by Greg Ripley
As Dayan and Jianhu approached, they heard Zhongkui before they saw him. His sword whistled through the air as he ducked and spun, leaped and stomped. As they cleared the trees and entered the meadow outside his cave, he finished the last few moves of his set, returning his sword to its scabbard, and stood in stillness.
Zhongkui moves like a whirlwind, Dayan thought. He found the intensity of his sudden stillness unnerving after the fury of his movement. When moving, he appeared as though he had always been in motion and his momentum would continue forever, like a great river flowing endlessly to the sea. Yet now, as he stood in stillness, he appeared immovable, like a mountain peak which had stood since the dawn of time.
Dayan knew Zhongkui only by reputation. His appointment as Speaker had come after Zhongkui had already left the capital. It appears his reputation was well deserved. Zhongkui’s beard had grown wild, and his hair was unruly, even though pulled back into a topknot. The ferocity of his sword practice had shaken much of it loose. When Zhongkui opened his eyes, Dayan felt pierced by the fierceness of his gaze.
Jianhu, on the other hand, was no stranger to Zhongkui. She’d been his pupil during his tenure as Master of the House of Warriors. While other Earth Elders had trained there, some even becoming Trainers themselves, Zhongkui was, to this day, the only Earth Elder ever to be honored with the position of Master. A Master of the House of Warriors was universally recognized as one the greatest warriors alive.
Most who held the role occupied themselves with the administration of the House and the advanced instruction of the Trainers themselves. Zhongkui’s tenure had been unusual in that regard. Then again, people had come to expect the unusual from Zhongkui. He had taken a much greater interest in his pupils, leaving much of the administration of the house to others.
Even after all these years, bureaucracy still left a bad taste in his mouth. While the legends of his early life on Earth were greatly exaggerated, like most legends, there was a grain of truth to them. He had been stripped of his degrees after passing the Imperial exams, not because of a physical ugliness, but the ugliness of his temper.
He’d always been a hothead growing up and despite the great level of dedication it took to study for the exams, he’d never completely conquered his negative emotions. He’d flown off the handle after a slight from a member of the court, in the presence of the Emperor himself. His offense could have resulted in his death, but he’d been fortunate. He was stripped of his titles and given an offer he couldn’t refuse, death or military conscription.
By the time Jianhu met him his temper had cooled considerably, though not his intensity. As the two approached, they offered the traditional greeting on one knee. Masters of the House of Warriors were held with the same respect as members of the council, or the Guide herself.
“Greetings, Master Zhongkui,” Jianhu said. “Our apologies for disturbing you.”
“Rise, Jianhu, you are always welcome in my presence,” Zhongkui said. “And who is this you’ve brought with you? He reeks of the council. They promised to leave me in peace.”
“Greetings, Master Zhongkui. I am Dayan, the Speaker. The council sends their apologies for the intrusion, but under the circumstances, the Guide herself suggested we seek you out.”
“Very well,” Zhongkui said. “Let us discuss these ‘circumstances’ of yours over tea. Come,” he said, already walking towards his retreat cave. Jianhu and Dayan followed.
They settled in to the cave and Zhongkui set to work preparing tea. While tea drinking on Earth had largely moved on from powdered tea, Zhongkui still preferred the ancient style. He poured hot water into three cups, whisking them until they were sufficiently mixed. While not identical to the camelia sinensis from Earth, he’d been able to find a native plant which was quite close. He’d never admit it, but he’d actually come to prefer it.
“Alright,” he said after they’d had their first sips. “What is so important that the council felt the need to disturb my retreat?”
Despite being the Speaker, Dayan had deferred to Jianhu when she suggested that she handle things with Zhongkui. He was reluctant at first, as he was the official representative of the council, but after meeting Zhongkui, he was glad he had acquiesced. He’d let Jianhu handle this.
“Master, it’s your pupil, the Earth Guardian, Sinéad—she’s in danger, as is her mission,” Jianhu said.
Zhongkui looked up from his tea at the mention of his student. He’d thought of her many times over the last ten years. Despite what he’d told the council, he’d second-guessed his decision to enter retreat many times. He hoped whatever danger she was in wasn’t due to any shortcoming in her training. “Tell me.”
“Much has happened in your absence. The plans the council had ten years ago have changed. We’ve had to accelerate things,” Jianhu said.
“Have they not come to their senses yet? I was under the impression ten years ago that my fellow Earthlings were beginning to change their destructive ways?” Zhongkui said.
“They had, but they’ve been dragging their feet. Their greed has simply been too great, so it was felt that we would have to make ourselves known to the Earthlings in order to speed things up,” Jianhu said.
Zhongkui was a bit shocked at this revelation. It had been the opinion of the council for as long as he could remember that they would remain hidden. Their policy of non-interference was one of their most deeply held beliefs. They had never yet revealed themselves to an entire planet. Things must be dire indeed.
“We went and spoke to their United Nations, and Dayan shared thoughts with their world leaders. We gave them the ability to change their technology to speed up the process of regeneration of their world. The council had even come up with a way to bring your pupil and her charge into the process. They were to be part of an ambassador program to come to our world to study our culture, that’s where the trouble began. First, someone tried to abduct your pupil’s charge, and then the entire group of ambassadors was attacked. Most of them were killed, as was one of Earth’s leaders, the President of the United States.”
That was a shock. While the United States was one of the newer countries on Earth, Zhongkui was aware of the powerful position they had come to hold on the global stage. “But Sinéad and her charge are safe?” he said.
“They are, for the time being,” Jianhu said.
“Why didn’t the council simply bring them here for training, if that’s what they had decided? Why did they choose to reveal themselves to Earth?” Zhongkui asked.
“The council had another reason for such an unprecedented step,” Jianhu replied. “Something which has shocked us all. We’ve received word from the Watchers—the Others are returning.”
28
Washington, DC
SAC Edward R. Rooney’s pulse quickened. I knew that woman looked familiar, he thought. When his agents brought him the CCTV footage from the Lincoln Memorial, the last thing he expected was to recognize one of the suspects, but there she was—Sinéad MacGowan. He hadn’t thought about her much in the last few years, but early in his career, his hatred of her and their old instructor Burton Reynolds had been his fuel.
At the FBI Academy, it was all he could do to keep his temper in check. He knew if he gave in to their taunts and lost his cool, he’d never become an agent. In the field, he was determined to prove them all wrong.
Now Rooney had Sinéad in his sights, he knew that was the lead to follow. I always knew there was something off about her. I must have sensed deep down she was a traitor, even back then.
Sinéad McGowan was living under the alias Jane Smith. The CIA hadn’t been entirely forthcoming at first. Several incidents over the years involving disputed jurisdiction had soured their working relationship with Rooney, but this was the kind of event which had all hands on deck. They grudgingly cooperated with his investigation, handing over Jane’s file. When he learned of her past conne
ction with the terrorists who claimed responsibility for the attack, he knew he was on the right track.
There was another interesting turn of events. Jane Smith had been spotted fleeing the scene with a half-Indian woman with an interesting connection to the president. That can’t be a coincidence. But what was her motivation? She didn’t appear to have any connections to the Middle-East, and her mother was Hindu, not Muslim. She must have self-radicalized via the internet. That had become the most common MO of terrorists in recent years. Then he discovered her involvement with several environmental and social justice groups. She even had a few arrests on her record from past protests. She’s an ecoterrorist—that explains it.
Most people didn’t see these groups as a threat. They had become more mainstream in recent years, and much of their agenda had become the common cause of both political parties in the Age of Climate Change. But Rooney knew better. He knew these people were just putting on a façade. He knew what they were really about. These people are sick. If we left it up to them our women would all be lesbian witches in a generation. Our country would be unrecognizable. As far as Rooney was concerned that was all the circumstantial evidence he needed to be her judge, jury and executioner.
Some people considered Edward R. Rooney a throwback, like a modern-day J. Edgar Hoover. While most people would take this as the insult it was meant to be, he wore the label like a badge of honor. Although history judged Hoover as a bigoted, paranoid zealot—with plenty of his own skeletons in the closet—Rooney was the kind of true believer who was able to overlook anything that didn’t jibe with his view of reality. He was like the anti-Joe Friday—he never let facts get in his way.
Much like the way many modern conservatives practically deified Ronald Reagan, overlooking anything that conflicted with their idealized version of him, like raising taxes or pushing for gun control, Rooney had always idolized Hoover and the FBI. To Rooney he was the God of Justice and the same people whom Hoover held in contempt, Rooney did too. He knew who had ruined “his country”—the idealized 1950s Leave it to Beaver country which had never existed in reality, but only in the minds of those like him.
29
Green Dragon Mountains
The Elders’ World
Zhongkui was speechless. How could this be? He’d thought the Others to be little more than a legend. He realized there were still a few Elders alive from the time of the Great War, but he assumed that such ancient history would remain just that: history. Were Jianhu an Earthling he’d think it was a joke, but the Elders’ sense of humor was quite unlike that of Earthlings. They would never joke about something like this. “What do you mean, they are returning?”
“Apparently the Watchers have been aware of them for quite some time, but the Guide held off on telling the council until it became clear they were headed in our direction,” Jianhu said. “The Others have continued their violent, rapacious ways. As our culture has progressed spiritually—becoming more and more harmonious over the centuries—theirs has only diverged all the more. We will have to speak to the Council to get the full picture. They’ve only given us the broad outlines, but the bottom line is that they are headed back this way. The Council felt we had no choice but to befriend the Earthlings and once we had their trust, inform them of our need.”
“But how can the Earthlings help?” Zhongkui said. “Their weapons of war might prove sufficient to fight the Others, but they have no form of space travel to get here any time soon. We cannot bring their weapons back with us when we travel. How could they help?”
“The council is afraid our only hope may be to abandon our world before the Others arrive. We hoped that when we shared our knowledge with the Earthlings they might welcome us as refugees.”
“I see. How soon are the Others expected to arrive?” Zhongkui said.
“That I don’t know. We will have to speak to the council to learn more,” Jianhu said. “What say you, Zhongkui? Will you come?”
“Let me pack my things.”
30
The White House
Washington, DC
SAC Rooney had been in close contact with the White House during the investigation. The newly sworn-in President, Elizabeth Powers—feeling the tragic events more personally than most—wanted to stay apprised of the developing investigation. He had been to the Oval Office every few days to keep her up to date on the investigation’s latest leads.
Rooney waited outside the Oval Office, relishing the news he was about to give the president. Not only did he have a major break in the case, but it was one of his old nemeses. He was already fantasizing about the day he’d be able to perp-walk Jane Smith into FBI headquarters—parading her in front of the cameras for the entire world to see—while he basked in the glory of her capture. And if ever there was a time when a return to “harsh interrogation” was warranted, this is it. He’d be happy to oversee that personally.
Rooney had to admit there had been some excesses in the intelligence community in the years following 9/11, but he thought the backlash that followed had swung too far in the other direction. We’ve been coddling the terrorists lately. We’ve gotten soft with all this “eco-friendly-peace-and-love” crap.
“President Powers will see you now.”
Rooney thanked the president’s assistant—he was always polite—and headed into the Oval Office.
“Ah, Rooney, what have you got for me today? Are you making any headway?” President Powers asked.
Rooney could hardly contain his glee as he relayed his great revelation. “We’ve had a huge break in the case, Madam President. We’ve identified some of the co-conspirators who helped the SOC from the inside,” Rooney said. He took several 8x10 photos from a file folder.
“That’s excellent, Rooney. Show me what you’ve got.”
“This first photo is of a woman named Sinéad MacGowan, alias Jane Smith, a rogue CIA agent with past ties to the SOC. She was at the Lincoln Memorial that day and was caught on CCTV cameras fleeing the scene with her accomplices. She hasn’t been seen since,” he said, as he handed the first photo of Jane to the president.
“Are you kidding me? What is this, Rooney, some kind of joke? I know that agent. There’s no way she’s involved in this,” President Powers said, her stern look giving Rooney pause.
“I’m sorry, Madam President, but I’ve confirmed her ties to the SOC with the CIA and she was seen leaving the scene with a foreign national and another woman with ties to the president,” he said handing her the other photos. “This woman, Rohini Haakonsen, had close ties to President Johnson, which we believe allowed her to insinuate herself into the plot and get herself close to him. We believe she self-radicalized on the internet or perhaps was recruited by Jane Smith. Haakonsen has known ties to extremist environmental groups.”
“Rooney, Jane Smith was on special assignment, working directly for President Johnson to train and protect Rohini Haakonsen—who, incidentally—was the victim of an attempted abduction by unknown perpetrators just blocks from the White House. I don’t know how you got on this trail, but you’re barking up the wrong tree, Rooney. These are good people.”
“But, Madam President, I know this woman, we were at the academy together and I always knew there was something off about her. I know she is involved.”
“Rooney, I’m starting to think there is something off about you. You will drop this line of investigation immediately. That’s an order. I just hope in the time you’ve wasted pursuing these folks you haven’t let the real perpetrators get away.”
“With all due respect, Madam President, my orders come from FBI Director Marshall. If you have a problem with me, you’ll have to take it up with him.”
“You can bet I will, Rooney. Now get out of my sight.”
Ed Rooney was beside himself with righteous indignation as he huffed out of the Oval Office. How dare she! Rooney knew he was right—despite what the preside
nt said—he felt it in his gut. President Powers had no idea what she was talking about. She had no law enforcement background. As far as Rooney was concerned she was just another clueless woman with no business in public office, let alone the Oval Office. It was an affront to his sensibilities. It was bad enough they’d been given the vote, now they wanted to run the show.
Immigrants, minorities, women, they all played a role in the degeneration of this once great nation. Rooney left the White House and headed for his car and driver waiting outside. He got in his vehicle and his driver informed him they’d been summoned to FBI headquarters. The director wanted to see him ASAP. I’ll get this straightened out. Surely the director will understand.
He didn’t. FBI Director Marshall had gotten an earful from President Powers by the time Rooney left the White House. Marshall had been afraid something like this might happen. Rooney always did have a stick up his ass, Marshall thought. But what the hell was he thinking arguing with the President about this? The director knew Rooney wasn’t the brightest agent the FBI had ever fielded, but he was reliably diligent and about as straight-laced as they came. Maybe too straight laced—wound up a little too tight.
Marshall relieved Rooney of his command and took him off the case altogether. President Powers wanted him as far from the case as possible after his ridiculous blunder. He’d only compounded it with his obstinance in the Oval Office. Rooney had been indignant even with him, which made it all the easier for the director. Rooney would be headed to the Bureau’s Minot, North Dakota Office, out of his hair for good, he hoped. If Rooney ever works his way back into the good graces of the Bureau, it will be long after I’ve retired.
