Published: 13 Feb 2017

Part XVII

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

Chapter 52: Fatima Follow-on

USF Charleston

Cam began the briefing. “Terry was caught up in the stampede that followed the destruction of the gas generators, and was carried with the flow all the way to Williams. He felt an obligation to one of the men he met, and did not signal us for pickup until he reached Williams and could get away into the hills south of town.

“I debriefed him, and then sent him on leave back to Geneva. I understand he and his daddy are somewhere near the South Pole at the moment.”

Cam didn’t say who Terry’s daddy was. It probably wouldn’t have made any difference to the Geeks, but the other boys from U-Cal might have made something of it, but since Terry and Admiral Davis had kept it from us for so long, we were pretty sure that they wanted to keep it that way.

Cam described Terry’s rescue by a man, and Terry’s fear that a soldier would have shot him rather than try to check out his story. “This is a single data point, but it tells us that there may be among the Army a callow disregard for life, but that among the general population, there may be compassion. The former assessment is substantiated by what we learned about the Army’s gas generators.”

“What kind of gas?”

“Nerve gas. Virulent, but not very fast acting.”

Nova sol!

Cam continued the briefing. “Actually, we have two data points. The man who rescued Terry was an Agent of the California Army—if what the man told Terry is to be believed, and we think he was being truthful. Terry said he did not recognize the man. We assume therefore that he was not from the orphanage from which our Artie and his boys came.

“On the other hand, Professor Rheinman has told us that the orphanage is being turned from a school and farm into an army post. Professor Rheinman did not know the man’s name, nor did he recognize him from Terry’s description. We assume he was from CIA headquarters in Monterrey.”

He paused for a moment, but there were no questions.

“We spotted someone with binoculars watching the South Rim. He was in a position to see the sand appearing at one rift before being pulled toward another. He was wearing a uniform of a sort we’ve never seen before. It was gray. He wore a lieutenant’s insignia. He was executed to protect our capabilities and technology. As soon as it was dark, we landed a shuttle and retrieved his body. As far as the Reverends know, he disappeared. Our assumption is that he is a member of the Arcana.”

Cam did not address the obvious question: why had he been killed rather than captured, especially given the suspicion that he might have been a member of the Inquisitors, whom we had nicknamed Arcana. I knew the answer, but I also knew that some of the boys were not sure. So I interrupted.

“Executing him was the best decision under the circumstances. We had no plan and no reason to plan to retrieve unusual people. It was a good call,” I said. “And good intel. I’m glad someone was watching for something like that.

“On the other hand, now that we know the Arcana is interested, we must include that in future planning.”

I felt Cam’s relief before he continued. “Before the trucks with gas generators were in position, Dr. Adams switched the two lower rifts so that the wind was blowing from the trucks away from the people, but toward the Army troops. There was nothing they could do. It was too late to change their location.”

“As soon as night fell, Enterprise entered the rift and destroyed the gas generators with conventional rockets. They’re more powerful than anything we know of in F-U, but conventional explosions were better than gamma-burst lasers. We believe it will look like someone from F-U made the attack.”

Inquisitors-Arcana

“Our farthest observer is missing. Vanished. I do not believe he deserted. I do not believe he was killed in the attack on the Army’s gas generators. I believe that he was taken by our enemies. He had a suicide pill; however, we must now assume that they know about us.”

“What could he tell them?”

“Only of our existence and overt mission. He knows nothing of the chain of command, our numbers, or this location.”

“One of our observers heard the order to relocate the Army’s gas generators so that they would be upwind of the crowd. He reported that the wind subsequently changed direction, making it impossible to use the generators.”

“Who attacked the generators?”

“Unknown, sir. High explosives, very accurate. Possibly delivered by suicide bombers. We know California used those, before.”

“Did anyone see aeroplanes without wings?”

“The only aeroplanes there were from the Army.”

“They may not have been from the Army,” Lt. Riggs said.

“Explain.”

“Several images of aeroplanes were captured by televisors before the signal was interrupted. Our people on the ground recorded additional images. I have examined them, and compared them with images of the Army’s aeroplanes. They are similar; they are painted correctly. However, they are not quite right.”

“Do we assume, then that there is more than one enemy? One with the ability to fly without wings and to fire lightning that burns holes in the sides of tanks, and one that relies on aeroplanes and explosives?”

“California? We know they monitor the Reverends’ televisor signals. They might not want this miracle to occur. They are in the middle of our trade with the Pan-Asians, and would know about our aeroplanes.”

“That is the most likely scenario,” the Colonel-General said. “However, do not rule out the Pan-Asians. Or those with wingless aeroplanes.”

Las Vegas Reverends’ Council

“Why were the serfs not executed?”

“We didn’t have the resources, sir,” the major said. “When the gas generators were destroyed, the serfs panicked. They overpowered the few troops at the food stations, took all that was there. With the help of serfs who operated the trains, they reached the town of Williams.

“We could not halt the east-west traffic on the main line without starving Las Vegas, as well as delaying shipments destined for the Pan-Asians. I’m afraid that most of the serfs were able to return to their homes.”

“Can we destroy the towns?”

“Do we need to?”

“No. We can isolate the towns. And convince the Scudder to announce that the miracle occurred. Perhaps have a few actors attest to it.”

“Why did we not learn of this sooner?”

“The telegraph lines were cut, and one of the microwave towers that was to carry televisor images was knocked down.”

CIA—Monterrey

It took the CIA’s observer much longer to return from the South Rim than it had taken him to get there. He’d traveled to the South Rim by train from Las Vegas, with credentials identifying him as a televisor technician. After the explosions that rocked the encamped serfs and started a stampede for the trains, he’d joined the mob. By the time he’d gotten to Kingman, the Army had found its legs, and established order on the westbound train. He was not the only one who had lost his papers, and he managed to convince the overwhelmed soldiers that he was a resident of Lake Havasu. Unwilling to face another such interrogation, he jumped off the train when it slowed for a curve, and spent the next twenty days hiking cross-country, begging for food when he could, stealing it when he could not.

Once he reached Camp Santa Ana, a telegraphed message brought a motorcar. Another day of travel by car and train, a shower and a shave, and he stood in uniform before the CIA’s Senior Committee.

“It took you long enough, Major Chastain,” the general at the center of the panel said. “I hope what you have is worth the wait.”

Major Chastain bit his lip, composed his features, cleared his throat, and spoke.

“There were approximately 5,000 serfs and 2,000 Army troops. The Army was encamped about 500 yards south of the rim of the canyon; the serfs were assembled adjacent to the rim. The Army had set up food and water stations; the serfs were forced to dig trench latrines.

“I was with a televisor crew from Lynchburg, on a platform atop the train depot.

“At 0900 on the morning of 14 March, the Reverends assembled the serfs, played some music, and began to exhort them to look at the sun. Within minutes, a sandstorm blocked the view of the sun. The sandstorm continued unabated until after dark. At 1500, the Army began to reposition their gas generators upwind of the serfs. It was clear that they were going to execute the serfs rather than allow them to see the so-called miracle fail.

“Before the Army could complete the movement of the gas generators, the wind shifted 180 degrees, blowing directly from the gas generators toward the Army encampment. There appeared to be some effort to move the generators, again, but the only place they could have been put was on the rim of the canyon, itself. But that’s where the serfs were.

“The sandstorm continued until sunset. Shortly after dark there was a series of explosions in the vicinity of the gas generators. I was still on the roof of the train depot. There was enough light from the moon to see the serfs panic, and begin moving toward the trains. I attempted to retrieve the recording of the day’s events, but was unable to do so. I joined the mob, and traveled south to Williams with them until I could cross the border and return here,” the man concluded his report. I will not tell them about Terry, he thought. They will blame me for not bringing him here, for not forcing him to accompany me. In their zeal, they forget their humanity.

“That is what happened,” the senior officer said. “Now, tell us what it means.”

The intelligence agent hesitated as if to assemble his thoughts. Then, he spoke confidently. “First, the event confirms what we already know, that at least some of the Reverends believe what they preach. There were Reverends at the site. Using my credentials, I interviewed several of them the day before. Those I spoke to were, I believe, sincere.

“Second, the event confirms what we already know, that the Army is able to act independently. I asked those I interviewed who the Senior Reverend was, with the thought that I wanted to interview him; none believed that there was a Senior Reverend present. The circumstances under which they would kill the serfs with gas may have been defined at a high ecclesiastical level, but the order to execute was made by the Army commander on the scene.

“Third, the event confirms what we know, that the most senior Reverends do not believe what they preach. Otherwise, the Army would not have been equipped and ordered to kill the serfs should the miracle fail.”

The man paused, and then added. “There is one other thing that I saw, and which troubles me. There is nothing specific to which I can point, but I am troubled.

“There were a number of Army aeroplanes present. They flew below the sandstorm or outside it. They—”

“What do you mean by outside the sandstorm?” one of the Committee members asked.

“The sandstorm appeared to be somewhat localized,” the major replied. “To the south and over the canyon to the north, the air was clear.”

“What do you think that means?” another member asked.

“I do not know, sir,” Major Chastain said. “But I do believe that the aeroplanes were not from the Reverends’ Army—they resembled them and were painted to match them, but they weren’t quite right.” If the aeroplanes had been from our army, they could and should have told me by now. Therefore, they weren’t. This is something for the Brotherhood to ponder.

“Nonsense,” the general said. “They weren’t ours, whose else could they be? You are dismissed.”

Major Chastain saluted, turned, and left the room. They are fools, bigger fools even than the Reverends’ soldiers who came to the conclusion that the aeroplanes were from an entirely different enemy.

Camp Santa Ana

The California Intelligence Agency shared little information with Camp Santa Ana, and it was several days after Major Chastain’s interview that the Don received an abbreviated version of the major’s report. The Don called his staff together to review the information.

“Headquarters has sent us the following message.”

The Don’s staff was accustomed to his reading verbatim all the information he received from the CIA.

“On 14 March 2009 the enemy gathered approximately 5,000 serfs on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon to witness what they proclaimed would be a miracle of fire. We know from communications intercepts that they planned to recreate the Miracle of the Sun, allegedly witnessed at Fatima, Portugal, circa 1917.

“Shortly after dawn on the 14^th, a sandstorm blotted out the sun. The Army, believing the miracle would be foiled by the sandstorm, moved their gas generators to a position from which they could kill the serfs—as well as a number of their soldiers and Reverends who were mixed in with the crowd. The wind shifted, and the Army could not relocate the generators before darkness fell.

“Immediately after dark, the gas generators were destroyed with high explosives. The serfs panicked and commandeered the trains parked at the South Rim. The serfs fled southward, until they reached the main line at Williams, Arizona. Many took trains on the main east-west line and are presumed to have returned to their homes.

“The Scudder has proclaimed that the miracle occurred…” The Don looked up and grinned. “We knew that, probably before they did.”

He continued reading. “Several serfs, actors, have proclaimed the miracle.”

The Don laid the paper on the table. “That’s all they had to say. You have seen what televisor coverage we were able to capture of the Scudder and the serfs who proclaimed the miracle. What are your thoughts?”

The Don’s staff was accustomed to this question, too. They knew that the Don would sit quietly while they talked, echoed and built upon one another’s ideas, and created a synthesis for his consideration.

“The most important question is who destroyed the gas generators? Do they think we did it? Or someone else from California?”

“They—the people you call the CIA—don’t know who destroyed the generators,” Hamish said. “If they did, they wouldn’t have said it the way they did. They didn’t do it; we didn’t do it—”

Hamish looked at the Don. “We didn’t do it, did we?”

The Don laughed. “No Hamish, we didn’t. And I believe you are right that no one in California did. Who does that leave?”

“The Pan-Asians, most likely,” one of the men said. “They—”

“No,” Matthew said. “It was the angels; the ones in boxy aeroplanes.”

Matthew’s pronouncement, said with such certainty, silenced the others, but only for a moment.

“He’s right,” one of the men said. “They’re the only likely culprit—if that’s the right word.”

“What does this tell us about them?” the Don asked.

“They took direct action, perhaps at some risk, to make sure the common people were not harmed.”

“The common people, and perhaps some of their own, who would have been there as observers,” someone else added.

“Regardless, they ensured that some 5,000 of the common people were not killed.”

“We need to know,” Dr. Furman said. “We need to know all that their agent reported.” He looked at the Don, who nodded.

“I will send a message,” the Don said.

The reply from Monterrey was not useful. “They did not make a verbatim copy of their agent’s report,” the Don said. “It is too late to do that, now. His memories would have been corrupted by time.

“Now, what does that tell us?”

“That the Committee are idiots?” one of the men ventured.

“They are out of touch,” Hamish said. “They know what we know, because the Don tells them; but, they don’t understand it because they are too far away.”

USF Charleston
Intel Team Meeting

A lot has happened since the Funeral.”

Marty, who was lead on this briefing, didn’t have to say which funeral; everyone in Fleet, perhaps our entire world, knew what he meant.

“One thing we’ve learned is that things don’t move as fast on the Reverend’s world as they do on ours. We’ve also learned that the televisor technology of the Pan-Asians and the Mujahedeen of F-U is identical to that of the Reverends, including the codec,” he reported. “The distribution channels are the same, as well: microwave from a central location and local broadcast from a local antenna. The Pan-Asians’ system is the same, but more powerful and cleaner than the others.

“The Pan-Asians did not re-broadcast the scene over Las Vegas as our brothers’ bodies were returned to their world until twenty-seven days after the event. This suggests that they intercepted and recorded the signal, and then transported the recording across the Pacific by ship. It does not confirm this; however, we’re re-examining all such re-broadcasts to see if we can establish a pattern.

“Remember that the signal came from our two synchronous satellites and was designed to be picked up only by the regular televisors in homes, Sheriffs’ Stations, Army barracks, and so on. The only place the Pan-Asians could have gotten the signal would have been from our satellites, but we don’t think they got it except that they have a televisor with a recorder somewhere in the Reverends’ territory, and picked it up that way.

“The Mujahedeen re-broadcast occurred twenty-eight days after the event, suggesting that they intercepted the signal in the same way, but in Europe, recorded it, and transported it overland to Medina.

“Tentatively, we conclude from this that the Pan-Asians have agents in the Reverends’ territory, and that the Mujahedeen do, as well.”

Marty paused to let that sink in, and then continued. “Both the Pan-Asians and the Mujahedeen put their own spin on the broadcast.

“The Mujahedeen said it was Allah’s curse on the Reverends. They call the Reverends, infidels. Given the blindness to anything resembling reason that religion inculcates in its adherents, that is not surprising.

“The Pan-Asians described a meteor shower which they claimed Reverends interpreted as a ‘sign from their god’. The message was more about the foolishness of superstition than about the meteor shower. Neither the Pan-Asians nor the Mujahedeen acknowledged the prediction of the number of meteors that would be visible. Either that, or they don’t want to admit to their people that they know it was not a coincidence that the number of meteors matched the number Artie said in his speech.”

Marty paused. I felt him swallow his sorrow, and felt the same from the rest of the Metas, the men of the Task Force who were watching—and myself. Those meteors had been our sons and brothers.

“However,” Marty continued when he’d found his voice, “there were additional clues in the Pan-Asian message that suggest that their science is beyond that of the Reverends. They described how meteor showers are often associated with old comets, noted that their history does not contain a comet that would correspond with this shower, and talked about how the gravity of Jupiter might pull an asteroid from its orbit, or how a long-period comet from the Oort Cloud—they didn’t call it that, but that’s what they meant—might have been the genesis—they didn’t use that word, either—of this shower.”

That’s good news, and bad, I thought. The bad news is that the Pan-Asians are more advanced than the Reverends. Of course, we knew that, since it’s from them that the Reverends get their aeroplanes and tanks. The good news is that at least they seem to be rational realists about science, anyway. Maybe we can find common ground.

Marty didn’t have a good conclusion to the briefing, so I stepped in. “Thank you, Marty,” I said. “Good work, good analysis. Thank you all.

“We won’t know for a long time, if ever, what is the most important thing we learn about the Reverends’ Universe. Every thing we learn has potential, and if there’s ever anything that anyone sees that can point us in the right direction, please let one of the team know about it.”

“Sir?” The next briefing officer, a Commander, seemed nervous. He wasn’t a Meta, but still I tried to push reassurance. It may have worked. The Commander took a deep breath and continued with a stronger voice. “Sir, we need more humint.”

“Humint insertion and retrieval were successful in Australia and at Fatima although that could have been much worse. We got two data points at Fatima: one soldier and one intelligence agent from the California forces. We and the staff of the Charleston are trying to plan war games that will be of use in a possible invasion of the Fundamentalist Universe; we do not have the psychological profiles of the Army, the Sheriffs, or, indeed, of the Reverends themselves that we need in order to do that. We need more data.”

It was again my turn—and obligation—to speak. “Commander, you are right, and I thank you and the others who came to that conclusion. I assume you have some specifics, and some ideas of how to go about expanding our information base?”

George’s smile, which I could feel but not see, gave me the answer.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Kidnappings.”

“Yes, sir,” the Commander said. “Ensign Stewart-Rodgers has the details and, I believe, has already done some preliminary planning.”

“Full briefing, including team composition, tomorrow,” I said. Everyone knew I was addressing George. If he were going to be a cowboy, he was going to have to do the planning and documentation, as well.

Following the meeting, the Geeks gathered in my Ready Room. Alex said what no one else had said.

“The Scudder proclaimed that the miracle of fire occurred,” Alex said. “The televisor showed images of the so-called miracle. Several people, dressed as commonplace people, asserted that it happened. The images are poorly assembled; to our eyes, they are obviously fake. The actors, too, given our knowledge and greater sophistication, are obviously not commonplace people.”

“They’re not very good actors, either.”

I wasn’t very happy. I’d not anticipated this, and was reluctant to report my failure to Admiral Davis. It wasn’t easy to write the report, but I did, and included televisor footage of the Scudder proclaiming the miracle, images of the alleged miracle, and the actors. The admiral’s reply came much sooner than I would have thought.

Paul, this isn’t the first time you have told me that you failed. I recall a bad decision made at Disneyland that could have been disastrous for you, Danny, George, and Alex. You learned from that; you will learn from this latest event. Nor do I consider it a failure. Think about it. What did you learn about yourself? What did you learn about the Reverends?

When I was a junior cadet on my first shipboard assignment, indicator lights on our consoles were labeled, “Press to Test.” In many cases, that was the only way we could know if the light were working. You have just “pressed to test” the Reverends, the Army, and probably the Arcana. Now learn from it.

You know of Alexander Pope, one of the figures of the Enlightenment. You’ve heard the first part of his most famous quotation: “The proper study of mankind is man.” Most people don’t know the tag line: “Know therefore yourself.” Think on that, too, please.

I felt a little better.

Chapter 53: Intelligence Gathering

Mount Zion—Microwave Intercept

“What do the Jewish scientists have to say about the televisor signals? They’ve had enough time.” The Colonel-General had summoned the scientist to his office.

“Sir, they believe the signals are being broadcast from outer space.” The scientist’s distain for this conclusion was written on his face. He looked down his nose, and curled his lips in a sneer.

“Did they say why they believed this?” the Colonel-General asked.

“The televisor signals, like the microwave signals, are what they call line-of-sight. They travel in a straight line until intercepted by an antenna or something physical—a mountain, for example. Further, the microwave signals travel only a few tens or hundreds of mile from tower to tower. The televisor broadcasts travel only a few miles before becoming too weak to be picked up by a serf’s televisor antenna. This is why there are broadcast towers in every town and village.”

“Go on.”

“They could find no place where the enemy signal might have been injected into the microwave network. There were no signs of heavy equipment, generators, transmitters—nothing. Since they cannot answer the question, they are grasping at straws. Signals from space! The scientists are worthless—less than worthless. I wish to punish them—”

“No.” The Colonel-General’s order was curt, as was his nod. “That is all. Thank you.” It wasn’t so long ago that he dismissed the fire in the sky over Las Vegas as rocks from space, burning in the air. He cannot connect the two. Still, he is too valuable to replace, and I’ve failed by not preparing for that.

The scientist managed not to tremble until after he left the room.

The Colonel-General summoned the remaining Lieutenant on the team. Boys, he thought. I am reduced to trusting untried boys. Still, they have the courage and perhaps the insight that their elders lack.

The Colonel-General gave Lt. Riggs broad instructions, a letter, and orders to travel to Miami.

Intel Team Meeting—USF Charleston

George gave the report of the first kidnap of a Reverend.

“We had not yet found a way to isolate a Reverend in Las Vegas without an unacceptable risk of detection. We decided our first kidnap of a Reverend would be from Moapa, a remote and isolated community northeast of Las Vegas.

“We attached destruct charges to the telegraph lines leaving Moapa so that no message could get out should we be discovered. We had excellent imagery of the town. The Reverend’s schedule was very regular, and we could be certain that he lived alone, and would be in his house in the early morning hours.

“It was easy to land in the scrub just outside of town, reach his home, shoot him with a tranquilizer dart, and return him to the shuttle.

“John of Patmos suggested that he don his green robes and greet the Reverend when he wakened. It was a brilliant strategy, and got the man talking right away.

“This Reverend was trained at Lynchburg. He had visited Las Vegas, and the _____ Palace Casino. He had not, however, participated in the rape of children and he, himself, did not have a catamite living with him. Therefore, he is still alive.

“He felt that he would soon lose his position, perhaps even be killed, because he believed that the Reverends’ Council used the catamites and the debauchery at Las Vegas not just as a reward, but also to exert a hold on other Reverends.

“He had little knowledge or understanding of the government, economic system, or trade arrangements. He knew that the Las Vegas Reverends’ Council was powerful, and that it ruled a large portion of the western United States—although he did not use that term. He thought that there was another, similar council, in Chicago. It was his belief that the Scudder was in charge of all of this.

“We described the events at the Grand Canyon. He was aware of the Miracle of Fatima, and that it had occurred. Not surprising, since it was widely reported in the Scudder’s televisor messages.

“We explained the Army’s response with the gas generators. He did not believe us, at first but, upon reflection, he agreed that it made sense that the serfs would be sacrificed rather than allow widespread knowledge that the miracle had been foiled.

“We told him about the interaction of our humint resource with a member of the Army. He confirmed that it was likely that the Army would kill, easily. Here are his words.”

An image of a young man appeared on the screen. The quartermaster had provided clothes—including the black shirt with white collar we’d come to associate with the Reverends. The man was thin, to the point of emaciation, but his voice was strong. “The Army are cruel,” he said. “They are few, and they know that they cannot appear weak. They do what they have to in order to appear strong. For them, ‘strong’ means ‘callous.’ They would not hesitate to kill—even a child—to prove their strength.”

There was a long silence before George continued.

“When we were sure we had wrung all we could from him, we revealed ourselves to him. He accepted us—and his situation—with remarkable equanimity.”

“We have another data point,” I said. “What does he believe about his beliefs?”

George and Danny looked at one another. Danny took the fall. “We didn’t think to ask him,” he said.

“Perhaps you would work with John to find out more,” I said. “This may not be important, but he seems to be nearly starving. What do we know about the food supply of his town? Is it normal? Please explore all avenues. The kidnap was brilliantly executed, but we do want to wring out all information we can.”

Danny took to heart my instructions to learn as much as possible from the Moapa Reverend. He called in some experts in psychology, and with them, managed to find out a great deal, including some things the Reverend wasn’t aware he knew.

For example, the reason the Reverend seemed nearly starved was that he was, and the people of the town were in the same circumstance. They couldn’t grow food in the desert and the ore they mined was often insufficient to guarantee that they’d be sent food from elsewhere.

In theory, the Reverend had first claim on what food was shipped to the town. In practice, since it was the Army troops who unloaded the trains, their commander took what he wanted before giving access to the Reverend. This particular Reverend did what he could to ensure an equitable distribution among the serfs, and took for himself no more than what a serf might have received.

The entire town is starving, I realized. What would happen to them if we attacked the Reverends and destroyed the farms, the rail network, the infrastructure—such as it is? I realized how fragile was the economy of the Reverends’ world. It was something to put into the decision matrix that my people were developing.

A Bar in Monterey, California

The sign over the door read “40 & 8.” It was common knowledge among soldiers of the California Liberation Army that the 40 & 8 was a semi-secret drinking society named for the signs on the boxcars which had carried soldiers to the front during the Conquest of Europe. Membership was by invitation, only. What neither the California army’s senior leadership nor the uninitiated soldiers knew was that the 40 & 8 was the front for another organization even more secret. That organization was The Brotherhood.

Major Chastain entered the room, was identified and welcomed. He took a bottle of beer from the bar, and went through another door. Men greeted him quietly, with firm handshakes and slaps on the back. These were his peers. No words were necessary to welcome him back. No one would complain about how long it took him to get home. No one would question him. They would wait until he spoke.

“I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon,” he said. “I was thinking of taking the family there for vacation. Dusty place, though.”

This garnered a few chuckles. Enough people had heard enough of his report to get the joke.

Major Chastain took a long drink. “Their Army nearly gassed 5,000 of their people. The serfs were nearly abandoned to hunger and thirst. A sergeant would have shot a kid because the kid didn’t have papers and had become separated from his family. The miracle was foiled by the people in boxy aeroplanes who have weapons that shoot lightning, but neither the Reverends or the Central Committee have figured that out—nor, I think, would they believe it if it bit them in the butt.

“I met one of them—the kid the sergeant was about to shoot. A boy, maybe twelve years old, sent into danger with nothing but his wits. They didn’t fly in the boxy aeroplanes, but in planes that looked almost exactly like the winged planes of the Reverends’ Army. I told the CIA that, but I don’t think they believed me.”

He took another drink from his bottle. “The people in boxy aeroplanes are going to invade the Reverends territory—and maybe California—and the CIA will screw it up.”

A great deal more discussion than beer followed that announcement. By the time it ended, The Brotherhood had the outline of a plan.

Team California—USF Charleston

Professor Rheinman had given us a lot of information about California. On the other hand, the more we knew, the more we realized what we didn’t know. Terry’s report of his interaction with Major Chastain had raised more questions. I had thought about this a lot, and began the next meeting of the Fleet Intel Team with a few parameters.

“We will continue to press to test the people of the Fundamentalists Universe. We will continue to prepare for an invasion. Here are some additional parameters—things to keep mind as you plan.

“First, we don’t want the people rising up and murdering their local officials—Reverends and Sheriffs, for example—and we certainly don’t want a pogrom, which might occur in some of the larger cities.

“Our treaty with Artie and his people not withstanding, we don’t want the California Army marching in and establishing martial law. And I want to stress that our treaty is with Artie and his soldiers, and not with California. We will not ally with them or anyone until we know a great deal more about them.”

I had talked to Artie and Professor Rheinman about this, and had an understanding—albeit incomplete—of U-Cal. They claimed dominion over what we knew as the States of California, Oregon, and Washington west of the Rocky Mountains, as well as western British Columbia, the Pacific coast of Alaska, and to the south, the Baja Peninsula. California traded with both the Reverends and the Pan-Asians.

“The government is in Monterey, Professor Rheinman had said. That’s somewhat north of Santa Ana, and on the ocean.” He described the government as ostensibly a republic, although elections were sporadic. He had no idea how large was the army, or why they were able to resist the much larger forces of the Reverends and the Pan-Asians.

There were many more questions than answers, so I decided to create a Team California. Tobor filtered the personnel records for candidates, and invitations went out. Two days later, they assembled on the Charleston.

After telling the team what their job would be, I outlined some key parameters.

“We were very careful with the words of the treaty: We swear from this moment forward, eternal amity among ourselves and among all those beholden to us or under our protection.

“Colonel Artie Stewart signed the treaty for himself and for his soldiers, all of whom were both beholden to him and under his protection. Understanding those reciprocal obligations has been made a part of their training. I have great confidence in them. But, I know that Artie didn’t speak for the entire California Army, much less for that nation-state.”

I looked over the assembled men and boys: intelligence analysts from various ships, as well as people with expertise in political science, geography, social science, oceanography, history, something called “surfing,” and a dozen other disciplines.

“Your initial tasking is the question: What will we find when we arrive in California—and it is a certainty that we will, someday, arrive in California. Do not be constrained by that question, but go wherever it takes you.”

Kidnap Team

The next kidnap target would be an adult from one of the Sheriffs Ranches—a Sheriff or a Deputy. We asked John, whom the boys called “John of Patmos,” for his thoughts.

“The Sheriffs never come to the _____ Palace Casino,” John said. “There is a resort, about 100 miles from Las Vegas in a place called Lake Havasu that caters to them, and at which they conduct an annual meeting.” He was unable to tell us whether there were children held in sexual slavery, there. Something else for the to-do list.

On the other hand, he did say, “Once, I was called to treat a Sheriff at the Las Vegas station. His disgust at being treated by a eunuch, and someone from the _____ Palace Casino, was palpable. That is, of course, only one data point, and may have reflected only that individual’s opinion,” he added. John had dived into studies of logicand propaganda with great enthusiasm, and had become a very valuable member of our team.

“Andy?” I addressed Captain Moultrie’s son, a young Meta whom I’d stolen from his father’s staff. “Andy, you will command the team. Daffyd? You’re opsec and second in command. You may ask anyone on the Flag Team to help plan, and you may select your team from among the Task Force. Run your plan through the Ops Team. I will give the order to execute. Any questions?”

Andy’s face turned white, but only for an instant. “No, sir,” he said.

Daddy? Why? George sent. There was only a little hurt in his thought.

George, my beloved son and boyfriend, you know why, I sent. It’s time that Andy and Daffyd have a command. Besides, you’re not the only one who gets to have fun. I looked at him across the table and saw the little wry smile, the right corner of his lips pulled up and a dimple in that cheek, that was his trademark. I know, Daddy; and I love you.

The boy knelt before the Deputy and trembled at the sound of the Deputy’s zipper. It was louder in the boy’s ears than the ribbit of bullfrogs or chirping of crickets. Neither the Deputy nor the boy was aware of the invisible, multispectral radiation from night vision equipment that bathed them. Neither was aware that they were not alone behind the mess hall until the faint susurrus of gloved hands and booted feet on fast-rope lines sounded under the boy’s sobs and the Deputy’s guttural orders.

Neither the boy nor the Deputy had time to react before a taser rendered the Deputy helpless and two boys had taken the arms of the Deputy’s would-be victim and lifted him into the shuttlecraft that hovered overhead. The Deputy followed, carried by two other boys and then dumped onto the floor. By that time, the door had closed, the boy from the ranch had been strapped into a seat and cautioned to “hang on, we’re getting you out of here.”

After a brief oomph at takeoff, the gravity compensators were carefully tuned to prevent any sensation of movement. That, and the sight of the Deputy’s body, still on the floor, seemed to reassure the boy.

“My name’s Andy,” one of the boys said. “We’re… um, friends? At least, we’re not friends with the likes of him.” He pointed to the Deputy. “I hope that makes us friends.”

“I am 7848342… Donny,” the boy said. He didn’t seem inclined to say more, and retreated within himself.

“He looks like he’s about to wake up,” Andy said, gesturing to the Deputy. A couple of the boys rose from their seats and strapped the Deputy’s hands and feet together with plastic tie-ties. One pointed to the Deputy’s penis, now flaccid but still protruding from his fly.

“What about that?” he asked. And giggled. Donny heard, and wrinkled his brow.

“I’m not going to touch it!” the other boy said.

“That’s not what you said last night in the shower,” a third boy said.

“At ease, guys,” Andy said. “Donny, don’t let them get to you.”

He gestured to the boy seated on Donny’s right, and then took that boy’s place.

“I know what the man was going to do,” Andy whispered. His voice didn’t carry beyond Donny’s ear.

“All these boys?” Andy added. “Well, they do that with their boyfriends. Before they came to us, some of them were forced, like you were about to be.”

“You can say it,” Donny said. He spoke in a normal tone, and the others heard. “I was about to have his stinkin’ dick shoved down my throat until he spurted in me. Then, he would have slapped me and beat me and if I said anything to anyone, he would have killed me. That’s what they do. How come you don’t know that, and where are we going. We’re moving, aren’t we?

“And how can you have a boyfriend?”

The pilot’s voice came over the Tannoy. “Approaching Charleston; landing on Flight Deck 3 in two minutes. Thank you for flying Golden Geek Spaceways.”

“Flying?” Donny asked, and fainted.

The Deputy wasn’t happy about being captive of a bunch of boys, and certainly didn’t want to talk to them, but a few prompts from a Meta who followed the man’s surface thoughts and who showed him in no uncertain terms what we did to rapists loosened his tongue. Maybe he thought we’d go easy on him if he cooperated. We didn’t, of course. But we learned a lot before we executed him.

There were more than 350 Sheriffs Ranches in what had been the USA plus Canada and part of Mexico. Each ranch had between 500 and 1,000 boys. At all the ranches, the boys farmed enough to feed themselves and their overseers, and to send surplus, usually wheat, corn, rice, and cotton, to the Pan-Asians.

What surprised me was that each ranch was pretty much autonomous: the Sheriff made whatever rules he wanted, and if too many boys died, he telegraphed for more.

“Where did the telegraph go?” I asked.

“District headquarters,” the Deputy had said. “Ours was in Lafayette.”

More targets for sigint and imint, I thought.

John and I tossed that information between us while Cam, Artie, Corey, George, and Danny watched, and interjected an occasional comment or question.

“The Sheriffs may be the only force that has prevented the Army from taking control; the Army is the only thing that’s prevented the Sheriffs from taking control,” John said.

“The Reverends would be the third leg of that tripod,” I suggested.

“No, I think that they are balanced precariously atop a two-legged stool,” John said.

What will happen if we defeat the Reverends’ Army? Are we going to have to defeat the Sheriffs, too? I wondered. There were more questions than answers.

None of Artie’s boys had been on Sheriffs Ranches, but they were from the same world as Donny. We put him with a couple his age, and kept a close watch on him. Within a week, he had adapted to being in a space ship. By the end of the second week, he had a boyfriend, even though at nine, they were too young for much more than cuddles.

California Kidnap

“Team California needs humint,” George said. “And we’ve got a plan.”

He outlined a mission to kidnap someone from the Monterey headquarters. “We’d like to get the man Terry met at Fatima,” he said, “but we’ve not been able to identify him. Our next best choice is someone from the communications center, ’cause we figure he’ll know more than the average person. And, because it’s in a good location.”

“Here’s the comm center,” Alex said, pointing on the screen to a building at the edge of the complex. “We’ve traced telegraph lines coming into it, and are sure it’s the center.”

Danny continued the briefing. “There are at least a dozen men assigned duty there. One of their shift changes is at 2300. We think we can kidnap one of the men coming off duty shortly after that.”

It was a good plan, although there was some risk of being detected, which would have violated one of the Prime Directives.

“If you’re observed?” I asked.

Danny looked at George who looked at Alex, and then at me. “It’s worth the risk,” George said. Daddy? We can’t never take a chance, he sent.

“George? You’re right,” I said. “I understand the risk, and approve. And thank you, all, for not being afraid.”

Ain’t scared of you, Daddy, George deliberately misinterpreted what I’d said. When he felt my reaction, he giggled.

“It is possible that someone saw the shuttle departing,” George said. “We were about fifteen minutes behind schedule. The moon was about to rise, and the sky was brighter than we had expected. Still, nothing we’ve seen, so far, suggests that we were observed.”

“Your captive?” I asked.

“A corporal, a telegraph operator, and a cryptanalyst. He knew the codes—rather, he had access to them—and could deal with encoded messages. There weren’t many of them, though. It’s as if they thought no one could intercept their messages. Given the state of their technology, that’s not a bad assessment,” Cam said.

“He wasn’t sure he should talk to us,” Danny said. “Until we said we knew Major Chastain, and owed him the life of one of our boys. This kid—the telegraph operator—opened up after that. He was afraid we would not understand that California and the Reverends weren’t alike, and that we’d attack California. We told him we knew the difference, but he made us promise to at least give his people an opportunity to negotiate before he would talk. We agreed.”

Danny’s voice made it clear: negotiation with the Army of California was his promise, and he had committed me and through me, Fleet. I felt George and Cam’s’s unity with Danny.

“You did the right thing, boys,” I said. Privately, I sent, … and I’m so proud of you all!

George turned over the telegraph operator to Team California. He had been a good choice, and gave us a lot of insight into the California Army and the government. There was something he was hiding from us, though. The Metas could detect that he was hiding something, but not what it was. We guessed he still had some concern that we would invade California, and didn’t press, but we did keep an eye—physical and mental—on him.

Camp Santa Ana

“Hamish, please wait behind,” the Don said. “Everyone else except Dr. Furman may return to your tasks.”

“It will be all right,” Hamish whispered. “I’ll be back, soon.”

Matthew nodded, and kissed Hamish’s cheek.

Hamish had stayed in his chair but, at the Don’s gesture, sat on the couch beside the Don.

“Hamish,” the Don began. “You’re an important part of this school. You and Matthew have helped us learn a great deal about the Reverends. Now, we want to help you learn something important about yourself.”

Hamish looked at the Don, and furrowed his brow. “Something about me?”

The Don nodded, and gestured to Dr. Furman.

“Hamish, sometimes, you can feel what other people are feeling, can’t you? Sometimes, you can hear what they are thinking, some—”

“No!” Hamish said. “I am not a witch!” He tried to stand up, but the Don held him. Hamish struggled, and cried out, “No! No! You will not burn me!”

The Don pulled the boy tightly against him, and held him despite Hamish’s struggles and the blows from the boy’s fists. It was several minutes before Hamish’s struggles turned to sobs. Still the Don held him.

“Hamish?” the Don said. “You’re not a witch, and we’re not going to burn you. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” Hamish mumbled into the Don’s chest.

Dr. Furman had sat on the couch. He touched the boy’s back, and rubbed it, gently. Hamish, you know me, and you know I’m not a witch, he sent.

Hamish jerked free from the Don’s hold, turned, and stared at the doctor.

“Huh?”

Speak to me silently, Dr. Furman sent.

It’s not wrong? It’s not evil? Hamish thought.

No, Hamish, it’s not wrong. It’s a very wonderful thing. It’s not evil; it’s a very good thing. It means that you are very special. But you’ve known that, haven’t you? You’ve just been taught that it’s wrong.

“Not everyone can do this—talk to one another with their minds. I know others, elsewhere in California, but no one else here at Camp Santa Ana,” Dr. Furman said aloud, so that the Don could be part of the conversation.

“And you are right to think that some people believe it to be evil,” the Don said. “Not everyone is as smart as Dr. Furman is. Not everyone is as smart as you are. For now, you must keep this secret, even from Matthew.”

“But he already knows!” Hamish said. “He knows I know sometimes what he is thinking. He knows I killed Deacon Jerome with my mind. He knows I know that Andrew isn’t dead for I know I would feel him die. He knows I felt the sadness and anger of millions of people during the funeral.” Hamish saw—or felt—how puzzled Dr. Furman was.

“What do you mean, millions of people, Hamish?”

“Matthew asked me if it really was those boys we saw in the sky,” Hamish said. “And I said I believed it was because I felt real sadness and real anger from millions of people. It wasn’t just the boys on the ball field with us, and it wasn’t from Las Vegas. It was like it was from all over and from inside me.”

Both the Don and Dr. Furman sat quietly for several minutes.

“I don’t know what that means, Hamish,” the Don said. “But please, tell me if you ever feel anything else like that. Your corporal, Ethan, can always get you in to see me, and this is important.

“And you must caution Matthew to tell no one. Not for a while. Not until we are free not only of the threat of the Reverends, but our own superstitions.”

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