The Twins take their eyes from the monitor to swivel in their own chairs to look back at the female soldier.
"Which one?" one Twin asks.
The soldier smiles. "Both," she answers. "We rarely have the opportunity to talk to the command staff."
"There's no command staff in the Underground Railroad. We have conductors, engineers, caretakers, shepherds, and telegraphers, but all of us are equals. We're here to rescue the packages and kill slavers so they can make no more slaves."
"How did you both get involved? I mean...nuns as commanders."
"There's no contradiction in God's eyes," one Twin answers. "Clergy and laity are both commanded to fight evil. We are all the New Catholic Order. No one is above you. We're all sinners. We're equal."
"Yes, Sister. I mean...ma'am."
"Our family," the other Twin answers. "Our father and brothers brought us to it."
"Oh, they helped rescue slaves too?"
"No." The Twin shakes her head. "They were slavers."
The soldier is surprised by her answer.
"They were among the worst in Bolivia. Dear papa and our five brothers. Papa raised us to be little angels. That's how they kept us quiet for so long. They told us that these girls weren't family. We were special and not to worry about what happened to these girls."
"We started asking questions. 'Androids can never replace human flesh,' Papa would say to us. 'It's simply business,' he would say. It was Papa who sent us to church. He was a godless bastard but thought church people would keep us passive."
"Their plan backfired," the other Twin said. "Sending us to religious school made us more anti-slavery, not less. They thought we would come out as meek little flowers. Unfortunately for them, we became just the opposite."
"It gave us God," the other Twin continues. "We knew what good and evil was. But it gave us the reasoning and the arguments for action. That is what we were missing and that's what we got."
The soldier hesitates to ask. "What happened to them?"
"Jungle people are not like rural or city people. We're very similar to desert people. In those cultures, one takes care of your own problems. No one calls the police or government authorities. The people handle their own affairs, even for a loved one who has strayed onto the evil path. They ran the largest slaver operation in three countries. And when my sister and I turned eighteen, with only a dagger each—family heirlooms going back a century—well, when we turned nineteen, there were no more slaver operations in Bolivia."
"Never any doubts? Hesitations?"
The Twins smile. "Doubts?" one asks. "That's city sentimentality. But we know what you mean—vigilantism, street justice, or, in our case, our own holy war. No, these were not crimes according to us. These are crimes according to everyone. We use the secular law to judge these as crimes. But in the Spanish Americas where so much of the corrupt government is controlled by cartels and their puppets, crimes are ignored, police too afraid to arrest, courts too afraid to prosecute, juries too afraid to convict, judges too afraid to sentence and lock up. Who then is to protect the innocent? There are no self-doubts and self-recriminations here. These are God's innocent children and they must be protected."
Organization of the Spanish Americas Headquarters, São Paulo, Brazil
11:12 a.m., 1 October 2096
The tek-city metropolises of the Spanish Americas are surrounded by jungles. Their construction reflects that global uniqueness—green-tinted metallic structures and natural tree and plant life incorporated into buildings, including bird habitats, and many open, man-made rivers and brooks.
The United Nations is long gone. It was blamed for the Fall of Western Europe with the Muslim world forming the Supreme Islamic Caliphate right out of its body in 2065. Though none of the world's three superpowers are members—America, the Caliphate, and the Chinese-Indian Alliance—the Organization of the Spanish Americas proudly patterns itself after the former intergovernmental body and replaced the Old Organization of American States, which the region viewed as an American puppet organization.
The OSA headquarters is in the nation's largest tek-city housed in a majestic white building with giant flags of every Spanish American nation, from Mexico to Central America to South America, encircling the structure in three separate ring formations. São Paulo is a tale of two cities, like most of the Spanish Americas, with the wealthy traveling in their spacious, faux hover-limos and personal heli-jets, and the poor with their pedi-bikes, moto-bikes, franken-cars (pieced together from old and new car parts), and on public transportation.
A group of men hastily move past people in the large, stately hallway to the elevators.
"We'll catch them before they can get to the Assembly Hall," the Assistant Secretary General says.
"What's the fear?" one of the diplomats asks.
"We believe they plan to use the general assembly as a forum for an illegal protest today. The Secretary General feels they may even try to embarrass the OAS and the presidents of many Spanish American countries with their propaganda."
"Why can't we just bar this Fontana from even entering?"
"She's the daughter of an OAS Emeritus member. Politically we can't do that. Barring her would only help her cause."
"What is it that these women want? The Spanish Americas has done more to stop the sex slave trade than the United States, CHINs, Caliphate, and Russian Bloc combined."
Outside OSA Headquarters, São Paulo, Brazil
10:02 a.m., 1 October 2096
Every historic landmark and government center in Brazil has its own public transportation hub with at least one dedicated stop. Ms. Fontana arrives with her group of a dozen women by way of the fast-track—the nation's monorail transportation system. The women are dressed stylishly, but conservatively—collectively in all the bright colors of the rainbow. One woman stands out—Sister Serena. The only indication that she is a Catholic nun in her modern knee-high, black dress and white flats is her white scapular and rear black head covering. She also has a black patch over her left eye. They exit, along with locals, employees, tourists, and delegates, all in conversation.
"I'm wondering if you're the same Persia I've heard of," Serena asks one of the women, dressed in white with a multi-colored neck scarf, and her curly hair down past her shoulders.
"I'll save you the suspense. I am," the woman answers. "We've never met, but we have all the same mutual acquaintances."
"What brings you along to our band of merry women? You're based in the US and Caliphate territory, aren't you? I can't imagine you have any peoples in the Spanish Americas."
"True, and yes, I am, but one can never learn too much. We want to help and learn as much as we can. You've been at the slave rescue business longer than us."
"The Protestants have been at it for at least two decades before us Catholics. The Jews started around the same time as the Protestants. The American Separatist movement made a lot of groups steadfast allies. The Spanish Americas had some unique issues we had to deal with." Serena looks at the looming building. "And we're about to enter one of those centers of chaos."
The women chuckle.
"We all must behave," Fontana scolds. "They will purposely try to stir us up so they have an excuse to remove us from the assembly hall and keep us from speaking. Be calm and even-toned at all times, even if one of them makes you so angry you want to punch him in the face."
"I'm a nun," Serena says, "and they know me as a member of the Underground Railroad, but I started my work life as a teacher. Everyone thinks I was military or some women's mixed-martial arts fighter beforehand. But it was school books before machine guns. I got into this because they snatched a couple of my students. And I was going to get them back to their families. Patience is part of my DNA. Try managing a schoolroom full of possessed little Spanish boys. You survive that and there is no trial on the planet you can't get through. Even a room full of stupid diplomats."
The women have to walk the quarter mile to the entran
ce. There are no people-mover walkways or other transportation means by design. Security takes another half hour—walking past watchful male and female guards through an array of scanning arches and See-Thru tek-walls to the elevators. Fontana and her party exit the elevators on the lower main level and are immediately greeted by a waiting Assistant Secretary General, along with two aides and about a dozen diplomats. The man is dressed like they all are: dark shiny office suits, ties, and shoes.
"Ah, Ms. Fontana, I'm glad we caught you before you and your party were seated."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Assistant Secretary General. Is there a problem?"
The man is friendly and smiling, but his two aides are stone-faced.
"We appreciate that you wished to have your guest speak in your place, but the Secretary General cannot get the approval of the General Assembly."
The group of male delegates stand behind the Assistant Secretary General as if they are his bodyguards.
"Why not? I am a delegate."
"And as such, you must get the votes of the majority to allow any guest speaker to address the Assembly. You know why this rule is in the by-laws."
"By-laws? This was all arranged. That's why we are here. I got approval months ago. If I hadn't, we wouldn't be here today."
The man ignores her anger. "Without following these rules, we'd have every member nation inviting unacceptable, controversial, offensive speakers and, in no time at all, we would have no OSA at all. The Assembly cannot allow any guest speakers that are not citizens of the Spanish Americas."
"Excuse me? Why? That is illegal? We have never had such a rule before. We've had foreign guests and speakers before."
Serena steps forward. "Sir, I was born in Venezuela. Has my country been expelled by the OSA? If so, then it will be news to my nation."
"But you are not a sanctioned representative of that country."
"Why do I need Venezuela's permission to speak before the OSA about the crisis of sex-slavery and women in the Spanish Americas?"
"You must be sanctioned by a member country. However, if Mexico sanctions you..."
Serena smiles. "You would like me to do that, wouldn't you? So you could try to sanction Mexico. I know your member states are trying to formally get the Underground Railroad classified as a terrorist organization. I am here as a private citizen and women's advocate."
"It is," a male delegate says.
"What is?" Ms. Fontana asks.
"The Underground Railroad is a terrorist group. I may support most of its activities, but it is still a terrorist group."
"It is certainly not," Fontana snaps at him.
"There wouldn't be an Underground Railroad if any of your governments did their part in the slave wars," Serena adds.
"I take great offense to that," the Assistant Secretary General says. "Brazil leads the way in South America against global slavery."
"Easy to do when no one else is doing anything," she answers back. "Especially a country with so many consumers of illegal sex-slaves."
"That is a slanderous lie and I demand you to retract it!" a diplomat yells.
"Please," the Assistant says to them. "I would point out that no other country in the Spanish Americas does more to root out sex slave traffickers than Brazil. Our military makes attacks and arrests daily."
"The military could wipe it out in a day if it went after the consumers too," another woman angrily says.
The Assistant ignores her and looks at Fontana. "Ms. Fontana, I'm sorry, but I did try."
"I am not even worthy enough for the Secretary General to speak to me directly like a human being."
"You know it's political. He can't be seen with you. It is not personal and you should not take it personally."
"Will any of my party be allowed to address the general assembly?"
"No, Ms. Fontana. We can't allow any."
"What about the atheist women?" Fontana asks.
"None. We allow one, we have to allow all."
"This is an outrage!"
"Take your religious zealots away from here," another man says.
"Religious zealots?" Serena asks. "Are you saying that only religious people care about Spanish Americas' children being snatched into slavery? Is that what you're saying, Mr. Atheist?"
"No, I am not saying that..."
"Or is this a chauvinistic sexist play on your part? They snatch boys and men too, you know. This is the post-pan-sexual world after all. Come to think of it, you have a very plump butt, sir. You'd look nice in some high heels."
The man turns a bright red and a few of his colleagues have to stifle laughs. The man turns and storms off.
"I demand you allow my guest to be heard," Fontana yells at the men.
"Sister Serena," the Assistant Secretary speaks directly to her. "The OSA is against all forms of slavery—labor or sex. That is fact. We will not allow propaganda on the floor of the Assembly to the contrary, and we cannot allow those with questionable credentials to speak before this body."
"Not even international organizations representing the very people of the Spanish Americas?" Fontana asks.
"The Underground Railroad organization, no matter its cause, operates outside of any formal government and outside of international law. It conducts paramilitary operations, not formally sanctioned by any government."
"Rescuing slaves is a dirty business, sir, because you're dealing with dirty people," Serena says.
"Have these men-killers escorted out of the general assembly room. Now! Leave now!" a newly-arrived male delegate yells.
The crowd of men behind the Assistant Secretary grows.
"I may not be here as a formal representative of the Mexican government, but I am a formal representative of the Bishop of New Lerdo, Durango, Mexico and of the New Catholic Order. We are a civilian religious organization separate from the formal government of Mexico...until the next Mexican election."
"What do you mean by that?" the Assistant Secretary asks. "Theocracies are illegal everywhere in the Spanish Americas."
"Too bad narco-governments and their state buffoons are not," Fontana interjects and the men scoff.
"I agree with America and the CHINs on that," the diplomat adds, "not much else, but I agree with religious exclusion for public office. Religious people should not be allowed to hold office. But that is for our courts to decide."
Serena continues, with the men closely paying attention to her. "After the elections, Mexico might see fit to introduce resolutions that any pro-slaver nation—those that legally support the practice and those that participate in the practice—be immediately expelled from the OSA and severe economic sanctions be placed on them."
The men are aghast.
"Such a resolution would never pass the general body," the Assistant Secretary says confidently.
"And if the OSA would not see fit to support such a resolution, then we would call for the complete dissolution of the entire OSA and have it join all the other useless world bodies of the past, such as the League of Nations and the United Nations that either ignored rising evil or were active collaborators. Will I be allowed to speak?"
Assistant Secretary glares at Serena. "No."
"Interesting," Serena says to Fontana. "They give women leadership roles in the anti-slave wars while the men participate on the back end."
"I don't have to stand here and listen to slanders of a religious fanatic."
"Sister Cyclops. Do you know that name?" another man in a white suit speaks up for the first time.
"Who might you be?"
"Why?" the man asks.
"I always like to know the names of the people I know I'll be having problems with in the future."
"I am Mr. Khan, Sister Cyclops," he says.
She walks through the men to him. "Mr. Khan, is it? What is it that you said about the Portuguese language? I heard your talk at one of your surrogate campaign speeches on the road during your president's campaign."
He smiles. "You know me. I said
, it is the true language of the gods. Language is why America was so powerful in the past. Their language became the international language—or I should say the Old British, because America is just an off-shoot of them, as Ancient Rome was an off-shoot of Ancient Greece. They assimilated their empire and renamed everything, but it was the same, just bigger. People speak your language; they become your people without even realizing it."
"What is your actual occupation, Mr. Khan?"
"I'm a linguist by profession, but these days I serve my president in communications."
"A language fascist. Interesting. And if you had your way, you'd erase all that lowly Spanish from the mouths of the Spanish Americas."
"That's not what I said or even implied, nor have I ever said or implied that. To want your own language to be the international language is not fascism."
"I bet you wish we went back to the old term for the Spanish Americas—Latin America, was it? Whatever that was."
"Every person in the world prefers to have their own group supreme above all others. You imaginary god believers are no different. It's amusing that one brainwashed by religious dogma would even use the word fascist."
"Actually, we are different, Mr. Khan. We want to be left alone to live, work, raise our families, worship in peace, and that's it. If you Darwinians and Muslims didn't mess with us, I'd be some obscure person in the outbacks of Venezuela, selling trinkets to tourists along the beach in bright red dresses during the week and worshiping, singing, and dancing in church on Sundays. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I am who I am today because of your people, Mr. Khan." She smiles. "Look at that, Mr. Khan. You're like a god. You created something—the new; us. Now you're upset what you created is better and smarter than you. If you had stopped interfering with the people of the Hebrew Bible, you would already be at the top of the food chain. Ironic, isn't it?"
Khan is not amused by her. She can see the contempt in his eyes.
"Innocent people being kidnapped and forced into sex slavery and labor slavery. Modern abolitionists not being allowed to speak before government bodies about it. It's my fellow religious dogmatic cultists rescuing these women and boys. What are your godless cultists doing about it? Should we ask these victims and their families which cult they prefer? You're a presidential staffer. Commission a national poll and let's find out."
Pure Conspiracy (The After Eden Series): The Genesis of World War III Page 5
