Published: 06 Mar 2017

Part XX

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

Chapter 62: Camp Santa Ana

A boxy aeroplane without wings circles above the camp, slow, silent, and invisible in the moonless, overcast night. Three times it makes its circuit while sensors probe the buildings and the mountains surrounding the camp. Then, it settles to the ground in front of the headquarters building. The boy on guard on the porch sees the aeroplane, and runs into the building.

A door in the side of the aeroplane opens and three figures step out. They are immediately followed by a dozen boys carrying rifles. Four of the riflemen are in the black and gray of the California Army; four are in dark blue jumpsuits; four are in desert camouflage. The armed boys take up defensive positions. The shuttlecraft departs as silently and invisibly as it arrived.

Lights of the building come on and illuminate the waiting figures. A man steps from the headquarters and walks toward the figures. When he is about ten feet from the figures, he stops. “I am Don Renaldo. Welcome.” His eyes widen but only slightly. “Artie? Why am I not surprised?”

Artie salutes, and then smiles broadly. “Don Renaldo, this is my brother, Captain Cory Long, commander of his world’s forces. This is my father, Commodore Paul Stewart, commander of his world’s forces. We have come to take our world back from the Reverends and anyone else who would stand in our way.”

The Don spoke quietly to the boy who stood trembling behind him. The boy ran into the building. The outside lights went out; only a dim, red bulb illuminated the porch. The sound of crickets was loud in the otherwise undisturbed silence.

“There may be watchers in the hills,” the Don said. “Artie, welcome back. Will you and your brother and father—and your friends with those rather impressive looking weapons—come inside? I would like my staff to join us.”

“Yes, sir,” Artie said.

The Don ushered his visitors into the building, and sent his guard to waken others. The Don, himself, made and served coffee to Paul, Cory, and Artie while other boys from other worlds waited patiently.

People came in by ones and twos: Dr. Furman, Major Chastain, Hamish and Matthew, several of the men who routinely questioned Hamish and Matthew about what they saw on the televisor, and others. Those who recognized Artie went to him, and shook his hand or hugged him. They and the others looked hard at Paul and Cory, and at the dozen uniformed boys who lined the walls, MK-8s at port arms, but then at the Don’s gesture, they relaxed and sat. After some time, the Don spoke to one of the younger boys, who shook his head. The Don shrugged, then closed the door and walked to the couch.

“We are here except for one boy who could not be located,” the Don said. He named the members of his staff and the boys who were present. Artie introduced Cory and Paul, George and Danny, and the other boys.

“Major Chastain?” Paul said when that man had been introduced. “You were on the ground at the Grand Canyon for Fatima—the Miracle of the Sun, were you not?”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“You saved the life of a boy, about twelve years old?”

“Perhaps.” The major shrugged. “The soldier might not have killed him.”

“And he might have survived the stampede that followed the destruction of the gas generators, and he might have found his way back to Williams, and he might have found a way to reach a place from which he safely could summon us,” Paul said.

“Please allow me to think differently,” Paul continued. “The boy is the son of someone who is my very good friend and mentor. On his behalf, thank you. I am sure that someday he will want to thank you, himself.”

The Don overheard this. “What you say makes it a little easier for me to say what I must say.

“Artie must have told you that many of the boys who died in the Battle of Las Vegas were children, youngsters…” The Don’s voice broke. “… children as young as twelve, who were prepared to sacrifice themselves… children who did just that. You must have known that we allowed this, even encouraged what became a slaughter, yet you came.”

“We knew,” Paul spoke softly, but his voice filled the silence that followed the Don’s proclamation. “Some of the youngest survived. We saw others in the video of the battle. We learned more from Artie and his soldiers. We also learned that these children knew what they were going to do. We learned that they had given informed consent to their own deaths and that they were mature enough to do so.”

Paul thought about his service on the Enterprise. “I was six years old when I was given my first combat assignment. I was in little danger until our enemy managed to get a powerful weapon within a few hundred yards of the ship. It was I who ordered the destruction of that enemy.

“Our society has established criteria under which even a child can give informed consent to many things.

“The boy at Fatima was one of your soldiers who survived the Battle for Las Vegas and who was rescued by Commodore Long’s forces. He’s a twelve-year-old—thirteen, now—named Terry. He volunteered for a very dangerous mission—to be an intelligence resource on the ground, disguised as a serf—at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon when we spoiled the Reverend’s attempt to replicate the Miracle of the Sun.”

“You did that?” burst from someone’s lips. The Don’s gesture hushed whoever it had been, and Paul continued.

“Yes. Further, we have learned of the evil these boys were determined to fight, of the evil represented by the Reverends, and we understand that there are times when even children may be called upon to sacrifice. We do not hold you culpable for their deaths.”

The Don nodded his thanks to Paul. “After we saw the results of the battle, we realized how horrible was our mistake,” the Don said. “We learned how poorly we understood the power of the Reverends. These were mistakes we vowed not to make, again. We have, in just the brief time that has passed, converted what was once a school into an army post, home of the Reconstituted Santa Ana Division of the Army of the Free Republic of California. The speed with which this has been done, and our success in recruiting and training older boys, is the proof—the test—of our determination and resolve. All the boys in the First Battle of Las Vegas were orphans—but few of the boys who live here, now are orphans,” the Don added.

“None of the boys who survived the First Battle, nor those whose bodies were brought to us, are orphans,” Paul said.

The Don looked at Paul over the top of his glasses. “I don’t understand…”

“Every one of the boys who survived, and every one of those whose bodies were recovered, has been adopted by a member of our Fleet,” Paul said. “Artie is my son, as are two of the boys who in their death blazed across the sky over Las Vegas. The others all have fathers; many have mothers, as well. Some have brothers and sisters on our world. They all—including those who did not survive—have brothers, for all the boys from your world, all the boys from Cory’s world, and our entire fleet have sworn brotherhood and amity.”

“How many?” The Don whispered. “How many boys lived?”

Cameron, who wore a baldric with a satchel in addition to his cartridge belts and ammo pouches, handed Artie a document.

“Six hundred eighty six,” Artie said. “Here is the list. It includes the names of the 68 dead. You saw the Funeral?”

“We saw,” the Don said. “We saw your announcement, and we saw their bodies burn.”

“How did you get them high enough?” one of the men asked.

“We’ve told you we were from another world,” Paul said. “At least, we’ve dropped enough hints that I’m sure you understand that we are.

“The doorway between our world and yours is about 250,000 miles above the surface of this Earth and ours—the same as the distance to the moon. Our shuttlecraft are easily capable of making that flight.”

Despite the Californians’ almost sure knowledge of what Paul had said, there was still shock and awe. Then, one of the men, apparently a scientist, asked, “How far does the atmosphere extend?”

“About 300 miles,” George said. “After that, it’s vacuum—for billions and billions of miles.”

“Space fight,” one of the California boys whispered.

“Have you been to the moon?” This question came from a youngster—Matthew. “Will you take me there?”

The Don frowned, but did not interrupt when Danny spoke. “Sure,” Danny said. “As soon as operationally feasible.”

“What’s operationally feasible?” Matthew asked.

“First,” George answered “is operational security. We call that opsec, and it means things like not letting the Reverends know too much about us, or what we can do. That’s why we landed when it was dark, and why the shuttlecraft didn’t stick around.

“Don Renaldo,” George continued, “it’s going to be impossible and unnecessary to conceal that Artie has returned and that he brought with him others who are soldiers. We ask you to ensure that the fewest number of your people necessary know that we are from different Earths, that we arrived on a craft capable of reaching the moon, and that we are here to explore an alliance with you and the Free Republic of California as a prelude to invasion.

“I would also like someone on your staff to coordinate opsec with,” he concluded.

“Ensign Stewart, you said different Earths,” someone asked.

“Our Earth, and yours, and Cory’s are very much alike in some ways, but different in others,” Paul said. “That will take much time to explain.”

The Don nodded. “I think I understand what you have said, but there’s something that must be addressed, first. You said an alliance. I must know more about that.”

Paul nodded to Cam who opened his satchel and removed another document.

“This is a copy of a treaty signed by Artie, Cory, and me,” Paul said. “It bears original signatures, and has been certified by the Fleet Council of my world. They are, de facto and de jure, my world’s government, except for a few small enclaves. Cory has signed on behalf of his world government, which also has ratified it. We would like to submit it to the government of the Free Republic of California, which we have determined is the government most closely aligned with our beliefs and values.”

The Don surprised his visitors. Rather than read the document, he set it aside, and asked, “What are those beliefs and values?”

Cameron answered for us all. “The dignity of the individual. The right of each person to seek happiness in his or her own way, as long as doing so does not infringe the rights of any other person. The notion that all people are of value and that all work is of value. The notion that not age but mental and emotional maturity determine what rights and privileges a person should have. The notion that reason and logic can explain all of nature and the universe without the need for miracles or magic.”

Don Renaldo listened carefully. When Cam had finished, Paul watched closely the Don’s face as he digested what he’d heard.

“I can agree with all you have said. I believe our government will largely agree, in private, at least. However, despite the bad example the Reverends offer, there are people in our government and citizens of California who are still followers of the Catholic faith. I’m not sure how to describe it, but—yes, Cameron?”

“Sir, there are Catholics on our world. They control much of the country of Italy, and have some isolated adherents in the central and southern parts of the American continent. We understand their beliefs.”

“Then you know that not everyone in our government will accept you or this treaty that you offer.” The Don picked up the document, read it in an instant, and set it down, again.

“Artie was within his authority as the commander of an army in exile to sign this document. It does bind him and his boys, since they all swore to follow lawful leadership, and it is clear that Artie was—and still is—that lawful leadership. On the other hand, Artie did not and cannot speak for the rest of the Republic of California.”

Before anyone could protest, the Don continued. “On the other hand, I will agree to these terms on behalf of those beholden to me, which includes everyone at this school. As far as the Free State of California is concerned, I promise to do everything I can, I will use every resource I have, to make their agreement a reality. I will try, but that’s all I can promise.”

The Don saw the look that Paul and Artie exchanged. “What?” he asked.

“Those were the words Paul used a year ago when he promised to bring us home and to help us overcome the Reverends,” Artie said.

The Don nodded, but then abruptly changed the subject. “Artie, you left here as a battalion commander. You appeared on the televisor as a colonel. Now, you are a brigadier,” the Don said.

Paul answered. “Artie commands not only three hundred or so of the boys from California, but a force that includes over 1,000 soldiers, sailors, and engineers from our world, and 100 soldiers from Commodore Long’s world. Commodore Long commands a force of similar size—plus a battleship and a fleet of shuttles similar to the one that brought us here. We have worked hard to integrate our forces. Brigadier Stewart wears rank appropriate to his command.”

Before we could discuss this further, a knock at the door was followed by a message whispered to the Don.

“Breakfast is ready,” the Don said. “I accept the treaty you offered, I swear amity for myself and the others at this camp. I trust your boys will not object to slinging your weapons so that you can join us at the table.” He looked at Paul, who nodded to George.

George gave a signal. There were a dozen snaps as weapon safeties were activated.

In the ensuing hubbub, Matthew grabbed Hamish’s hand and pulled him to Artie. “Artie! I’m Matthew! This is my boyfriend, Hamish. Will you take him to the moon, too?”

“You’ll have to ask Danny, that,” Artie said. “I think he’s in charge of shuttle flights.” He would have walked away, but Hamish took his arm, stopping him.

“Artie, there’s something we have to talk about. And it’s a lot more important than breakfast—or a trip to the moon.”

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door of Matthew and Hamish’s room. A boy put his head into the room where Artie sat, alone.

“Artie?” he said. “There is someone here who very much does not want to see you. He’s with his friends who have, I’m afraid, forced him somewhat against his will.”

The door opened wide to reveal Ethan, standing between Matthew and Hamish. Hamish gently pushed his corporal into the room and closed the door.

“Ethan!” Artie rushed to the smaller boy, and scooped him up in his arms. He pressed Ethan’s head to his chest, and began crying.

“I thought I’d never see you again! I looked for you before we left for Las Vegas, but things were so confused, we were in such a rush, I couldn’t find you! I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t find you to tell you how much I loved you—”

“Ethan, what’s wrong? You’re upset.”

“You couldn’t find me because I was hiding,” Ethan gasped. He struggled a little, and Artie set him on his feet, but kept his arms tightly around the smaller boy.

Ethan pushed his head against Artie’s chest. His words were muffled, but Artie understood them. “I was angry that you were leaving, I was so angry that you were leaving me, I… I hated you! I was selfish, and I was afraid to tell you how much I loved you. I hid. Artie, I’m so sorry! I’m so—”

Ethan’s words were smothered when Artie lifted the boy’s face and kissed him. When they could breathe again, Artie spoke. “Ethan, do you still love me?”

Ethan knew the answer. It was yes. But he couldn’t say that. Instead, he said to Artie, “You have a daddy, and Danny and George, they’re your brothers, aren’t they? And you’ve probably got a boyfriend, too. It’s too late for us—”

Artie once again hushed the younger boy with a kiss. “Yes, I have a daddy and actually a lot more brothers than just Danny and George. And, uh, I do sex stuff with some of them. We’re boys who are friends, and we are brothers, and we love each other, but there’s no one who is my boyfriend.

“That place in my heart is still open, Ethan. Boyfriend is a very special place that I’ve been keeping open because my daddy said we would someday come back, and that I would find you, again.

Artie repeated his question. “Do you still love me?”

Ethan blushed, and then said, “Yes, Artie. I do love you, and I want to be your boyfriend.” He giggled, blushed more brightly, and said, “And I want to have sex with you. I’m getting really bored with just my hand.”

Now, Artie was blushing. “Later, Spanky,” he said, and rushed Ethan out the door before the younger boy could ask what Artie meant.

Artie and Ethan found Hamish and Matthew waiting for them in the dining hall. After filling their trays, the four boys sat together.

Hamish saw the connection that had been made, and felt the love between the two boys.

“Artie, he said, “I swore I would hurt you if you ever hurt Ethan,” Hamish said. “I’m glad I didn’t have to do that, and I’m glad we’re brothers, now.”

“How did you know?” Artie asked.

“Um, I’m like you, Artie—telepathic? And like Andrew is. He’s not here, but he’s with you, right? Where you live, I mean. In space? I’ve heard you and Andrew talking, so I knew you were telepaths. I didn’t know what you were saying, though.”

The Don’s staff, which now included Ethan and members of Task Force Rift reassembled in the Don’s office/living room after breakfast.

“You said that all the boys had been adopted, and I see they all have last names.” The Don scanned the list of survivors. “Which raises the question: where is their first loyalty? To us or to their new families and your fleet?”

“I believe I am the best one to answer that,” Artie said. “Both.”

The Don and Paul waited. Paul knew what Artie was going to say, so he focused his attention on the Don.

“We are loyal to an idea. It is an idea we learned here, and which was nurtured during the time we were with Paul… Commodore Stewart, that is. It is the idea that good and evil only exist in the minds of people who would do good or who would do evil. It is the idea that we each must decide for ourselves which side we will be on, and then do something about it.

“We are on the side of good,” Artie concluded. “And we know that Commodore Stewart and you are good. There can be no divided loyalties as long as that is true.”

“How will California fit into these plans?” the Don asked.

“That is going to depend on California, and—in large part—on you,” Paul said. “We will describe our battle plan; you may offer to assume a role or roles. However, neither you nor the rest of the Republic of California may interfere. Can you accept that?”

“Well and truly,” the Don said. “For myself, that is. I will communicate with our leadership, and advocate for you with them.” And, as soon as I can get this Commodore alone, I will introduce him to The Brotherhood.

“We kidnapped one of your soldiers—a corporal from Monterrey,” Paul said. “In return for his cooperation with our intelligence people, he extracted a promise that we would not attack California without giving California a chance to negotiate. We will abide by that promise. Please communicate that, too. And tell them that we will protect him. He did not betray his trust in any way. Your leadership must understand that, as well.”

I was not reluctant to accept the Don’s invitation for a private meeting. I could read him easily, and knew I was in no danger, but I knew he had a secret to share. I did not try to read that.

“Commodore, when I offered to ratify the Treaty of Amity for those beholden to me, I said that included all those at this camp. There are, however, others for whom I can speak.

“There is a group of soldiers, of all ranks, who are members of a brotherhood. It is a secret group, and members are vetted carefully not only for their knowledge, skills, and abilities, but also for their willingness to keep the group secret, even in the face of their deaths, if necessary.

“The only reason I can speak of it to you is that the leadership of The Brotherhood ratified a plan to establish an alliance with you—long before we knew who you were or the depth of your understanding of the Enlightenment, which Cameron so eloquently expressed.”

“You know of the Enlightenment?” I asked. “We were sure it had been suppressed on this world.”

The Don chuckled. “The Reverends tried, in their territories, as did the Pan-Asians and the Mujahedeen. However, there were too many copies of the critical books for all to have been destroyed, and The Brotherhood has been their custodian. One of the main repositories is here, at Camp Santa Ana.”

This time, the Don laughed at my reaction, but sobered when I offered to share with him whatever books he did not have. He was fascinated with my iPad, and I promised to get him one that could be charged from an outlet on the comms terminal we installed before we returned to the Charleston.

Artie and Ethan had a private talk with the Don. I was sure that George knew what was discussed, but neither he nor Artie revealed anything except to ask me if Ethan, Hamish, and Matthew might return to the Charleston with us.

“The Don said it would be okay,” Artie said. “And Danny did promise.”

“And Ethan’s the boy you told me about,” I said. “I’m so happy you found him, Artie. Of course, those boys may return with us.”

Every Meta and most of the other telepaths onboard Charleston felt Artie and Ethan’s first night together, and Artie got a lot of teasing the next day. Eventually, all the boys at Camp Santa Ana learned what was meant by spanking the monkey, but even among the Metas and other telepaths, only Artie was allowed to use Ethan’s nickname, and he was careful to do so only in private.

USF Charleston

Andrew and John Patmos’ reunion with Hamish and Matthew was eclipsed when I assigned Andrew command of a shuttle so that he could fulfill Danny’s promise. Hamish and Matthew giggled at the skin suits, had the usual problem with tumescence when first fitted with a catheter, almost panicked when the force field came on, but otherwise were thrilled with their trip to the moon. Their moon.

I thought about giving them a flag to plant, but couldn’t decide what flag it should be. Certainly it could not be one of ours, and not one from California, either. That was something for a long-term to-do list. Meanwhile, there was something much more urgent. I assembled the core group of the Flag Intel Team.

“We still don’t know what’s going on at Mt. Zion other than that they appear to be building an atomic pile. We need information. George? Get some more information. Ops Team, please give me a plan.”

I know. I didn’t say ‘please’ to George. Didn’t need to. I was ordering him to kidnap people. I didn’t need to say ‘please.’

The omnibus stopped at a checkpoint. Men in the uniform of the Holy Inquisition boarded and looked closely at the identification offered by each of the workmen before allowing the bus to proceed. It entered the tunnel in the side of the mountain. Electric lights illuminated its path as the bus drove farther and farther into the mountain. The tunnel opened into a cavern. The walls and ceiling were studded with metal plates a foot or so square, bolted to the rock. Despite these precautions, rock occasionally fell. The men put on hard hats before they left the bus.

Imint teams reviewed historical as well as more current data, and captured the patterns, the essence. “Men are bussed into and out of the mountain every day except Saturday but including the Sabbath,” Alex said. “Our conclusion is that they are Jewish, and that the Inquisition recognizes Saturday as their Sabbath. That is unusual.”

He put up another slide, and continued his presentation. “They live in these barracks; eat morning and evening meals in this mess hall. They carry sacks out of the mess hall after breakfast, and with them onto the bus. Likely, the sacks are their lunch, as they do not return with them.”

Alex paused and added, “That they appear to be fed lunch is unusual, and suggests that they are considered to be valuable servants.

“We see an occasional flare and spark outside the barracks in the early evening. John Patmos has told us that these men are allowed an expensive and rare habit: smoking.”

“Tobacco?” Danny asked.

“Yes,” Cam said.

I grimaced. Another result of the Enlightenment had been the destruction of the tobacco industry that had grown up in the colonies, including Jefferson’s home of Virginia, and which had been largely responsible for the importation of slaves into what later would become the United States. The Enlightenment also ended the institution of slavery in the United States, and later the rest of the world as it fell under the aegis of Fleet.

George had selected a time of night when the moon had set. The Kidnap Team took two shuttles: one for the kidnap, the other to provide fire support should it be needed. The second shuttle was a Guns-a-Go-Go, equipped with Gatling guns that fired 1.00-caliber slugs. Cory assigned four of his phaser-qualified teens to supplement the Guns firepower. Even though his people had promoted Cory to Commodore before he returned, he was thrilled when I offered him operational command of the gunship. Actually, I was a bit jealous that I couldn’t go along.

Admiral Davis sat in on the briefing that followed the first kidnap mission to Mt. Zion. The Admiral was, of course, in his office in Geneva, and the signal was relayed through the rift. There was a several-second speed-of-light delay, which meant that briefers were likely to be interrupted in mid-sentence.

“Admiral, there’s been a development so important that I wanted you to have it in real time,” I said.

“We kidnapped a workman from the Inquisitors’ underground headquarters near what would be Colorado Springs, Colorado, and confirmed that they are building an atomic pile under the mountain.”

George picked up the briefing at that point. “There’s more, sir,” he said.

The admiral smiled. “George, how are you? Been to K-2 lately?”

George and the admiral had met after George had been arrested for stealing a Fleet shuttle and flying it to K-2, and then been brought to the Admiral’s office to be drummed out of Fleet. That’s where Danny and I had met him.

George grinned. “No, sir. I’ve got my sights set on bigger things.”

Admiral Davis’s eyes widened, and then he relaxed. He assumed that George was kidding. I wasn’t nearly as sure, and I knew that George had been talking a lot recently with Dr. Adams who now was in charge not only of the CERN-Higgs facility, but also the Fleet shipyards at Perth—where our first fleet of FTL ships was being built.

George continued in the same breath. “It’s more than a nuclear reactor. It’s a breeder reactor. They’ve created enriched uranium 235 for shotgun-type bombs, and they’re assembling them. They’re building at least three.”

Nova sol. That was what I had thought when George first explained it to me, and as it seemed, what all the Geeks thought. How could someone be so stupid!

“What they are building is perhaps the simplest way to create a fission reaction—bring enough enriched uranium close enough to set off a chain reaction. It’s easy, it’s dirty, and it’s foolproof.”

“Shotgun?” the admiral asked.

“Put half of a critical mass of uranium at one end of a tube, half at the other end. Keep them far enough apart that they won’t go critical. Six feet or so would do it. When you’re ready to blow up the bomb, use an explosive charge to push one mass down the tube into the other.

“Given the likely purity of the uranium, I estimate they would need about 30 pounds of uranium per bomb. Our source indicates they have over 100 pounds—in widely separated stockpiles under the mountain. At least, they seem to be aware of what they have, and of its potential.”

The quiet that greeted George’s description was long enough for Admiral Davis’s voice to come through without interrupting anyone. “Any idea what their targets are? How much would these things weigh? Any chance they could launch one against us?”

“If the bomb weren’t shielded?” George thought for a moment. “If they didn’t care about the health or lives of the people who handled it… and we suspect that might be the case… a bomb might weigh only a couple of hundred pounds. It could be carried by one of their aircraft, but we’ve seen no capability to launch something like that against us.”

John Patmos had brought his “Inquisitors Team,” and led the discussion that followed.

“What are their likely targets, then?”

“California?”

“Not likely; they’re too dependent on trade with the Pan-Asians.”

“The Army is dependent; the Reverends are, too. We don’t know that about the Inquisition.”

“Could they attack the Pan-Asians?”

“Only if they targeted one of California’s west coast ports. There’s no way they could deliver a bomb to Asia.”

“The Mujahedeen?”

“Even if they got a bomb to Europe, the Mujahedeen are too diffuse; there are no targets. Their largest city has a population of fewer than 10,000.”

The discussion was going nowhere, so I interrupted. “John? Can you provide a summary and your team’s best estimate of targets in, say, one hour?” I asked.

John agreed.

At John’s signal, Marty began the briefing. “The Inquisition, which we call Arcana, have not changed their telegraph code, despite their certain knowledge of our activities in the Reverends’ territories. This strongly suggests that they do not believe we are tapping their lines or have broken that code. This briefing is merely a summary of what we know. Details are in our report, which is available on the Task Force server.”

Cam spoke next. “The Arcana know we exist and have satellites in synchronous orbits; they know we are a space-faring power. They probably know we’re responsible for kidnappings of Reverends and the End Times messages we’ve left on their bedroom walls. They probably suspect we kidnapped their worker from Mt. Zion and that we know about their nuclear reactor and capability to make bombs. They almost certainly know we’re responsible for the psyops messages on the televisor and for the holographs.”

John Patmos picked up at this point. “They are likely to believe that we will overcome the Reverends, their Army, and the Sheriffs. They probably believe we would not establish an outpost on Earth and that there are, therefore, no targets against us.

“That leaves the Reverends.”

“What would be their motivation for attacking the Reverends?” I asked.

“To show that they’re not aligned with the Reverends; to get on our good side.”

“What might they target?”

“Lynchburg and Las Vegas seem the most likely. We know they have people in Chicago and Miami whom they might like to protect.”

Danny had pulled up a satellite version of RAWIND data on his iPad, and displayed dispersion patterns on the big screen. “As much as I’d like to see Lynchburg and Las Vegas destroyed, we can’t let them do that. Their bombs would likely be surface bursts, and using the default wind data, the dispersion, even from a bomb at Lynchburg, would be devastating.” He put images, complete with dispersion and radiation predictions, on the screen. Without being asked, Tobor added population figures. Tens of thousands would die.

“Is it perhaps more likely that they’ll go after California: Camp Santa Ana, the Pacific Ocean ports, perhaps Monterey?”

“No matter what their targets, we have to stop them. The long-term effects of nuclear radiation are impossible to predict; however, we know they would be awful.”

“How long before they have a bomb assembled?”

“The scientist we kidnapped said it would take at least another week, even if they worked 24-7,” George said.

“I need a plan of action, guys,” I said. “What should we do?”

Tobor assured me that the sensors we had put in low orbit could detect any attempt to remove the bombs—or the refined uranium—from the mountain. Marty was adamant about not using the Inquisition’s telegraph system, much less their code, to contact them. Cam was sure they knew we were the people with boxy aeroplanes, and that showing them a shuttle wouldn’t be risky. Those parameters were sufficient for John Patmos’s Team, working with Casey’s Flag Ops Team, to plan the mission. George put on his “opsec hat” and joined the discussion. He didn’t like the mission, at all, but finally agreed.

We sent three shuttles. One landed in the road just outside the mountain while two Guns-a-Go-Go shuttles commanded by Cory and Danny remained overhead. Casey, wearing a skin suit with an integrated force field stepped out and handed an envelope to the startled driver of the bus that had come to an abrupt halt when the shuttle had cut off its path.

“Good morning,” Casey said. “Would you please deliver this to the Commander of the Inquisition, Colonel-General Brewster?”

We—meaning George’s kidnap teams—had kidnapped seven men in one night before learning the Colonel-General’s rank and name, but we believed it was important to address him properly. He wore four stars, so the message was on Admiral Davis’s letterhead, which included an image of his four-star flag.

The message called for their surrender and the removal of all “radioactive material and devices” from the mountain. The materials and devices would then be picked up by us. Their reply was to be broadcast on a televisor frequency.

The immediate reply from Colonel-General Brewster was long. Too long for his own good, in fact. Cam and John’s people poured over it, wringing from it every possible nuance. Marty fed them the telegraph messages that began to flow from the mountain and the responses. The messages were orders to assemble in the mountain for a meeting “critical to the Order.”

John and Cam were ashen when they came onto the Flag Bridge. “They’re going to detonate the bombs in the mountain. They’re going to do a mass suicide!” Cam said.

I didn’t have to ask Cam if he were sure. As I have said, except for quantum fluctuations, Cam was always 100% correct in his assessments.

Danny had been working on a contingency plan. He and Tobor had contacted geologists and maintained a database of current wind data. George consulted the kidnapped scientist and then huddled with Danny.

“Sir,” George reported. “They can probably detonate only one of the bombs. They likely do not have the technology to detonate more than one simultaneously. On the other hand, they may make it as dirty as possible by using more uranium than necessary.”

Danny added, “Even one bomb would likely blow out sufficient radioactive material through the entrance adit before the mountain collapsed to poison the country from Chicago to New Orleans, and cause illness from New York to Miami. The residual radiation would last for years.”

It was the hardest decision I had ever had to make: to attack, destroy, kill without warning and with technology so superior it would appear to be magic. The time was 1500 on a weekday. There would be collateral deaths, including the scientists still in the mountain as well as hundreds of people in the town just outside. Still, I did not hesitate. I could not hesitate.

“Commodore Long? Orders for the Endeavor, please.” I named the warship from Rigel. It had been placed under my command; however, relaying the order through Cory was more than a courtesy.

“My compliments to the Captain, and would he slag Mt. Zion. Seal it off and melt it before they can detonate or remove their bombs. George will provide coordinates for the aim point.”

Cory’s eyes narrowed for a second, but only for a second before he sent the order.

It took the Endeavor less than a quarter hour to maneuver into position. The two-mile cannon along its keel poured a stream of ionized gas—plasma at temperatures that exceeded those of the sun—into the adit. Everyone in the mountain was certainly killed instantly, even before the mountain, itself, began to slump.

Chapter 63: Roll Up and Rebuild

USF Charleston

“Comm? Secure link to Admiral Davis, please. Flash.” As soon as Jonathan said the link had been established, I reported the attack on Mt. Zion, including the estimates of civilian casualties. There were several seconds of silence as Admiral Davis digested the information.

His reply was terse. “Understood, Commodore. Davis out.”

Oh shit, I thought before a light signaled that a private link had been activated to my position. I switched on my earpiece and opened the link. “Yes, sir.”

“Paul, that’s an impressive—and under the circumstances, essential—opening salvo. I understand how different it was from what you had planned to do.

“The most important question is, Are you okay—are the rest of your boys okay?”

That was not what I had expected, and it took me a couple of seconds to respond.

“Yes, sir; and thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Paul. Keep an eye on your boys, though, and let me know if you need… I don’t know what I can offer except moral support, but you’ve got that. Davis, out.”

“Marty?” I asked. “Were you able to get any information on Arcana people at any of the places their telegraph signals originated? If there’s a chance they’re doing anything else like this, we need to know about it.”

Marty pulled up a file showing points of origin of telegraph messages on the Inquisitors’ net. “Some,” he said, and clicked an entry to open a new window. “Here’s the location in Chicago.”

“Surrounded by buildings. Too hard to reach. Maybe later,” George said after a whispered consultation with Casey.

“I’ll skip Miami, then,” Marty said. “Here’s an isolated one. It’s at the uranium processing plant. It will be night there, soon. There are a dozen men—”

“Sorry to interrupt, Marty,” I said. “Danny? Casey? Andrew? Triple team. Get them. Intel? Brief the strike teams en route.”

The three boys and six others ran from the room. They were talking into their communicators before the door had closed behind them.

“What are you going to do, sir?” George asked. The sir was to let me know he was pissed because he hadn’t gotten to command one of the kidnap teams.

“I’m not going to do anything,” I said. “You are, Lieutenant Commander Stewart-Rogers. Work with John Patmos’s team, the Intel Team, the Reverends’ Team, and the Ops Team. Plan a second, parallel rollup campaign. Chicago, Miami, and Omaha are probably most important. The Inquisition’s technology seems centered on those three cities. But they’re too big for initial strikes. Select your strike team chiefs. Start rolling up Inquisitors end-points on the telegraph network. And wring out of them every bit of information they have. If you find reason to advance the schedule on the larger cities, let me know.

“Oh, and you’re out of uniform. Correct that, please.”

George’s eyes lit up. I knew I had been forgiven. On the other hand, I’d created a different problem.

He and Danny been promoted to Lieutenant just a few days ago. His responsibilities would nearly mirror those of Artie and Cory, but I didn’t think I could promote Danny to a higher grade, just now. I needed to talk to George as soon as he returned from the mission.

I was concerned about how Danny would react to George being promoted ahead of Danny. I needn’t have been. The Metas couldn’t keep anything secret, and Danny knew about George’s promotion before he returned from the kidnap mission. And I could feel his pride in his brother. I needed to learn to trust these kids, more.

Las Vegas Reverends’ Council

“What do we know?” the senior demanded. “I want facts!”

An Army major spoke. “Sir, at 1515 yesterday afternoon, the headquarters of the Inquisition at Mt. Zion was melted by fire from the sky. That is a fact, corroborated by an Army detachment at Pueblo, 40 miles south of that location. The commander reported seeing a lance of fire in the north. Others who were closer reported that the fire came from the sky east of the mountain. The reports disagree on the exact duration, but it is clear that the fire lasted at least several seconds, perhaps as long as a minute, perhaps longer.

“The Pueblo detachment commander coopted a locomotive and several box cars and ordered the engineer to take him and some soldiers to Mt. Zion.

“When they reached Mt. Zion at 1900 hours, the glow of melted rock was bright enough for the engineer to see that the rails ended—they too had melted—near the yard limit. That’s about 1,000 yards south of the village outside Mt. Zion. They observed a crater approximately a mile in diameter and 500 feet deep. It might have been deeper except that was partly filled with rock that appeared to have melted from the mountain. Of the entrance to the mountain, there was no sign. Of the village, there was no sign.

“The train depot and therefore the telegraph office were destroyed. The train was sent back to Pueblo, and a report made from there,” the major concluded.

“Why the hell can’t the rest of you report like that,” the senior asked. The question was rhetorical; no one dared answer.

“I assume the telegraph message went to everyone?” the senior asked the major.

The major knew what the senior meant. “Yes, sir; the Scudder was informed as were the councils in Chicago and Miami. It’s likely that survivors of the Inquisition know, as well.”

That last was not something the senior wanted to contemplate.

USF Charleston: Intelligence Team Briefing

“We know what the Scudder wants his people to believe,” Marty said at the end of Thursday evening’s televisor message. “But what does he believe?”

“He’s never said, and there’s been nothing on his telegraph to suggest he knows that we are doing all these things with advanced technology, and from space. Does he not suspect that? Is he playing a game with us?” Cory asked.

“Let’s see it again,” Cam said. “There was something…”

Marty started the recording.

“…as the Lord God judged the excesses of the Inquisition and smote them in his wrath, in His Holy Name I declare all survivors of the Inquisition to be anathema, to be cursed in the name of the Lord. By the Authority of Peter I call for their death…”

Cam gestured, and Marty stopped the recording. “That’s what I wanted to hear. We were right that there was tension between the Arcana and the Scudder. Now, the Scudder is getting his revenge.

Chicago

“Your headquarters has been destroyed. You are a junior officer and ordained only as a deacon. You are under my authority.” The Senior of Chicago addressed a captain in the uniform of the Inquisition who had responded to the senior’s summons.

“On the other hand,” the senior continued, “you are a conduit to the team of Jewish scientists you maintain in their ghetto, like sheep in a pen. They are a valuable resource.”

The captain’s eyes widened at the senior’s admission. That did not escape the senior.

“I see that you understand, Captain. You and I are complementary. You have lost many of your people and all of your senior leadership, but you control the scientists. I have many people, but also many questions. I offer a partnership on equal terms.”

Until I get what I need, the senior thought.

“Yes, Your Grace,” the captain said, using the senior’s formal title. Until I get what I need.

Miami

“The Scudder has announced that G*d smote the Inquisition. He has declared any surviving members to be anathema and without any authority. The Army commander and the Senior of Miami will not keep this quiet for long. My wife has clothing for you.” The man chuckled. “Including a yarmulke. I suggest that you remain in the ghetto for the time being. We will not betray you.”

Lt. Riggs nodded. “Thank you Rabbi. This is unexpected.”

“Lt. Riggs, I am not being entirely unselfish. We did as you asked, and located the transmitters. They are stationary, some 22,000 miles in the sky above the Earth. Two days ago, fire from the sky destroyed Mt. Zion which we know to be the headquarters of your order. We find it strange that these people who have been so careful to conceal themselves have now struck with an incredible power that cannot be concealed.

“A new order is about to be born, and I wish to protect my people and make sure they are alive to see it. I hope that you will return our trust at the right time.

“Will you join us for our Shabbat supper?”

The four Jewish scientists we kidnapped from the uranium processing plant were already sick from radiation poisoning. We immediately instituted chelation therapy, but it was too late. The men were surprised that we would try to save their lives. Perhaps that was why they were so cooperative. Perhaps it was because we agreed to accept letters to their families in Chicago, and promised to attempt delivery.

The eight members of the Inquisition were less sick, and chelation saved four of them for questioning. Whether they were grateful or not, they were uncooperative, even when we replayed for them the video of the destruction of Mt. Zion and the Scudder’s announcement of their new status. One tried to commit suicide rather than face questioning. It really didn’t make any difference. Our telepaths dug deeply into their minds before the men joined captured Reverends in a prison at an old military post. With summer on the way, Fort Riley, Kansas would become one of the most inhospitable places on our world.

George was still the best physicist we had, so he led the briefing about what we’d learned from the scientists and the Inquisitors.

“The good news is that they know of no atomic program other than the one at Mt. Zion. The bad news is that they were still refining uranium, and had another 20 pounds, which we’ve removed. The facility is dirty… contaminated with radioactive material in various stages of refinement. We need to box the whole thing up and… I don’t know, maybe ship it to an asteroid or something. But that would require a serious, visible presence.”

“Commander Tyson?” I addressed the Seabee liaison to my staff. “Sounds like a problem for you. Are you willing to tackle it?”

The commander knew that despite our attack on Mt. Zion, we were trying not to reveal ourselves or our capabilities any further. He answered instantly.

“‘Can do,’ sir.”

I had no doubt that he and the Seabees could.

George and Artie both wanted to lead the first “rollup” mission. I felt the tension, and thought for a moment to appoint a Marine to command the first mission, whether the target was to be the Reverends or the Inquisition. That, however, would have angered both boys. I was faced with a dilemma: get one of my sons and brothers angry with me or get two of them angry with me.

The acrimony between George and Artie was so strong it was interfering with the team dynamics—and my sleep. It was 0300 ship’s time the day after we’d slagged Mt. Zion when I summoned George and Artie to my ready room. I had coffee on my desk, but—pointedly and deliberately—did not offer any to them.

“You know why you are here. You know, or should know, that you’re hurting not just each other but all of your brothers. You also know that I will never punish you, and—if you’ll think clearly—you know that I seldom give you direct orders and have never issued an ultimatum to either of you.

“However, the three of us will not leave this room until this is settled by the two of you. If you cannot do that amicably, I will do my job as commander, and appoint someone else.”

I did not add that I would probably strip them both of some duties and privileges—a time-out like the supervisors at the orphanage had used.

“Daddy—” George began.

“Commodore,” I interrupted.

Both George and Artie’s faces turned white. I don’t think they realized how serious I was until then.

“Commodore—” George choked and couldn’t say whatever it was he had planned.

Artie took advantage of the momentary silence. “Commodore, Lieutenant Commander Stewart-Rogers is more qualified as a combat team leader than I am. You may think since it is my world we are liberating, that I should have the lead, but that is illogical. Besides, there will be many opportunities for combat command, and I hope you’ll keep me in mind when—”

“No!” George found his voice and interrupted Artie. “Commodore, symbolism and perceptions have never been more critical than in this campaign. The psyops operations have proven that.

“The symbolism of survivors of the First Battle for Las Vegas returning to their world is a lot more important than… than me gettin’ a stiffy ’cause I’m in command of—”

“George?” I interrupted, although my voice was soft.

What George had said, and my reply, which was accompanied by a push of love for both boys, broke the tension.

“Well, I do,” George said. “But I don’t let it distract me!” he asserted.

“And with the catheter and cup under your skin suit, it doesn’t distract anyone else, either,” Artie said, and then started laughing.

I grinned. What Artie said wasn’t strictly correct. George, unlike my six-year-old roommate, Dmitri, really did need a large cup. George wasn’t quite sure of the imagery that popped into my mind, but assumed it was about him, and blushed furiously, which only made Artie laugh harder.

Several minutes passed before I thought I could speak without losing my composure.

“What’s the resolution?” I said.

Artie looked at George, who nodded. There was a flash of thought between them.

“George is right,” Artie said. “If you will let me, I would like to command the unit that will liberate the first town.”

“Make it so. George? You have a new mission. You will assemble and command the backup team, which will be primary on the next mission, which will be against the Inquisition. My hope is that we will have at least ten teams in operation by the beginning of the second week, and will add ten each week until we reach the planned fifty.

“It will take some time to integrate boys now at Camp Santa Ana and members of The Brotherhood of the Army of California into these teams,” I added. “But don’t forget them.

“Thank you both, my sons and brothers. I love you.”

Tobor manipulated the duty list so that both George and Artie were assigned as my First Tier guard that night, which meant that they both kept their weapons next to our bed. And there’s something very, very special about makeup sex.

“Jonathan? Flag Team meeting at 1400 hours, no exceptions. We’ll use the conference room.”

Jonathan acknowledged, and began making calls.

The Flag Team consisted of Metas; Artie and some of his boys, all telepaths; Cory and his boyfriend/deputy, also telepaths; and Tobor, who monitored our meetings. Not all of the Flag Team knew about Tobor, but I thought it was time they all did.

“Guys?” I got the attention of the thirty-five boys and one computer.

“You know that ‘no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.’

“We had a plan to roll-up and rebuild the towns and villages dominated by the Reverends, and then to smother their larger cities: Las Vegas, Chicago, Albany, Miami, and a few others.

“That plan is still in place, even though we’ve announced our presence by destroying the Inquisition’s headquarters very spectacularly. One challenge is to make that work for us rather than against us.

“Another challenge is that we now know that the Inquisition may be more powerful than we thought. We now have a parallel plan to roll up the Inquisition. If at any time during that process, we find another surprise, such as atomic piles and bombs, we’ll have to adjust and re-plan.

“All of you have incredible responsibilities, especially for boys your age.”

Isaac, at eight, was the youngest. Artie and Kevin, at 18 and 17 respectively, were the oldest. I was only a few years older than they.

“You’re going to be spread out, separated, much more than we have been since we began ingathering Metas, telepaths—boys from three worlds.

“We know that our telepathy can not always reach from the Reverends’ World to our world. Some of us are not yet powerful enough. We know that it doesn’t reach Cory’s world, which is apparently farther away, even though it’s next-door through the rift. Dr. Adams has yet to explain that one.”

That got a laugh. As the group settled, I sent a carefully screened message.

Tobor? Would you join us? The main briefing screen came on, and Tobor, in the robin’s egg blue jumpsuit of a Senior Cadet, appeared. He had turned down promotion when I was made Commodore, and had promoted all the others, and then again just a few days ago when everyone had been promoted, at Admiral Davis’s strong suggestion. Tobor still maintained the appearance of a twelve-year-old boy.

A private message flashed between Tobor and Will. The ones who didn’t know the sentient Tobor still looked puzzled, but said nothing.

“Some of you already know the kid on the screen. And all of you have talked to him. His name is Tobor, and he’s the Fleet Mainframe. In addition to being the voice you hear when you talk to him, he’s sentient, and telepathic, and he will keep us all connected through a combination of electronics and telepathy.

“No way!” Cory said.

“Yes, way,” Tobor said, and added telepathically, Hi, Commodore Cory, sir.

“Well f me,” Cory said. A private message flashed from Tobor to Cory and back, and both broke out in giggles.

I didn’t ask. I didn’t dare ask.

The Inquisition’s installations presented unique problems. Most of them were located centrally and on busy rail lines. That was likely so they could be dispatched quickly. Telegraph lines for all four telegraph systems usually ran along those mainline tracks. And the Inquisition members—about 20 per location—were always armed. And, given the Scudder’s announcement, they were going to be on the defensive.

Alpine, Texas

Alpine, Texas was the first Reverends’ town we selected for rollup. It met our key criteria—it was on the end of a railroad line and the end of a telegraph line. Further, its Army garrison was small. The nearest military installation on our world was Fort Davis, but that did not exist in the Reverends’ world.

The silver and lead mines at Alpine had long been depleted; it was no longer a mining town, so we didn’t have to worry about ore shipments being missed. The people of the town shipped beef to Las Vegas, Lynchburg, and Chicago, but so far, only once a year, in the fall. We figured that if we took over the town it wouldn’t be missed for months.

Alpine was about sixty miles by rail from what would have been my hometown of Valentine; however, there was no Valentine in the Reverends’ world. A few piles of collapsed and weathered boards might once have been a settlement but there was nothing else—not even a railroad siding.

By now, we had moved the entire task force onto the Reverends’ side of the rift. At 0300 Alpine solar time, seven shuttles with 210 people rendezvoused near the Charleston. The forces that filled seven more shuttles—Marines, U-Cal Army, Seabees, and Metas—George’s backup team, sat on the flight deck of the Honolulu. An eighth shuttle followed the first seven on the strike team. That shuttle bristled with sensors that would report directly to my Flag Bridge and to the bridges of all the ships in the Task Force. In addition, Artie and all of his squad leaders wore cameras and microphones that reported to us through the relay shuttle. We expected that the first operation would likely teach us many lessons. We were determined to capture all of them.

Admiral Davis watched from the Flag Bridge of the Enterprise. However, the Enterprise didn’t fly the Admiral’s flag, and he likely thought we didn’t know he was there. He couldn’t keep it from the GWGs, but since he wanted to keep his presence a secret, we played along with him—but sent Terry on a temporary duty assignment to the Enterprise. Tobor relayed to me Admiral Davis’s surprise and delight at seeing his adopted son. I was pretty sure the admiral knew he’d been busted.

Artie’s people landed in a planned sequence. Marines and soldiers from California and U-Long surrounded the Army barracks. Another team surrounded the Sheriff’s station, while a handful of soldiers including two of Corey’s people with phasers and augmented with two Metas stormed the Reverend’s home. The sound of the door of the Reverends’ home being broken down, relayed through team comms, was the signal for the other teams to act.

Explosions that did no damage except perhaps to some of the soldiers and deputies’ eardrums announced our presence.

Artie spoke into his communicator, and Tannoys on shuttles hovering over the town carried his voice.

“We are the California Liberation Army, and we call for the surrender of all Army and Sheriffs’ people in Alpine. If you do not surrender, you will be destroyed. Come out of your buildings with your hands empty and raised over your heads, and then lie flat on your stomachs.

“People of Alpine, do not be afraid. We are here to free you from the tyranny of the Army and the Sheriffs. We will not harm you.”

Artie did not say “the tyranny of the Reverends.” That was deliberate. We could not be sure how loyal to the Reverends might be people who had been brainwashed their entire lives.

Artie’s message was recorded by a comm operator, and then replayed, interspersed with Copeland’s Fanfare for the Common Man. Symbolism, as George had said, was important. It was unlikely that anyone in Alpine understood this particular symbol, however some of the symbolism was for the people of our world. Video recordings of the action would be carried on Fleetnet, offered to the commercial channels, and sent to U-Long.

A few of the soldiers and deputies held weapons as they stumbled from their buildings, but none got off more than one round before being taken down. A few shots came from windows of the barracks, and were answered with tear gas. Within twenty minutes, all of the soldiers and deputies had been secured and their wounded given first aid.

Meanwhile, Seabees seized the televisor station and power plant, shut down the telegraph, and began erecting a solar satellite ground station to be connected to the local grid. Artie and a cadre of California soldiers marched down the only street, while loud speakers called for people to come out of their houses to meet them.

No one one did.

“Paul?” The call came from Artie on a private channel.

“They’re afraid, Artie,” I said. “What can you do to make them not afraid?”

Artie thought for only a moment. He called to his men, “Take seats, in the street, breakfast is on the way.”

“Daddy? How fast—?” he asked.

The ship’s mess was already preparing breakfast for the ship’s company. Loading food onto the alert shuttle and getting it to Alpine with 20-G takeoff and landing took very little time. Mess stewards rolled carts of food through the street. The smell of buckwheat pancakes, bacon, sausage, and fried potatoes with peppers and onions permeated the town.

The townspeople got over their fear right quickly, and joined the soldiers for breakfast. The soldiers were happy not to have to break out their field rations, so everyone won.

“I will never forgive them,” Danny whispered to me. Danny had voiced what we were all thinking.

We were watching emaciated children drinking what was probably their first glass of milk and eating a meal that would fill their tummies for perhaps the first time in their lives. The mess stewards knew not to allow them to eat too much at first, and promised more food, later.

To this point, the diet of the common people had consisted mostly of bread and potatoes: the two things that had been responsible for starvation in the France and Ireland of our universe when the wheat and potato crops had failed because of weather or attack by viruses.

The people’s diet caused other problems, too. Problems that weren’t talked about in the usual textbooks and histories. More than one bridge officer, including some of the adults, broke into tears as we learned what those problems were.

“This little girl has rickets. Not from lack of sunshine to create the Vitamin D hormone, but from lack of precursors in her food. It looks like that’s been true for years.”

“This man has scurvy. Adult teeth either never developed, or were malformed and have fallen out. That is true of most of the adults and, so far, of all of the children.”

“Brain development is almost certainly well below normal for their ages. Not enough fat in the diet. Some of the youngest children can be helped; the older children and the adults, it never will happen. They’ve gone too long, this way.”

“This boy has an untreated infection. It’s metastasized. We can cure it with intravenous antibiotics, but it’ll have to be on the Hope or the Walter Reid. At least their bugs haven’t evolved resistance to antibiotics; we can treat a lot of this with sulfa drugs.”

The Reverend’s catamite had pissed himself when the rescue team broke down the door and stormed into the bedroom. Alberto wrapped a blanket and his arms around the boy, and projected reassurance.

“Bad men made me do things that I didn’t want to do, too,” Alberto said. “But I was rescued. Now, I’m helping rescue you.”

The boy recovered enough from his fear to spit on the Reverend as he was dragged, naked, from the bed and across the floor. The strike team ignored the Reverend’s screams as splinters penetrated his ass. The telepaths had already judged him. The Reverend was brought to the Charleston to be held for trial. We did take the splinters out, but only to keep him from dying of infection before we were ready for his trial.

We had already decided that we’d not allow soldiers or deputies to assume authority in liberated towns. We hoped we’d find Reverends like Reverend Grady, who had a loving relationship with his beloved boy-servant, or the Reverend from Moapa, who had refused to have a catamite. We were not, however, optimistic that we would. Our hardest task was going to be finding someone among the people to speak for them and someone to speak to them—someone to be in charge until they could form a town government.

After breakfast, and as the medical corpsmen worked, Artie spoke to the people. His voice came from loudspeakers set up in the street rather than from shuttles, which we had pulled away and landed on the outskirts of the town.

“You have seen us on the televisor. More than a year ago, you saw us being rescued by people who flew shuttles like the ones that brought us to Alpine. You saw me on the televisor tell you about the Funeral for our brothers. My name is Artie Stewart, and my father and brothers, more than 22,000 of them, are sworn to free you from the slavery of the Reverends Army and the Sheriffs.

“We must also free people from hundreds of other towns and villages, so it’s going to be up to you to help us help you.

“The first thing you must do is select someone, one of you and not a soldier or deputy, to speak for you.”

“The Reverend?” Someone suggested. His voice quavered and could barely be heard.

“Your Reverend has been taken to a place where he will be held until he can be judged. He cannot speak for you. It must be one of you.”

The adults were as listless as the children, and for the most part looked at one another, or the ground. We were all surprised when an old woman stood up.

“If none of ’em got the gumption, I’ll speak for Alpine.

“My name is Granny Clarence, and I’m the midwife. And I’m eighty years old, old enough to remember what it was like in the before times—before the Reverends’ iron grip, before the Army came to leech off us what little food we had, before the Sheriffs came to steal our children into slavery.

“And I told you we would be saved, and not by the Reverend or by the Scudder, and surely not by Jesus.” She spat into the dirt at her feet. “Yep, I told you, all right.

“Now get off your butts and stand up like you was people and not slaves!”

She put some life into the crowd. People began to stand, to move around, to approach Artie’s people and speak to them. Children tugged at the soldiers’ uniform trousers, and asked if there would be more food. Prepared for this, the soldiers distributed a few hard candies and promised more food, soon.

A man asked one of the squad leaders, “My boy? The Sheriffs took him. Can you find him?”

Danny linked directly to the squad leader. “Get the boy’s name, as good a description as you can, especially age, and find out how long ago this happened. Promise nothing except that we will try.”

“Danny?” I asked after this contact had been completed.

I felt his grin. “We’ve already got a database and search algorithms set up. We’ll take names and descriptions; we’ll do a census at Sheriffs ranches, the _____ Palace Casino and places like that.

“Uh, we’ve already got info on the catamites we’ve rescued.”

And I’m so very proud of you, I sent. Actually, I knew about the plan, but my knowing about it was a secret that Tobor and I shared because making it a surprise to me had made Danny so happy.

What to do with the Army had been one of our most difficult questions. It was one of the former catamites, integrated into Team Reverends, who provided the inspiration for the answer.

“We’ve figured out that they move us away from our home so that we would have no one to turn to except the Reverend who had adopted us. Most of the soldiers come from their own towns, though. Maybe we should do the same thing to them: move them somewhere else where there is no one to help them.

Brilliant, I thought. “Bobby? You and your team have the best psychologists in Fleet. Would you work this problem?”

Bobby’s people agreed that putting the soldiers—most of whom were as uneducated as the common people—into an unfamiliar and potentially hostile environment, one controlled by people who had been under the thumb of the Army—would work.

Of course, we had to have more than one town rolled up before we could test this, but the success in Alpine gave me enough confidence to give George the order to execute the first strike on the Inquisition, and to give Cory the go-ahead for the team to be commanded by his boyfriend and Number Two, Lt. Alan Carter. Avery, who used to be the Flag quartermaster, but was now a combat team commander, received his orders to prepare for the fourth mission.

Artie’s team remained in Alpine, sewing up that town, digging new outhouses, and helping Seabees re-string wire for the electric grid and installing breaker boxes in each home. It would be a while before we could bring in electric lighting, and even longer before we could install water purification, sewerage, refrigerators, stoves, and other modern appliances. But the homes would be ready.

Others began a census. Experts in agriculture and animal husbandry visited. After four days, most of the work was done. The Seabees erected a pre-fabricated barracks and a one-room schoolhouse. Artie’s people were relieved by a Marine detachment, two teachers, two agronomists, and two Seabees, and returned to the Charleston.

Swamps of Florida

George’s first target was the town of Swift Creek, Florida. It was near the intersection of major north-south and east-west rail lines, but was connected to the junction only by a spur. Analysis of telegraph messages on the Inquisitors’ net suggested it had only a small detachment of Inquisitors. Imint revealed an Army barracks and Sheriff’s station. This was more like a Reverends’ town than the typical Inquisitors’ enclave. Further, it was in the southern reaches of the Reverend’s USA. We wanted to focus there primarily because of the need for people in the rolled-up towns to begin to grow more food.

We knew we were still learning, but George’s mission was so much unlike Alpine that we were caught unaware.

Our arrival and demand for surrender was met only with a few armed men from the Sheriffs’ station and a few others from what we’d identified as the Army barracks. They were easily put down.

What we didn’t count on was that the Inquisitors were not in barracks, but were quartered in civilian homes. Some of them rushed into the streets with their weapons. Since our forces were at the barracks, we weren’t prepared for this, and a running street battle ensued before they were taken out. Some of the Inquisitors barricaded themselves in the houses and fired on our forces. We could not return fire without endangering civilians.

George elected to force the armed men out with tear gas. Isaac, the youngest of the GWGs, and George’s deputy on this mission, quickly called for more medical corpsmen to treat the civilians who were exposed to tear gas. Two of Avery’s shuttles from the backup team launched immediately.

A few of the Inquisitors tried to use children or women as shields while escaping. It was a situation for which we were not well prepared. Now, it was George’s turn to make hard decisions. He ordered marksmen to take out those Inquisitors. None of our bullets hit a woman or a child, but two of the men killed the children they were holding hostage. Those men were dead from multiple bullets as well as phaser fire before their bodies hit the ground.

I knew that George would not leave his team until the town was secure and ready to be turned over to the occupying forces. I also knew that he must have been affected by the deaths of the children. Could I go to him? My heart said I must; but my brain said I couldn’t. “Carter’s Commandoes” were poised to invade a town on the South Georgia coast the next day. “Hamlin’s Harriers” would strike an Inquisitors post in south Texas the day after. Other teams, who were even now working on their nicknames and targets, would follow. Artie was still in Alpine. I could not leave the Charleston. I called Danny, and met him in my Ready Room.

“Hi, Daddy. You’re worried about George, aren’t you?” Since we were alone, he came to me for a hug.

“A little, Danny. As soon as the adrenaline wears off—”

“You mean when his stiffy goes down,” Danny interrupted, and then giggled.

“Does everybody know about that?” I asked.

“Actually, Daddy, you were the last to know.”

“Would you go to George?” I asked. “Would you give him the comfort that I cannot?”

Danny nodded. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you. If you want, I’ll bring you into our link?”

“Yes, please, but I don’t want George to think—”

“He won’t think anything except that you love him,” Danny said.

Artie and George’s missions taught us a great deal, and we revised our plans to accommodate that. There still were casualties, but they were all on the Reverends’ side. Our people’s force-field reinforced skin suits provided all the protection necessary.

On the other hand, we could not completely eliminate civilian deaths among the Reverends’ people. Soldiers and deputies continued to ignore our ultimatums. The death toll rose.

As fast as we took over a town or village in the Reverends’ territory, we began rebuilding. Solar power ground stations were the first step and usually were installed on the day we invaded. Rewiring the local grid usually took several weeks. Depending on the climate and season, truck gardens—vegetables and legumes mostly—were planted with the aid of small, hydrogen-powered tractors.

Soldiers from the Reverends’ Army were split into small squads, moved to new towns, and put to work. It was made clear that they would work or starve. Most of them adjusted easily to their new life as farmers, carpenters, brick masons, electricians, and plumbers as we began rebuilding the un-insulated, tin-roofed, frame houses—and installing a pure water supply and a sewer plant.

The Arbor Day people of our world and Cory’s sent thousands of fruit tree saplings. We were determined that within two years, each town and village would be 90% self-sufficient in food. The first year, however, we provided a lot of food from Cory’s world and ours. I chuckled when I remembered Artie telling Admiral Davis that Artie wouldn’t need a G-8 because Admiral Davis would write all the checks. I’m sure someone on my staff was keeping track of the cost of this operation, but I never asked and Admiral Davis never complained.

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