing.” Kevin sat down, and Alex took his place at the lectern.

“Thank you, Lt. Cathcart. First, this was a real team effort, and we got some information from some pretty different places.” He pressed a button, and an image of the Reverend’s dam and lake appeared.

“You all know John, named for John of Patmos. We learned from John that their name for the dam is Scudder Dam, and that it holds back The Lake of the Lord. We’ve also learned that their transportation network has significantly and deliberately been degraded over the past 50 years.”

Alex waited for the whispers to die down.

“At one time, there was an extensive rail, canal, and road network linking cities—a network likely equivalent to what might have existed on our world in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. The clues were there; we just didn’t see them. It was obvious, however, once we knew what to look for.”

Alex put up an image of agricultural land, and then zoomed in. There was a lighter streak running diagonally across rows of corn.

“This clue came from Senior Chief Anderson, who grew up on a farm in Iowa. In fact, this image is a field on his family’s farm.

“That streak represents differential growth in the corn. It was caused by iron in the soil—iron that rusted from railroad tracks. There are similar streaks all over our world where the old inter-urban rail lines ran before the maglev system was installed.

“We looked at the Reverend’s territory, and have found more than three thousand miles of such streaks where there used to be tracks. And we’re still finding them.”

Alex put up more photos, and explained that similar patterns showed where highways and an extensive canal system once existed on the Reverends’ world.

“Their only remaining long distance transportation is by train. We didn’t understand why, until John explained.

“The Reverends are deliberately keeping people isolated. There are no towns with a population greater than 5,000 except Las Vegas, Miami, Lynchburg, Chicago, and Albany. Las Vegas is a western headquarters, ruled by a powerful council of Reverends. We know Lynchburg is their center of Government and the home of the Scudder. Albany and Miami appear to be important ports. Chicago appears to be the main port for receiving grain from Canada, including the port of Thunder Bay. The Reverends may deliberately have torn up or closed the canals, unneeded train tracks, and the highways in order to keep their people isolated.

“There is little traffic on the remaining rail lines except for freight, and much of that seems destined to the few large cities and ports, as well as to ports on the Pacific controlled by California.

“Some of the trains have a passenger car. Other than the Scudder’s train, we’ve never seen more than one passenger car. The passengers are limited to Reverends, identifiable by their black clothing; soldiers; and—based on the destination—Sheriffs and children being shipped to Sheriffs’ labor camps.

“Occasionally, we’ll see a different kind of person, a well-dressed man. John suggests that these are administrators of some sort.

“Are there any questions?”

Lieutenant Evans, Captain of the Hope, called me a few days later. I’d forgotten he was also a doctor, until he explained the reason for his call.

“Sir? I understood that the people in the Reverends’ territory have been isolated in towns with populations of no more than about 5,000. Given their likely lifespan, which I’ve calculated using data George got for me, I would guess that they’re on their fourth or fifth generation of genetic isolation. I suspect that abnormalities are beginning to show up. Based on some work done in several Anabaptist colonies in the USA, as well as studies of isolated populations of Eastern European Jews, perhaps 5% of those abnormalities will not be viable at birth, and another 5% will likely suffer early mortality—perhaps by their fifth year. Those percentages will probably double with each successive generation.

“Couple that with primitive medicine and even more primitive living conditions and in another 50 years there won’t be anyone left.”

I was gob-smacked. “Jeff, that completely escaped me—” I began.

“It’s okay, sir,” he said. “You’re not a doctor. It’s—”

He stopped talking when he heard my laughter.

“What?” he asked.

“Jeff, actually, I earned a medical degree at Nazca, but I completely let this get past me.”

“That’s why you have us old folks, sir,” he said, and then grinned.

As always, please let David know what you think of his story: david.mcleod@castleroland.net