“It’s their floor?” she repeated.
“I told them nobody gets in!” Rin barked.
“Aria…” I whispered.
She didn’t say a word. She strolled across the room toward Trevor, avoiding eye contact with everybody. I went to grab her shoulder, but she brushed me away. She stopped in front of our captive, whose muffled pleas filled the air. Then she snatched Rin’s pulse pistol out of her holster and, before any of us could stop her, put a bullet in Trevor’s chest. Right through his heart, like it wasn’t the first time she’d killed.
Rin leaped at her, and I was able to get between them just in time before she seized her by the throat.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” my aunt snarled.
“Rin, stop!” I struggled to hold her at bay since we were both wearing powered armor. Gareth stood still, at a loss as to who to help.
“I’ll kill her too!”
“Are you both insane?” Aria shouted. “In here? Today? If anybody heard him or saw him. If he escaped… we’d all be killed, and Titan would be right back to how it was. Leaderless.”
“We aren’t ever going back to that,” Rin said, beginning to simmer down enough at least that I didn’t have to expend all my energy blocking her.
“At least now I know why we really came here. I hope whatever you got out of him was worth it.”
“Aria,” I said. She dropped the pistol and started off toward the exit. “Aria, you don’t understand! We’re doing what we have to. You think they’ll ever take us seriously through talking? We have to make them, no matter what it takes. I have to!”
She stopped. “Well, when you’re done, I came to tell you that the USF agreed to your terms. I’m going to go prepare for that. Hopefully, I’ll see you there tonight.” Our gazes met for the briefest moment. For the first time in months, I glimpsed the broken woman she’d been when we first met, and then, just like that, she was gone.
Rin retrieved her gun. “Are you in control now, Kale?”
“What do we do now?” Gareth asked. “She saw. If she talks—”
“She won’t,” I said.
“That’s all you’ve got to—”
“She won’t!” I cut Rin off. “We stick to the plan. You help Gareth take Basaam Venta out of his room. Move him while everyone is distracted by the summit, and have him on the Cora before we arrive.”
“Kale, we have to talk about this,” Rin insisted. “Now she’s shooting people?”
“Like you haven’t done enough of that? How many people did you murder on the Piccolo just to get my attention?”
“That was war.”
“So is this. She is our ambassador, Rin, whether you like it or not. I suggest you get control of your fighters, who can’t seem to keep the door shut when you ask them to.”
Rin opened her mouth to protest. Gareth quieted her by rubbing her shoulder.
“And clean up this mess!” I yelled.
She took a measured breath then bowed her head. “Right away, Lord Trass.”
I stared at the door Aria departed through until the blood from Trevor’s chest pooled far enough across the floor to submerge the soles of my boots. It was so fresh and the tile so polished that I could see my reflection in it. That same shattered young man who had lain with Aria for the first time all those months ago stared back.
Twelve
Malcolm
The ornately carved, faux-wood doors of the New Beijing Church of the Three Messiahs Convent were entirely out of place in the rundown heart of Old Dome. A fragrance was dispersed through its air recyclers that was much like Earth’s out in the countryside, a transition so jarring compared to the reek of the Tongueway that I actually missed the latter.
The convent itself was brand new. Apparently, if the turmoil on Titan had been kind to any faction, it was the Church of the Three Messiahs. I suppose they appealed to transplanted Earthers who were maddened about all the death there. Those people blamed expanding beyond Earth for what had happened, and the Three Messiahs were there for them. They took in the poor and hapless on Mars who couldn’t afford to return home and provided a temporary shelter while promising to arrange transportation and residency back on Earth.
A load of bullshit if you asked me.
Of all the grimy people assembling for a service, not one looked to be on the verge of moving anywhere. Lucky for them, there was plenty of room in the convent for more initiates. Don’t ask me where all their credits came from to afford a lot this size in a city as jammed for space as New Beijing, but at least three Twilight Suns could fit inside.
“Peace be with you, son of God,” an apostle by the entrance said. “Are you here for our daily sermon? We are about to begin.” She wore the usual robes of her order, except unlike the men, her shawl covered her entire face and hair—everything except for her eyes.
“I’m here to speak with Herald Jeremiah,” I replied, blowing past her.
“I’m sorry, he’s about to read scripture.”
“He can wait.”
She laid her hand upon my shoulder and pointed toward the lofty vaulted ceiling running down the middle of the convent. Stairs by the entrance sank into Mars’s crust so the roof could seem taller than anything else in Old Dome. The ceiling was painted blue, with pure white clouds mirroring the sky of pre-Meteorite Earth. Embedded in the center was an oculus with a screen in it that displayed imagery from a telescope seemingly placed on Mars’s surface somewhere. The pale silhouette of Earth passed slowly across the blackness of space.
“It cannot,” she said.
“Neither can I.”
I brushed her off me and continued down the aisle. The dozens of worshippers stirred, positioning themselves on their knees across the floor so that they all kowtowed in the same direction. The presumed cardinal direction of Earth where the Meteorite struck, if I remembered my former dealings with the Church correctly.
“Sir, I must ask that you come back at another time,” the apostle insisted. Her voice finally rose above a whisper, earning the attention of the congregation.
I ignored her and persisted on my trek toward the altar, studying my surroundings out of habit. None of the wall decorations made any sense, but they were everywhere. It was like the designer had visited every spiritual ruin left on Earth and regurgitated pieces of all of them onto the polished walls. Restored paintings, which I imagine depicted scenes from their bulky text, surrounded me. Most focused on either a gruesome scene of a man nailed to a cross or various figures in the desert holding tomes and crude weaponry.
Pews of faux wood lined the central aisle, carved with strange patterns and geometries. They were empty now, as everyone who had been seated remained on their knees. Each of the columns separating the side aisles was wrapped in text. The languages were ancient, and even though I couldn’t decipher them, there appeared to be numerous alphabets mixed together.
I’d visited similar convents on Earth when work took me there, but never one so opulent. The USF and its larger corporations like Pervenio preferred to keep their distance from religious sects like the Three Messiahs. The groups weren’t usually violent, but doomsayers had a way of riling up the public. I only went in when they gave us no choice or decided to use their flock for smuggling. Some Heralds got off on that.
More apostles like the one following me roamed among the crowd, offering blessings before the daily prayer began, doing whatever it was they did to make the people feel whole, all while using hand-terminals to happily accept donations.
Herald Jeremiah stood by the reserved yet unsettling altar comprising the back of the convent. He wore the same outfit as all his brothers and sisters. In fact, the only thing that set him apart from them was a beard that fell all the way to his waist. Behind him towered a relief sculpture of Earth shielded by a giant hand as an onslaught of meteorites crashed into it. The altar itself was a modest stand made of real tree bark. I could tell by the scent. They must have paid a pretty penny to get it from a corporate tr
ee farm on Earth, and it was engraved with all manner of figurative representations of the many ancient religions theirs was based on.
Jeremiah was busy leafing through the worn pages of the multi-thousand-page tome crammed with their teachings sitting on the altar when I stopped before him. I don’t know why they didn’t just upload it into a terminal. The worshippers nearest to us gasped as I stepped onto the raised dais, like I’d broken some unspoken law. I guess I did look out of place. Worn duster, gun strapped to my side, hair a mess from an entire day hounding the Tongueway and running from collectors.
“I said you should leave!” the apostle snapped, racing in front of me.
“Now, now, we don’t deny any visitors here, sister,” Herald Jeremiah said. He glanced up from his text.
“But, Your Holiness, he’s going to interrupt your service.”
“You lead it. Can you not sense it, sister? This man is in deep pain. He needs us now more than ever.” The apostle grumbled under her breath but reluctantly moved aside. “Peace be with you, weary traveler,” Jeremiah addressed me. “And welcome.”
“I don’t think I am,” I replied.
Jeremiah’s thin lips cracked a smile. “Just because you’re stuck here doesn’t mean you’re forsaken by the world God created for us. He’s calling you home, my son. All you need to do is listen.”
“I was born there, and trust me, the only thing holy about the place is in between the legs of its women.”
I was trying to get a rise out of him. Figure out what he was all about since his faith never made much sense to me. The nearby apostle covered her mouth in revulsion, but the Herald simply nodded for her to go on. She sighed before finally replacing him at the altar. She started yammering off gibberish from their massive tome for all the worshippers to hear.
Jeremiah took me to the side. “If you’ve come here to spread hate, I will not stop you,” he said softly. “God teaches us to be tolerant of all peoples who have yet to embrace His grace.”
“I don’t hate, but I died once already, and I promise you I didn’t see anything but black.”
Jeremiah raised one open hand and gesticulated to the apocalyptic symbol of his order. “God comes to us in many forms. There was a time long ago when the Three Messiahs drove their followers apart because they didn’t recognize the God they all spoke with was one and the same.”
“Doesn’t speak much for your idols.”
“Perhaps God wanted them to witness all aspects of life to demonstrate the danger of separation.”
“Or maybe He cares as little about you as He does for any of us. He was happy enough to ravage the planet He made with everyone on it after all.” I joined him in front of the foreboding statue presiding over him. I suppose they got that one thing right. Fear does a hell of a job keeping people in line.
“Not everyone. The Meteorite was sent to purge and unite us after we strayed too far from the Lord’s teachings. Some lost their way and their faith and fled Earth, but so long as man continues his foolish quest to settle the heavens, we risk judgment again.”
“So then why are you people here? Mars is a long way from Earth.”
“Depends on who is asking. I presume you didn’t come here for a sermon. You don’t seem like a man willing to open his mind and heart to the Almighty Father.”
“You caught me.”
Jeremiah wagged his finger. “Ah yes. I know a collector when I see one. My guests don’t deserve the kind of trouble your breed seems to bring everywhere you go.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m retired.” I opened my duster and flashed the fake ID proving that I was telling the truth. The news piqued his interest. “Just a concerned citizen with some innocent questions. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“Why pretend to seek privacy from God when we can never have it?”
I took a measured breath. Spending too long with any Three Messiahs worshipper was infuriating. Interrogating one was like yelling at a wall that could only spit back anecdotes.
“This is a pretty big presence off Earth for your church,” I said. “I’ve seen a post here and there on asteroids, but a full convent?”
“We are here to serve as a conduit for those who seek God’s grace,” Jeremiah said. “To offer them a means home through piousness. Not all the people on this world chose to leave behind God’s holy world to live here. Why should they be punished?”
“Punished like all those who died during Kale Trass’s rebellion, right?”
Jeremiah nodded sheepishly.
“It’s funny, I spent all day wondering who benefits from a tragedy like that besides warmongers,” I said. “But that bomb hit every party involved in the conflict. I was about ready to grab a bottle and give up searching until I realized I’d overlooked one group that seems to be feeding off this. An order that blames a meteorite wiping out most of the life on Earth on our failures as a species, and not cosmic misfortune.”
“And what was your conclusion?”
“That you seemed awfully calm during your interview about a bombing that took out one of your own flock.”
“I never question the will of God. It was… his time.”
“Isn’t that you, though? The voices of God, or whatever rubbish you Heralds claim. You see, I was a collector for a long, long time, so I know what an innocent man sounds like. When I heard you, I heard the voice of a man who wasn’t fazed because he wasn’t surprised.” I drew my duster far enough to the side that my pistol was in plain sight. The people filling the convent continued their prayers, though a handful couldn’t help but glance up at us. I’m guessing I didn’t look as calm as I imagined.
“I’m going to ask you one time, and you damn well better tell me the truth,” I said. “Decades dealing with fanatics like you, I’ll know if you aren’t. Do you know who was behind the bombing?”
Jeremiah’s cheeks flushed, but he maintained his calm. In fact, his apostle seemed far more rattled. She paused in her readings to look back at us, eyes glued to the shine of my pistol. “Your Holiness, should I call security?” she whispered.
“It would only be a waste of time,” the Herald replied. She bowed and returned to the text. “Venta Co. caused it,” he said to me. “The moment they offered to host those heathen Ringers so close to Earth, the very haven of God that the deserter Darien Trass forsook at its gravest time of judgment.”
I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I snatched him by the robes and pulled him close. The soft murmur of prayers filling the convent silenced, and I could hear the brushing sound of all the kowtowing bodies shifting to face me.
“It wasn’t only Ringers who died, Herald!” I barked.
“And every death weighs heavily on me, especially that of Apostle Grant. But God works in mysterious ways. I cannot presume to understand why He does what He does. I can merely offer my apologies for the actions of an apostle who has so clearly wounded you.”
My hand slipped off him. I staggered backward. “What did you just say?”
Jeremiah looked to the floor. “Apostle Grant was a troubled man,” he said, voice trembling. “His clan-family left him behind here so they could find work on thriving Titan when he was young. I took him in and guided him along God’s path, but when much of his family was killed during Kale’s rebellion… violence was his only solution. He lost his way. Felt that nobody was doing enough to free the survivors from Kale Trass’s prisons. For the lives he took, I offer my deepest sympathies.”
That was it? A full indictment of one of his own without me even having to issue a threat.
“Where is he?” I squeezed out of my suddenly parched throat.
Jeremiah’s head sagged, eyes closing as if in mourning. “Dead.”
“You’re lying!” I ripped out my pulse pistol and aimed it right between his eyes. He didn’t flinch. The rest of his flock screamed and took cover. His apostle had their tome clutched to her chest, arms quaking.
“Nobody panic or call anyone,” he said. “Everyth
ing will be fine.” He turned back to me. “It’s the truth. And soon Venta collectors will come barging through my door after they thoroughly review surveillance, and I’ll tell them the same. They will torture me as they have so many times before, but it won’t change what happened. Good people often die thanks to the mistakes of the wicked. Venta Co. and Kale Trass, you and I—we’ll all have to live with that. Just know that whoever you lost is in a better place now.”
“Shut up!” I punched him across the nose. His head snapped backward, and blood squirted out all over his beard, but I held him up. “Who the fuck ordered it?”
“If you’re seeking a corporeal boss or a corporate structure, you’ve come to the wrong place,” he groaned. “Grant did what he thought he had to.”
“He didn’t do it alone!” I threw Jeremiah against his order’s symbolic sculpture, one hand wrapping his throat and the other pressing my pistol against his forehead.
“I wish I could tell you I didn’t try to stop him, but in this holy place, I will not lie. Ever since the revolution started, his thoughts grew darker, so I sent him away and instructed him to seek penance in his own way before returning. I know now I should have kept him close.”
“You knew, and you still let him go?”
“I knew only his nature, not what he was planning. It is how God made him, and if I was meant to stop him, I would have. Everything happens for a reason, my son, even if God’s plan is unclear to us at the time.”
“You don’t get to blame your imaginary friend!” I squeezed his throat harder.
“You’re angry… I understand,” he muttered. “Someone was taken from you, and you want retribution. Perhaps for some reason, you even need to blame yourself. Don’t.”
I punched Jeremiah across the jaw so hard, I wasn’t strong enough to keep him from falling. I used the sculpture to maintain balance and aimed my gun at the top of his head.
“If vengeance is what you desire, then take it on me,” he grated through bloodied teeth. “My guidance was not enough to help him, and now someone dear to you is dead. I will forgive you, and so will God.”
Titan's Rise: (Children of Titan Book 3) Page 17
