Published: 20 Feb 2017

Part XVIII

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

Chapter 54: First Battle for the Reverends’ World

Voices on the comm circuits were angry where they were not frightened.

The icon on my screen identified a voice as a Major of Marines. I watched through the camera on his helmet. “They’re sending in children… they’re heavily armed. Nova sol! They’re suicide bombers. Two just blew themselves up. They’re moving toward unarmed civilians. We cannot allow them to reach their targets.” The major’s horror at what he would order his men to do was palpable.

“We’ve tried to stun the children with rubber bullets but they must have a dead-man switch. As soon as they fall, they explode.” That was Artie.

I switched channels and asked Corey to report. “We’ve stopped the tanks,” he said, but they’re set to detonate when disabled or they have a suicide switch. As soon as we knock the treads off of one, it blows up.”

The next voice was George’s. “An Army major just ordered the entire village to be executed rather than allow us to liberate it. The civilians were already lined up. The Army used Gatling guns. We had to kill the Army troops; they wouldn’t surrender. Some of the civilians survived, and medics are working. We’re going to need medevac.”

And then I felt the bullet hit Danny.

I stepped out of the VR chamber and stripped off my helmet. It took every bit of self-control I had not to throw it to the floor. I clenched it in my fist, and gritted my teeth.

“How certain are we that they would do these things?”

Cam answered. “Everything we learned from Terry, John, Andrew, Artie and his boys. Everything we’ve picked up from the Reverends’ televisor, from the telegraph and from the captives. Tobor programmed the simulators.”

I’m sorry, Daddy, Tobor said. I guess I messed up—

No, son, I sent. You did well with what you had. This isn’t your fault; it’s mine. I rushed, I was too anxious.

“Anything new from any source?” I asked Cam.

Cam shook his head.

I wasn’t surprised to get the call from Admiral Davis. He knew about the exercise, and could easily have watched it from his desk in Geneva.

“Paul? What went wrong?”

“Sir, I went too fast and asked the planners to model the strategy, tactics, and behavior of the Reverends’ forces based on inadequate information.

Davis nodded. “You did with what you had, Paul. Lesson learned. How to you plan to solve it?”

My stomach iced. Humint was still unacceptable.

“You’re still reluctant to insert humint resources. Have you looked closely at your own motivation? Are you being overly-protective of your people?”

“Yes sir. I mean, yes, I’ve examined my motivation, but no, it is not being overly protective. I do not want anyone on that world to find out our capabilities, not yet, at least. They’re bound to, eventually, if we continue to interact with them, but not now, not yet.”

Davis looked hard at me, and then said, “Your call, Paul. May I offer a suggestion?”

“Yes, sir, please.”

“Turn George loose,” he said. He laughed at the expression on my face, and closed the circuit.

Kevin, my XO and head of Intel was standing beside my desk. I turned to him.

“Ask George to get us a couple of Reverends’ Army officers—field grade, at least. Strip them of everything they know, and then tweak the simulation,” I said. “And we’ll try, again.”

Winding Road, West Virginia

Cam’s screams woke Maudi.

“It hurts!”

When Maudi tried to comfort him, Cam lashed out. His reaction was physical rather than mental, and the force of his blows triggered Maudi’s own fears. Within seconds, every Meta on the Charleston was awake. A few moments later, and four of them had reached Cam and Maudi’s room and were holding the two boys tightly lest they hurt each other, or themselves.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Cam and Maudi calmed down enough that George could question them.

I was awakened, too, but when I realized that George was there, I kept myself out of the situation. Until George called a meeting. A dozen or us gathered in my Ready Room.

“There’s a Meta down there,” George said. “At least, a telepath.”

“We guessed that there might be some, given how Andrew and Artie and a few of his boys have developed, but we also guessed that like on our Earth in the Mujahedeen and religious territories, the genes might have been removed from the gene pool by the practice of killing witches and others suspected of having powers,” Danny said.

“Where?” I asked.

“In our world, it would be Winding Road, West Virginia. Down there, it’s an unnamed coal mining town: about 500 houses on dirt streets, a chapel, a company store, a Sheriff’s station, train depot, power plant, and Army barracks,” Alex reported, pointing to each feature in the image on the briefing screen.

“The Meta?”

“He’s the Reverend’s catamite,” George said. “He was being raped. That’s what Cam felt.”

I looked at the graphic that showed time on the Earth of F-U. It was dark in West Virginia, and would be for several hours.

“Do not let anyone see your shuttle; do not let anyone be captured. Rescue the boy. If you can, bring me the Reverend.”

That’s all I said. George was capable of planning within those constraints.

Cam was the most sensitive, and Maudi had felt and seen what Cam had sensed. Artie, too, was able to relate to the boy. He was frightened, of course. Being smothered by the concern and love of a score or more boys helped a lot. When Cam felt the boy had overcome his fear, he brought him into my ready room, and showed him through the window his Earth, below. Cam had waited until North America was in full daylight.

The boy gasped before he knew what he was looking at. I understood. It was the shear beauty of the “blue marble.” I felt the boy’s heartbeat and respiration pick up as Cam pushed, slowly and gently, an explanation of what the boy was seeing.

“It’s not flat, is it?” were the boy’s first words.

Cam looked at me for the answer.

“No, Douglas, it’s round, a ball” I said.

“What else did Reverend Path tell me that is a lie?”

Cam giggled. “Probably everything,” he said. “But don’t worry, I promise that we will never lie to you, in any way.”

Douglas nodded his understanding.

I didn’t want any of the Geeks, and certainly not Artie or Douglas, anywhere near when I interrogated the Reverend. As soon as I’d satisfied myself that he had raped a child, his life was no longer his, it was mine.

We had determined that the range of our telepathy was well more than the 250,000 or so miles between our orbit and the surface of a planet. We’d determined that by conversations with Dr. Adams—who was still running CERN-Higgs. Of course, we didn’t know if the distance through the rift was line of sight, or if our thoughts went through or bypassed the rift. Something else for the to-do list.

This meant that there was no practical way for me to get far enough away from the others to block my thoughts. I issued an order that no one was to listen in on my conversation with Reverend Path and that they were to do everything in their power not to listen. That was the best I could do, and given our trust, it was sufficient.

Ship’s security brought Reverend Path to my ready room. He had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. He blustered.

“I don’t know what you are thinking, but you’d better release me. The Army doesn’t have this kind of authority—”

“We’re not your army,” I said.

I felt him think Inquisition and, unless I was mistaken, felt his anal sphincter tighten. Better than the alternative, I thought.

“Nor are we the Inquisition.”

His relief was short-lived as I added, “We’re much more powerful and much less kind-hearted than either of those organizations.”

I touched the button that would open the shutters on the window that overlooked Earth. It was daylight on the American hemisphere.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“What? A map—”

“Not a map; that is your world.”

His shock when he realized that I was telling the truth was enough to open his mind to me completely.

His mind? Let me put it this way. When I was a cadet at Edmonton and we went on maneuvers in the mountains, each night we’d dig a trench latrine. We’d squat over the trench to poop, and stand beside it to piss. Each morning, before we left, we’d draw straws. The loser got to fill it in. This Reverend’s mind was worse than any of those trench latrines. It literally stank. At least, that’s the way I interpreted it.

He did provide a lot of information, though. Douglas was not from Winding Road, but from a town in Ohio. He’d been identified by the Reverend, there, and sent to Winding Road. That was standard procedure: isolate the boys from their families, from that which was familiar. It was part of the process of breaking them down, and something that was taught at Lynchburg where this man had been trained as a Reverend.

He confirmed what we’d learned earlier, that each Reverend received an annual trip to one of several “fleshpots.” I was disgusted to learn that Las Vegas wasn’t the only one, and added Miami and Chicago to our target list.

His training had consisted mostly of how to speak and how to use tools of propaganda. His sermons were prepared months in advance, and delivered by packet, although he was expected to expound on current topics delivered to the serfs by televisor. Yes, serfs; that’s how he thought of them.

He whined a bit at the unfairness of his being held responsible for production from the coalmine, especially since he had little control over the men.

“The Sheriff has all the control, but he doesn’t have to listen to me.”

“What is the purpose of the Army troops in your town?” I asked.

“To sit around and eat and sleep, unless there’s a riot. That’s the only thing that would get their attention.”

“Does that happen often?”

“It had better not, or the Army commander would lose his position,” Path said.

The only pay he received was food and clothing—that and knowing he didn’t have to work in the mines. There was no retirement plan: like everyone, he was expected to work until he died.

Medical treatment for the general population was nearly non-existent except for some pre-natal care and midwives. Got to keep the population up, I thought, and remembered what Lt. Evans had said about inbreeding. I asked Path about that, but he had no knowledge—and a distain for the question and the serfs.

“What about you? The Army?”

I learned that there was an Army medic—I thought medical corpsman—who could patch up minor injuries and perform some dental services. But only for the Army, the Sheriffs men, and for the Reverend.

“What would have happened to Douglas?” I asked.

“If he could learn to read and write, he might be sent to Lynchburg to be trained. That’s how I was selected.” He seemed proud of that. I let that be his last thought, and killed him with my mind, but without all the mess I’d created on the beach at Tripoli.

Meta Meeting

“We will continue periodic over-flights of our Earth and of the Reverends’ Earth. Cam, you and Maudi are our best Meta-detectors. I know that will take you away from other duties. At the moment, I can think of nothing more important. Once we’ve completed several sweeps of the Reverends’ Earth, we will reduce the frequency of the over-flights.

“George, you will assemble a dozen kidnap teams. Each will have one Meta and one of Corey’s people armed with a phaser. The other members of the team should probably be Marines, simply because there are so few Metas. Do not rush headlong into this task, but take time to train and integrate your teams.”

“What—?” George was startled, and Corey no less so. I was so confident, I’d not discussed this with either of them.

“These teams will begin freeing Reverends’ catamites in randomly selected towns and villages throughout their territory. The boys will be taken to the Hope for medical treatment and psychological counseling. When the doctors say we may, we’ll question them, and perhaps recruit them into Fleet.

“Bring the Reverends, too, where you can. Kill them and conceal or utterly destroy their bodies where you cannot bring them here. They will be interrogated to find out where the boy came from in hopes that we may, someday, be able to return them to their parents. We may execute the Reverends or imprison them, depending on what we learn. We’ll have to have some prisons, eventually.” I made a mental note to get that information to Admiral Davis. There weren’t many prisons on Earth, and Fleet operated very few of those.

“It is essential that the shuttles that transport these teams not be seen. It is essential that none of our people fall into the hands of the enemy.” This was, I think, the first time I’d referred to the Reverends as the enemy.

“Do not remove anything but the children and the Reverends. As far as the rest of them know, these people will simply have disappeared.

“And, we will take advantage of that.”

“Defections! They’ll think these people defected to… well, to somewhere!”

“Exactly,” I said. “We’re going to make them think there is a movement, perhaps a fifth column, of defectors.”

George was happy that I’d given him command, and made sure I knew when he appointed Andy and Daffyd to command two of the teams.

“Paul?” Admiral Davis said once the secure link was established. “Let me guess. George has done something I need to know about just in case, or you’ve got another unusual request.”

“The latter, sir. I’m going to need some prison space.”

I knew Admiral Davis didn’t like dramatic pauses, so I continued without a break.

“We’re going to kidnap Reverends in smaller towns and villages and rescue their catamites. Eventually, I plan on a rate of perhaps 20—25 per week. We’ll be treating the boys in the Hope, but we’ll need a place to lock up the adults who survive.”

“Those who survive.” That was not a question. Still, I treated it as if it were one.

“They will be interrogated by one of us.” Davis understood that one of us meant a Meta.

“Afterwards, any who have committed a capital crime—such as rape of a child—will be executed. I expect that to include many of them. Others will be imprisoned.”

I didn’t tell Davis about the second part of the plan: the fake fifth column. That was the sort of thing that belonged in a routine report. Davis didn’t want to wait, apparently.

“That’s going to cause some consternation, isn’t it?” he asked.

“That’s what we’re counting on, sir. We’re hoping they’ll believe these people are defecting to some sort of underground resistance organization.”

“You’ll be leaving clues to that effect?”

“Actually, sir, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Admiral Davis chuckled as he signed off. I think he was pleased to know that he could still think ahead of me.

Reverend’s Army Tactics

“Our belief that the Reverends’ Army would use child suicide bombers was correct. That had been based on what we can only call field trials at a base in Utah. It was confirmed by our captives.” Kevin began the briefing. He studiously avoided looking at Artie, who had commanded bomb-laden children in the First Battle for Las Vegas. Artie and I had talked a lot about that. He understood that no one blamed him for the children’s deaths. He agreed that we would never do that, again.

Blowing up disabled tanks was not confirmed, although we had seen what appeared to be tests. Cam agreed to theorize, and suggested that what we saw may have been demolition team training.

“We’ll continue to watch for that,” Kevin continued. “Executing an entire town rather than allow it to be liberated would be up to the local commander, but is judged to be 75% probable if the local commander thought his troops were about to be attacked by us. Killing the civilians would allow the Army to fight an invading force without having to worry about an attack from their rear.”

“This does not change the simulation sufficiently to alter the outcome,” Danny relayed for Tobor since there were non-Metas in the audience.

This data about the Reverends’ Army wouldn’t change the outcome of the simulation. Something had to change, however. My strategy. But I was at a loss to decide what or how.

Chapter 55: Signs and Portents

John, who had adopted the last name Patmos, perhaps in response to the boys’ gentle teasing, asked to speak to me. He was still the greatest humint asset we had, so I invited him to my ready room. Naturally, Danny and George were there for security. Cam and Kevin joined us. I offered coffee; John declined. I offered water and he accepted.

“I’ve not grown accustomed to the taste of your coffee,” he said. “Coffee was rare, and even that which I served the Reverends was—weak, I suppose—compared to yours.”

“Where did the coffee come from?” Cam asked.

“Trade with the southern continent,” John said.

“Which countries?” Cam asked.

“I’m sorry, I do not know,” John said.

“John, you asked for this meeting but so far, all we’ve done is ask questions. What may we do for you?” I asked.

“Something I might do for you, rather,” John said. “Your staff asked me to look at a copy of the Bible from your world. There are differences in many verses between it and the Bible used by the Reverends. Andrew and I were able to identify some of those differences, usually minor differences in wording. There is another difference, however. I did not at first realize its significance. However, the more I learn of your world and the Enlightenment, the more I understand what might be important.

“The Bible from which the Reverends preach does not contain either the Book of Daniel or the Book of Revelation, although they know about both.”

“What is the significance of those books?” I asked.

“They describe The End Times, when the Lord God in the Person of His Son will return to Earth, when Satan will be unleashed for the final battle, when the dead will be resurrected, and when all promises will be fulfilled.”

“And the Reverends don’t preach this?”

“They teach nothing associated with the End Times. Their message is simply, ‘suffer in obedience in this life, and go to heaven when you die’,” John compressed thousands of words of theology into a succinct phrase.

“They do use the phrase, the Number of the Beast, but they say nothing about what it means, other than evil. The Number of the Beast is described in Revelation. That is the book written by John of Patmos. I’m sorry I didn’t understand earlier how important this might be.”

“But the Reverends know about the End Times?” Cam asked.

John nodded. “At least, the most senior, and perhaps them all. I asked the Reverend George brought to us from Moapa; he was familiar with both Daniel and Revelation, which he read during his training, but which he was told not to preach.”

“Cam?” I asked. “Would you put a team on this? And John, would you accept a position on that team?”

Cam and John agreed, and John was surprised when, two weeks later, he received his first pay. “John, I have authority to hire civilian experts. And, I do know that the workman is worthy of his hire.”

I think I surprised him with that statement.

“It’s a two part plan,” Danny said. “First, we’re going to soften up the Reverends with allegorical signs and portents of the so-called End Times. Then, we’re going to charge them with a heresy that is spoken of in conjunction with the End Times.”

Quite an ambitious plan, Tobor said.

Hush, son, and let Danny talk, I said.

“The Book of Revelation contains many signs that are to appear near the End Times. Many are fanciful, with hidden meanings that may not be easily understandable especially by the civilians, but all are quite vivid—scary, even. In addition, one of Corey’s guys had on his iPad a copy of the Scofield Reference Bible, the last Bible published before the Enlightenment swept that world in the early 1900s. It helped us locate some references in places other than Revelation.

“One of the most often quoted is also one we need to be careful of. Matthew 24:6 reads, ‘And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.'”

“In other words, if we start a war, they’ll see that as the fulfillment of prophecy?”

“Maybe.”

“And what will they do?”

“Maybe nothing. The next verse reads, “… the stars of the heavens fell unto the earth.” Danny paused. The rest of us looked at one another. There were several raised eyebrows.

“Yes, and…?”

“They didn’t seem to catch onto that after the Funeral. If they did, they didn’t say anything.”

“Oh.” I think we were all embarrassed not to have made that link.

“But that verse may be useful: it also warns of earthquakes,” Danny said.

“Earthquakes? We could probably do that if we tunneled deep enough and set off nuclear charges, but is that really a good idea?”

“Perhaps just reports of earthquakes on the televisor.”

“We can always put on our video instead of theirs.”

“How many times can we do that before they shut down the televisor system?

“How could they block us?”

“By broadcasting locally something other than a blank carrier wave—anything—old movies. We could overpower that, but it wouldn’t be nearly as effective.”

“How long before they figure that out?”

“No way of knowing.”

“We need a fallback strategy for the televisor signals,” I said. “Marty? I think that’s something for your to-do list.”

“What about those allegorical signs? What are some of them?”

John took that question. “They are the visions of the man for whom I am named. He wrote that he saw God with a two-edged sword coming from his mouth; riders on white, red, black, and pale horses armed with various weapons; angels; a dragon; a beast with seven heads, that rose from the sea—”

“Holographic images in the night sky!” Bobby interrupted. “I’m sorry for interrupting, John, but we can do this!”

“Where do we get projectors powerful enough?”

“The first holographs were created and projected with lasers, and our ships have some of the most powerful lasers ever made,” George said.

“But they’re not at optical frequencies.”

“That’s just technology,” Bobby said. “And what about Dr. Adams’ programs for controlling rift energy? He’s already manipulating energies stronger than that. I’ll bet he can help.”

Danny continued the briefing. “The second phase is more subtle, perhaps too subtle. There are two references in Revelation to the Nicolaitan Heresy, that it was hated by the Lord God,” John said.

“According to Irenaeus, one of the earliest Christian theologians, the followers of Nicolas, although considering themselves to be Christian, practice lives of unrestrained indulgence—not unlike what we know to happen at the _____ Palace Casino,” Andrew added. Andrew had been digging into the ship’s library, it seemed.

“We want to communicate, somehow, that what the Reverends are doing is anathema, and that they will be punished.”

“How do we do that? The civilians won’t understand it, the Army and the Sheriffs won’t understand it and if they do, they won’t care.”

George? Work this into your kidnapping plans. We wondered what clues to leave; we’ve just had that question answered.”

“The signs and portents are for Bobby’s to-do list,” I said. “Bobby, you’re in charge of planning a psychological operations campaign based on the so-called signs and portents of the End Times. You may call on anyone in the Task Force to be on your team.

“The trick for both Bobby and George’s teams will be to dishearten the Reverends without making them desperate, for desperate men with nothing to lose are a formidable foe.”

That will teach me to interrupt. We all heard Bobby’s thought.

We accomplished a lot at this meeting, but there were still many open questions, including the one that was squarely in my lap: no matter how successful our psychological operations, we would still have to put boots on the ground.

Chapter 56: Some of Our Reverends Are Missing

Lynchburg

“What does this mean?” the Scudder demanded. He waved a paper at his military aide.

“A routine report, sir,” the aide said after reading the document. “From some mining town to the north of us. The Reverend and his catamite have disappeared. Likely fell down an old mine shaft, according to the local Sheriff, who sent a request for a replacement. Don’t know how that got in your stack, sir. Should have been taken care of downstairs.”

Mt. Zion

“Reverend Winding Road, West Virginia and catamite disappeared. Sheriff sent Lynchburg replacement request.”

“Grassfire destroyed grain fields _____ County Sheriff’s Ranch. Shortfall made up from granaries Grand Prairie.”

“Train 40 boxcars wheat entered California bound Port Long Beach.”

The Colonel-General’s staff sifted through reports taken from the Reverends’ and the Sheriffs’ telegraph networks, transcribing the notes and turning key words into holes punched into rectangles of stiff paper which were fed into a clattering device. An ornate label on the side of the device read, “Hollerith Tabulator 1897” and “US Bureau of the Census.” Two weeks after the first information about a missing Reverend had been entered, one of the counters clicked high enough to call certain of the reports to the attention of a clerk, dug through stacks of papers, and then brought the reports to the attention of the Colonel-General.

“Sir, in the past twenty-five days, eight Reverends and their catamites have disappeared. The first was in a mining town, and it was supposed that they’d fallen into an old mine shaft. The second was presumed to have drowned in a local lake; the third—”

“Get to the point,” the Colonel-General said.

“This is unprecedented, sir. Occasionally there will be a report of a Reverend killed by his catamite; rarely, there will be a report of a Reverend murdered by a serf.”

“What do you make of it? And what other information do you have on these disappearances?”

“The reports have little detail, and nothing that established a pattern. Scribbled on the wall of one Reverend’s quarters was the verse, ‘Behold, I come quickly…’ from Revelation 22:7 and elsewhere. The phrase ‘Sea of glass’ was scrawled on two walls. That, too, is from Revelation as is ‘Nicolaitan,’ found on three walls. All the walls, save the first, had at least one of these phrases.”

“Have Lynchburg, Chicago, or Las Vegas made the connection, yet?”

“There’s no traffic that indicates that they have, sir.”

“The Sheriffs?”

“No, sir.”

“Revelation.” The Colonel-General pursed his lips and scheduled a meeting of his council.

Monterey

The Brotherhood was not based on rank or age, but on ability and what they thought of as integrity.

Their definition of integrity might have seemed a little odd, but their loyalty was to an ideal, and not to the failed implementation of that ideal in the California Republic. Faced with the presence of the Reverends to the east and the Pan-Asian Hegemony across the Pacific, the leaders of California did what fear had driven others to do—they compromised the principles of the Enlightenment and of the Republic in the name of pragmatism. That decision, as it always had and always would, led down the wrong path.

The Brotherhood was not a republic; it was a meritocracy. Knowledge, skill, and ability governed advancement and position. No one thought it unusual that an eighteen-year-old telegrapher and code clerk was a valued and respected member, or that he and Major Chastain shared a table in the back room of the 40 & 8.

“The Don sent a request for your full report,” the youngster said. “The Committee said that the Don had gotten all they had. That’s not true.”

“Are they hiding something from the Don?” Chastain asked.

“No, I think they’re just lazy or being coy for the sake of being coy.

“There’s something else,” the boy continued. “You know the Central Committee gets intel from someone in the _____ Palace Casino.”

Chastain nodded, and signaled for two more bottles of beer.

“We sent a summary message to Sacramento that the Las Vegas Reverends’ Council was worried about something. They’re missing a couple of their Reverends—and the men’s catamites—and there were odd messages written on the walls of the Reverends’ quarters.”

“Odd in what way?”

“I didn’t understand, but I memorized the words: “Behold I am come quickly,” and “sea of glass,” and “Nicolaitan.”

End-times signs, Major Chastain thought. And no one knows it? The Central Committee doesn’t recognize it?

He stood and thumped his beer bottle on the table. The room fell silent.

“Anyone hear anything about End Times or the Apocalypse coming out of the Reverends’ territory?”

He looked around the room, but was met with headshakes and blank looks.

“If you do, let me know, please. I’ll file a report as soon as I get there.”

“There?” the boy telegrapher asked.

“Camp Santa Ana,” Major Chastain said. The Brotherhood’s plan must be moved up. Santa Ana is the most likely place. There is not as much time as we had thought. “You must tell the others all you know.”

The Major didn’t need to tell the boy to continue to gather information from the telegraph; that was understood.

“You will also tell the rest that we must prepare, now, to make contact with the people in boxy aeroplanes, and that I believe Santa Ana is the most likely place to do that. The rest of the Brotherhood must look for other ways to contact them, to offer alliance with them.”

Beloved Boy Servant

“Daddy?” George’s voice on my communicator woke me.

I knew he was out with a kidnap team, and my heart skipped a beat before I felt puzzlement and not fear.

“What ‘cha got, George?”

George switched to talking mind-to-mind. There must have been someone he didn’t want to overhear.

“I’ve got a boy who doesn’t want to leave his Reverend. He says he loves him; he’s afraid for him.”

“What’s the Reverend thinking?”

“He’s afraid for the boy; he’s afraid we will hurt him. It’s almost like he’s the boy’s daddy or something.”

“Reassure them both, bring them both—together—but keep an eye on the Reverend. I don’t want to take a chance on him hurting the boy.”

I remembered what John Patmos had thought of our coffee, and asked that the Reverend and the boy be served hot chocolate. They were in an interrogation cell, guarded by George. I watched on the monitor. They were separated by the width of a table. I felt that the boy wanted to be held, to be comforted by the man. I felt that the man wanted to hold and comfort the boy. I felt their anger at George, who stood guard.

They both looked up when I entered the room. “What is your relationship with this boy?” I asked. My voice was terse, but not loud. I tried to show no emotion.

“He is my beloved boy-servant,” the man said. “His name is Toby. I am Reverend Grady. Who are you, and why are we here?”

“I will answer your questions in a moment. First, how old are you, and how old is Toby?”

“I am twenty-eight; Toby is fifteen.”

Thirteen years difference. Danny was ten and I was fourteen. Was there such a difference between our situations?

“Do you have sexual contact with Toby?”

Both Toby and the man turned white. I didn’t need to be a telepath to sense their abject fear: the stink of sweat filled the room.

“Please do not be afraid,” I said, and pushed reassurance.

“Why not? You are the Inquisition, are you not? You will torture and then kill us!”

“No, we are not the Inquisition. We are both more powerful and more understanding than they are. Please, answer the question.”

“Yes,” the man whispered.

“Do you force yourself on him, or have you ever done so?”

“No!” Another whisper. “He is my beloved boy-servant.”

His fear for the boy, more than for himself, was palpable. So was his love. I believed him.

“The boy behind you is my beloved boy-servant,” I said. “And my son. I am Commodore Paul Stewart—”

“Artie’s father?” Toby interrupted. “I don’t believe you!”

“Yes, I am Artie’s father. Would you believe me if he were here?”

The boy nodded. Artie was asleep, but arrived within a few minutes.

Toby’s eyes got wide. “You really are Artie!”

The Reverend told us little more than we already knew. He was aware neither of the disappearance of others nor of the End Times messages the kidnap teams had left behind.

“You’re going to invade, aren’t you?” he said.

I was startled at his perspicacity, and told him so.

“You must not harm my people!” he said. We were in my Ready Room. The man stood; his fists were clenched. George and Danny, who were present for security, immediately moved toward him. He quickly sat down.

My first thought had been to make him a house parent to the boys—former catamites—now being treated in the USF Hope. I rejected that idea, understanding that it would be very, very hard to convince boys who had been repeatedly raped by their Reverends to trust any adult. However…

“Reverend? Would you be willing to meet with some of my planners, to discuss with them our strategy—yes, we will almost certainly invade—and help them determine ways to avoid civilian casualties?”

He agreed, and I looked forward to Fleet Personnel’s reaction when I put a second expert from the Reverends’ World on the payroll.

Monterrey
Office of the Commanding General

“What is Major Chastain up to, now?” the general demanded. He set his coffee cup down hard enough to splash a few drops on the paper he’d been reading.

“Damn!” Coffee was expensive and scarce even for the general. He wiped the drops with a finger and then licked his finger.

His aide, a major, shook his head. “I didn’t see the report, sir.”

“Well, read the damn thing,” the general said.

The aide, who had helped Major Chastain prepare the report, skimmed it briefly, frowned, and said. “This doesn’t make any sense, sir. He’s claiming that the aeroplanes he saw at the Fatima thing were not from the Reverends’ army? Yet where else could they be from? That sort of plane doesn’t have the range to fly from anywhere else but an Army base, nearby. He doesn’t think the Pan-Asians have an airfield in the middle of Reverends’ territory, does he?”

The aide’s chuckle put the general at ease.

“What should we do with him?” the general asked.

The aide tried not to show his relief. That question was the culmination of a series of reports, conversations, and rumors planted for the sole consumption of the general.

“Send him to Santa Ana, sir,” the aide said, and chuckled, again. Santa Ana was the California Army’s version of Ultima Thule. Although no one knew the meaning of that phrase, it had survived in the soldiers’ lexicon.

“That’s not as funny as you might think,” the colonel said. “Cut the orders, immediately.”

The men in the inner room of The 40 & 8 spoke quickly, in low tones. No notes were taken, despite the quantity of intelligence that was exchanged. The next morning, Major Chastain and two duffle bags were on a train to Barstow. From there, a motorcar would take him to Camp Santa Ana. Two cases of wine from the Russian River Valley were loaded, as well, but they did not appear on any official manifest.

“Don? Sir? The man from Monterrey is here. He’s the one who was at Fatima!” The Don’s orderly’s voice cracked with his excitement. The major’s reputation had been established by his report. Despite, or perhaps because of, the scarcity of information in the report, the stories of Major Chastain’s exploits had grown.

The official orders, which the major carried from Monterrey, had been supplemented by a telegraphic message that contained an innocuous code group that meant to the Don that his new officer was a member of The Brotherhood. That made it easy for the Don and the major to exchange confidences. On the second evening after Chastain’s arrival, he and the Don sat in the Don’s quarters.

“You know, don’t you, that the people in boxy aeroplanes are going to attack the Reverends,” Major Chastain said. “They may attack us.”

Half of a bottle of the Russian River wine had been drunk. The Don poured the remainder into their glasses before he spoke.

“I have come to the same conclusion. What makes you think so?”

Major Chastain told of his experience at Fatima, including the parts he’d left out in his report to the Central Committee.

“You spoke with one of them?” The Don kept his composure, but barely.

“Yes, he said his name was Terry—” Chastain saw something flicker across the Don’s face. “What?”

“You said he was about twelve?” the Don said.

Chastain nodded.

The Don spoke slowly. “There was a boy named Terry in the Children’s Army that was going to attack the Christmas Convocation at Las Vegas. He was twelve.

“Couldn’t be the same boy, though. Our Terry was to have been a suicide bomber. We saw on the televisor how those boys killed themselves trying to protect their brothers from the tanks. It is unlikely that any survived to be rescued. Please, continue.”

“I’m convinced that the aeroplanes at the event were not from the Reverends’ Army. I’m convinced that the sandstorm wasn’t natural. It could only have been created by someone with technology and power much greater than we possess. And, I’m convinced that the gas generators were destroyed with explosives much more powerful than anything we, the Pan-Asians, the Mujahedeen, or the Reverends have.”

“Major Chastain? You’ve revealed enough to justify your court-martial and execution. I salute your courage and forethought, and I thank you for your trust. Please let me return it with something equally sensitive and secret.”

The major, who had blanched at the Don’s first words, relaxed and nodded. “Of course.”

“Some of our boys and one of our instructors are telepathic. Do you know the word?”

The major nodded.

“I am convinced that the meteors which appeared over Las Vegas were, indeed, the bodies of some of our soldiers who died in the battle. One of our boys who had escaped from the _____ Palace Casino, felt both sorrow and anger from beyond our camp, and from millions of people.”

“‘Millions’, he said,” Chastain murmured.

“The boy is level-headed and not given to exaggeration. I’m convinced that the people with boxy aeroplanes—

“Damn it! I’m tired of using so many words to describe them,” the Don said, and then laughed. “As mysterious as they are, we should probably call them Arcana.”

“Or Enigma,” Chastain suggested. “That word has a long association with mystery in the intelligence profession.”

“Enigma it is, then,” the Don said. “Where are these Enigma, then? South America? Africa? The old Russian empire? We know the Pan-Asian’s hold on the Russians is tenuous.”

“And, how can we contact them?” Major Chastain added. “How can we keep them from lumping us with the Reverends when they invade?”

“Those are, indeed, the questions,” the Don said.

“Does the Central Committee know that we intercept messages from their agent at the _____ Palace Casino?” the Don asked.

Chastain snorted wine out his nose, barely missing his uniform trousers. “For how long?”

“At least four years,” the Don said. “I take it from your reaction that the Committee doesn’t know?”

“Almost certainly not,” Chastain said.

“Are you aware of the spate of kidnappings of Reverends? The messages that have been left?”

Chastain nodded. “End-times signs. Do you know what that means?”

The Don nodded, and then asked, “Enigma do you think?”

“Almost certainly. Who else could get away with something like that?”

“Does the Inquisition know?” the Don asked.

“That, I’m afraid, is something I cannot answer,” Chastain said. “We are aware they exist. We are aware their headquarters is in something called Mt. Zion. We are aware that they have covens of scientists in Chicago and Miami. We have never, however, captured one of them nor have we been able to break their code.”

The Don and Major Chastain continued their discussion the following evening.

“The Brotherhood is of a mind, then?” the Don asked after Chastain had described the plan.

“We are,” Chastain said. “It has been ratified by the council and a majority of the members. We will attempt to contact Enigma and to make alliance with them, even if the Republic and the Army do not. We will not fight against California, but neither will we be bound by their hard-headedness.”

Chapter 57: Paul Stewart’s Birthday

I was a commodore. There were eleven ships of the line plus a hospital ship under my command. Among them, there were probably a thousand shuttlecraft of various types. There was one that was designated for my exclusive use: the Flag Shuttle. I didn’t have to steal a shuttle. However, I was not supposed to go anywhere, even on board my flagship, without security, so it took some of the veil and some of the push before I could reach my shuttle on the flight deck.

I opened the door, walked to the cockpit, and found George waiting for me. He was in the left seat—the pilot’s seat.

“Hi, Daddy,” he said. “You forgot your parka and bunny boots. They’re in the back. So are mine. Ready to roll?”

“George, what are you doing here, and where is Danny?” I sputtered.

“Stealing shuttles is my gig,” he said. “Besides, Danny’s got…” George stopped talking. And blocked, hard. I knew better than try to force him.

I settled into the co-pilot’s seat. “Do Kevin and Casey know you’re stealing their shuttle?” I asked.

“Actually, I changed the transponder code,” George said. “They’ll never know. Neither will the bridge crew.”

Changed transponder codes? That’s supposed to be impossible outside of drydock. Not for the GWGs, I guess. And certainly not for George.

George opened a comm channel. “Supply shuttle Vesto Silpher requests departure for Fleet Logistics Depot Banff,” he said.

He shut off the microphone and said, “Banff is the closest legitimate base to Denali. That’s where you want to go, right?”

I nodded. That was all I could do.

“Hold me!” George demanded over the howling of the wind.

I wrapped my arms around him. He looked up at me, and then unsnapped his safety line. “I love you, Daddy!” he said, as he trusted me with his life. I felt tears freeze on my cheeks, but I also felt George’s love and trust.

I walked slowly back to the shuttle, holding tightly to George, knowing that if I tripped, I might loose that grip and he would die. I knew if he died, I would, too.

When we were inside the shuttle, with the door closed, I pushed back the hoods of our parkas and looked into the eyes of my son.

“I love you, George,” I said.

“I know, Daddy, and I love you, too.”

I thought perhaps George would accompany me back to my quarters, but he pleaded duty.

Danny was waiting when I reached my quarters. I don’t know where he got the white, terry bathrobes with the logo of a certain five-star hotel on them, but I remembered several times when white, terry bathrobes and been a prelude to our physical intimacy.

After Danny fell asleep, cuddled next to me, I lay awake wondering. Which was the better gift: George’s love and trust or Danny’s more physical expression of love?

I wrestled with the question until I understood that they were all the same: that trust and intimacy and love were intertwined.

Yucatan

The Fleet Marines were exclusively warriors; however, every member of Fleet had received the same kind of training I’d received as a cadet at Edmonton: super-soakers, laser-tag, paint-ball, and MK-7 marksmanship, as well as war games such as the one I refereed at the Yucatan, the one where we found Alberto.

A talk with the Commandant of Fleet School Sydney and a brief request to Admiral Davis—required since the operation would cross lines of command—and we were set: 2,000 of the Australian students would be the Blue Army and some 4,000 of my people—sailors, cadets, marines—would be the Green Army and non-combatant civilians. Several troop ships would serve as floating barracks.

Captain Moultrie was senior, and his Charleston was the Flag Ship of the task force; however, he asked his former roommate, Captain Howard of the USF Enterprise to work with the Commandant of Fleet School Sydney to plan the exercise. We did not invite the usual observers, politicians, or the press, but promised invitations to the victory parties. I think most of the usual guests preferred that to standing on platforms in the jungle heat watching icons move around on monitors.

Captain Howard borrowed several of the Marine Gunnery Sergeants from throughout the Task Force as well as a couple of my boys to work with the staff of Fleet School Australia. It took surprisingly little time before they were ready. The School Commandant had pressed me to join the referees, so I wasn’t supposed to know any of the details, although George and Danny managed to find out a great deal, and spent the week before the exercise grinning at me, and blocking.

The exercise told us a great deal—none of which was good. Casualties on the defending side, the Reverends’ Army augmented by Sheriffs, were high. Their weapons were no match for ours; but they fought tenaciously. The planners had assumed the Reverends forces would be callous, and the referees watched in horror as the Reverends’ Army casually executed not only their own wounded but also any of ours they managed to surround or overwhelm. Captain Howard called off the exercise after the first six hours, ordered everyone to take a day off from all military duties, and then visited me.

“Sir, I don’t know what to say. I know that we’d hoped that the simulations were wrong, but they were dead on. Sorry, bad choice of words.”

“Captain, you anticipated my request to call off the exercise by mere minutes. I was glad to see that. It validates my thoughts, and that’s always appreciated. The exercise proved what we all suspected: we cannot use the tactics of the last war to fight the next one.

“The kids from Fleet School Australia cannot be denied a complete exercise, however. How quickly can this be converted to a standard Yucatan exercise, kids against kids?”

Captain Howard managed a smile. “The plans are already in the can,” he said. “I recommend we give everyone a couple of days down time, first. Perhaps a picnic, or something. A couple of days delay shouldn’t be a problem, I don’t think. But the Australian Commandant should make that decision.”

“Yes, he should. Would you coordinate that, please? And I like the picnic idea. Offer our facilities and services for the picnic, and see if you can get all our youngsters involved. Perhaps some sports competitions?”

The picnic and sports competition turned into a Field Day that was a huge success. I wanted the adults—sailors and marines—who had participated in the first exercise to be able to unwind, too. Some of them refereed the kids’ games; others held their own ship-against-ship competitions or sailors-versus-marines games; and all enjoyed the many kegs of Australian beer that Noah hijacked before they could reach their destination.

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