by Trevor Wyatt
And given how strong my heart is and all, that’s a fucking pretty big deal.
No-One
The main worship hall is a large room filled with benches made of wood. It has a very antiquated setting with the benches numbering in the several hundred and arranged in a concentric fashion. At the epicenter of the hall is a wide space where the High Cleric stands working the bomb.
It’s a chemical bomb with three giant cylinders. Two of which are filled with bubbling liquids—one red, the other blue. These two cylinders feed at the same rate into the center cylinder. As the two liquids mix, they form of yellow pasty liquid that’s boiling. There’s a timer that I can read with my nanites. I have about five minutes before the third cylinder is filled up and the whole temple is blasted.
I check my body. The drug agents are already wearing off my system. All pains have vanished. I feel sore in several parts of my body, but I’ll live. I flex my knee. There’s still a mild pain there, but it’s nothing that should deteriorate my abilities.
I’m not sure the High Cleric has seen me. If he has, he sure hasn’t shown any sign of it. He’s so focused on the machine.
I check my gun. It has about forty percent charge. It should be enough to disable the High Cleric. Really, it’s not like monks get training in advanced weapon duels.
I walk to the nearest aisle and advance towards the center of the worship hall, gun leading. Three steps down and I walk past an invisible sound barrier. I pause. Now I understand why the High Cleric hasn’t noticed the ruckus I made. Also, he’s been so busy tweaking that bomb of his that he hasn’t looked up in a while.
“It’s over, Szaad,” I yell, my voice echoing three times.
Szaad’s head snaps up, his regal robes ruffling. His slits extend, and he has that deer in the head lights look on his face. His gaze then shifts to the foremost bench, where a laser rifle sits.
Before I can say anything, he rushes to it and hefts it up. I leap into motion, racing towards the center of the hall. However, I am too far to get to him before he has the gun up and aiming at me.
I dive into another section of benches. A massive onslaught of laser fire blast through the air, where I had just vacated. I roll up to a squat and pick my way through the debris of broken pew. I maintain a zigzag motion as the laser blast wreaks havoc all around me.
One thing I have going for me besides Szaad’s erratic aim is his fear. I saw it in his eyes. He’s afraid of what my presence here means for his plans. He’s thrown off, and men who are thrown off often make mistakes easily—like shooting up the most sacred place in the Temple.
I instinctively cower with my hands on my head as a series of blasts slice through the air above me, splintering a rank of benches near me.
I leap out of my current position as the Cleric’s aim focuses on there. I roll on landing, coming up to my knee and rearing my head one more time. I aim and fire, then I dive again.
The Cleric lets out a yelp of pain, but he’s still alive as several lashes of laser fire rake all around me. I stay put, shutting my eyes and hoping I don’t get hit. It’s all I can do because I’m pinned down.
“You can’t stop me!” he shouts before roaring loudly and letting hell loose. The benches blow up in flames, and I dare not move lest his aim focus on me.
The sound is deafening, yet my heart pounds in my ears so loud I fear my heart may beat right out of my chest.
If I remain in my current position, one of the Cleric’s erratic shots will find me eventually, as I realize that he’s playing for time. If I move, I may make it out alive and maybe get off a shot to throw him off. I decide to take my shot with moving.
I raise my gun and let loose a short burst of gunfire in the Cleric’s direction. For a brief moment, I’m not being shot at. I use this opportunity to shoot to my feet and leap into the air. I am sailing through the air, several yards above the Cleric.
Shocked, the Cleric only looks at me, unsure why a Terran is so high up in the air. Nanites, bitch! I let loose a hail of stun shots on the Cleric. They all gather on his midsection, sending him flying across the hall. I land with a squat and straighten up. I run towards the machine.
The timer is at less than one minutes. Off to the right, the Cleric has somehow survived the stun and is writhing in his crash site.
“You can’t stop it,” he moans, “it’s too late.”
Blood is rushing at an incredible speed through my ears. I try for the next thirty seconds to try and disarm it. I’m no bomb expert, so I look for anything remotely resembling an “off” button.
All I see are wiring, tubes, a detonator and a fuse box. The rest of the bomb is hidden in the stand, which is a black box that I suppose is resistant to blaster shots. I notice that everything used to make the bomb is Terran materials that can only be gotten from within Terran space.
I realize that this is the conspiracy. Blow up the Temple and set up the Terran Union to take the fall. Crafty, even for a Sonali.
“It’s over, Terran,” he says coldly. “This bomb will go off, and they will blame it on the Terran Union.”
I check the timer: ten seconds.
I take three quick steps back, raise my gun—execution-style, with one foot before the other—aim at the middle cylinder and squeeze the trigger. A barrage of laser shots slices through the cylinder. It explodes, a ball of orange expanding through the air. I don’t feel the heat first. A concussion wave plucks me from where I’m standing and hauls me halfway through the back.
I crash into pieces of splinter and ash. I remain there, hovering on the brink of a concussion. My nanites leap into action, repairing my body.
I pick myself from the floor, covering my eyes with my arm and coughing. A thick smoke has filled the entire hall. It’s dark and putrid. I hear the air conditioner whine as it begins to clean up the air.
I make my way cautiously to the center even while the air is still clearing up. I see the entire top of the bomb has been destroyed. Only the black base remains, though its cap has melted and destroyed much of the inner circuitry.
It’s not the most technical means of disarming a bomb, but shooting up the reaction cylinder was the most effective way to prevent the liquids from reaching critical mass and triggering a massive explosion that could have taken down the temple.
I look around. There are scorch marks everywhere around the center. Well, they won’t be using this hall anytime soon.
I walk towards Szaad. He was out of the radius of the blast, but the concussion had hit him and sent him farther away.
He’s barely conscious when I crouch over his limp form, flash one of my deadliest smiles, and say, “It is over, Sonali,” I whisper gravely. “I destroyed the bomb. I stopped you. Now tell me why?”
A look of dismay comes over his face before he blacks out.
No-One
The smoke from the blast has left ash particles floating in the air all the way up to the ceiling, such that it is now coated in black. It’s an unusually large amount of soot for an explosion, but this is a chemical-based explosive that I dealt with. I’m not sure the air is even safe to breathe.
I walk away from the center to the nearest section of benches that are still intact. Looking around, I see that a third of the main worship hall has been ruined. Splinters of wood and blocks of granite litter the place. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this place was a war-torn area.
I relax into one of the benches, wondering what’s next. I think I’ve untangled the conspiracy. The man responsible for the death of the Noble Yanik and the mastermind behind the entire conspiracy is lying unconscious before me. That ought to be the end.
Nevertheless, I can’t shake off the feeling that I may be missing something. I have taught myself to always depend on that feeling, whenever it presents itself because I have found that it was always right.
But what could I be missing?
I stretch my legs and kick away some of the rubble. I look up and around. The architecture in this
room is quite exquisite. The sharp angles seem to sing and connote something extraterrestrial and spiritual.
I’ve never really been a spiritual person. Religion hasn’t really been much of a driving force in humanity ever since the end of the Third World War. It’s something about blowing up untold masses of people in a nuclear fire that made people turn away from an all-powerful deity. There are pockets of it. And it’s growing. But First Contact and the Earth-Sonali War may have changed that forever.
Besides, I never really did like anything I couldn’t feel, touch and see. Spirituality required a lot of make belief and faith than I was ready to believe. Joining the Armada Intelligence Service only made me more suspicious of the otherworldly realm.
My belief is simple. While you’re in the world—this physical plain—make the most of it. Even if there were an afterlife, what makes you think you’d do better there if you didn’t do well here? Perhaps, maybe doing well here was the determinant of if you even had an afterlife.
Personally, I believe that death is it. That’s the final button. There’s no other door and the end of that hallway. The moment you die, you die. No life after death for death is the absolute cessation of life. And death is the end of all things, including existence and the universe at the Big Crunch.
Religion, nevertheless, is a good thing. The universe can be a very cruel place. It can be very wicked and twistedly evil. People needed to believe in something other than the vanity that seems to pervade many worlds. People needed hope, even if it is falsely veiled. Religion provides that veil, and as far as this provision is concerned, Religion is good.
Religion, however, can be so powerful that it forgives the most unforgivable of acts. In the early twentieth century of human evolution, some of the most terrible offenses were conducted by religious extremists. Alas, this problem is not limited to humankind.
Through the dimness, I can see Szaad’s form in the rubble. As I stare at him, I see the same vicious cycle that runs in the many worlds that have a sacred religion that’s beyond the influence of a government.
High Cleric Szaad, who is supposed to be the light to the faithful of the Sonali religion has himself yielded to the elixir of power that corrupts and has taken upon himself the responsibilities of God to destroy the Temple. I know if he’s questioned, his defense would be that he heard it from God.
I may be skeptical about religion. I am not, however, skeptical about god. Simply because there is no god. There is only science and technology…and power. We are the gods. We determine what happens in the universe. We take full responsibility for our actions. Us, not some God somewhere.
I heave a deep sigh and crane my neck to look all the way to the back. The stone door leading into the main worship hall was destroyed in the firefight. I call up my nanites and use them to zoom in so that I am now looking through the corridor that leads to the landing of the stairs. It’s deserted.
“Computer, check the building’s statue, will you?” I say aloud, my voice echoing back to me.
“Complying…” comes the computer’s reply in my ears.
“The Temple has been evacuated,” the computer replies. “You are currently the only inhabitant of the Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine.”
I know I told them to leave the main worship hall. I didn’t realize they’d leave me all by myself. It would be sadly self-centered of the Sonali if it wasn’t so damn hilarious. They probably figured Terrans should die trying to clean up the mess made by a Sonali. Well, guess what? Right back at them. Ha!
“Computer, what’s the status of the integrity of the Temple?” I ask.
“Checking…”
“While you’re doing that, connect me to Armada Intelligence Operations Command via remote slipstream for an emergency status update meeting. I want to talk to the Director himself.”
“Affirmative.”
Seconds later, I hear, “The Temple is structurally sound. The blast did not damage any of the foundational structure. I should inform you that the cops have set up a one-kilometer wide perimeter around the Temple.”
“Are they planning on moving in?” I ask.
“Not yet,” the computer replies. “They have orders to only prevent people from going in until you die in the collapse of the Temple or come out a hero.”
“I like the sound of coming out a hero,” I say with a smile.
“Live slipstream link to the Director of Terran Armada Intelligence Service Operations Command, Admiral Shane Pierce has been established. Please activate your portable holographic device.”
I pull out a small cube from my pocket, walk about three yards away and set the thing on the nearest stable pile of rubble.
I return back to my seat and say, “Put him through.”
A thin blue light shoots out of the cube before spreading in all directions to form the projection of a conference room.
Sitting at the head of the table is Admiral Shane, a muscular man in a boxy face and a charming spray of white hair. He’s in his mid-fifties and has a distinguishing career in Intelligence. There are a couple of other agents—all in the top management of TAISOC. The cube projects in such a way that I’m right at the other end of the conference room, which is unfilled in the projection.
Admiral Shane, who is now able to see my surrounding, looks surprised.
“Are you well, No One?” he asks.
“Well as can be, sir,” I reply.
“What’s your location?” he asks.
“I’m currently in the Temple of the Sacred Combine,” I reply. “It’s like the Holy of Holies of the Sonali. It is strictly forbidden for a non-Sonali to come upon its grounds, talk less of walking its main worship hall.”
“And you are there how?” he asks.
“By trying to save their sorry asses is how, boss,” I reply.
“Is it safe to talk?” he asks. “Aren’t there people lurking around?”
“Computer says I’m the only one around,” I say.
Satisfied with the initial round of questions, the TAISOC director says, “Okay, go ahead and tell us what’s happened.”
“So, you all know about the Origin Movement and the Pro-Ascension opposition?” I start. “Well, it turns out that the High Cleric of the Temple is not so concerned about the cultural differences than he is about Terrans.
“His plan was to blow up the Temple with a supposedly Terran manufactured and planted device. The plan was to blame the Terrans for bombing the most sacred building in Sonali and therefore spark an outrage against us, thereby seeing diplomatic ties severed and a possible regress back into a state of war.”
I let all the information I’ve just given them sink. I see someone in the background take notes on a tablet, while others nod, mauling over what I told them.
“Why would he want such a thing?” Admiral Shane asks. “We haven’t influenced them in any way. We aren’t stopping them from being who they are. We certainly aren’t coming to their worlds and taking their jobs like they are coming to ours and causing all sorts of troubles for us. No One, you should remember Lucien Parker, you’re the one who brought him down.”
I nod my acquiescence. “You’re wrong sir,” I say.
“How so?” Admiral Shane asks, without taking any offense at my impudence. Well, we go way back.
“The Origin Movement is basically inspired by us,” I say.
“I didn’t know we could inspire such a movement,” says one of the members in the room.
Everyone laughs, I included.
“Well, we did,” I continue. “The Terran Union. Humanity.”
Admiral Shane looks at me as I continue.
“Our entire culture is built on free will and self-determination, and it flies right in the face of Ascension for the Sonali. We let our people choose what they want to do with their lives, including how they wish to live it. We don’t judge based on personal decisions a person makes. The idea is anathema to the traditionalist Sonali, but it’s something that the younger generation is la
tching on to.”
“And the best way he thought to stop us is to destroy his temple and pin it on us?” Shane asks incredulously.
I nod.
“Well, that’s just bad,” he replies. “Was it a suicide bombing attempt or was he planning on getting away?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” I reply. “I caught him in the act of setting the bomb to go off. By the time I accosted him, he started firing on me. I can’t be sure he had an escape route.”
“Was there a timer?” asks another person.
“Yes,” I reply before I realize the reason for the question.
“That’s your answer, Commander,” Admiral Shane says. “He planned to escape. If not, he’d have just detonated the blasted thing, giving his life in the process and letting the authorities pick the remnants and body parts and figure that it was the Terrans who did it.”
I think about it for a moment.
“I suppose so, sir,” I accede. “In the heat of the moment, I didn’t have time to think through his future plans. He had a rifle, and I had a pistol.”
“You’re an excellent agent, No One,” Admiral Shane says. “Nobody is disputing that. We just need you to know that this might not be over. Hell, it may actually be very far from completion.”
And as though to support his point, my computer quips in my ears. It’s the kind that means there’s an emergency somewhere. It only really happened during the war. It’s the kind I have to respond to even if I’m in the President’s office or in the arms of my lover.
“Put meeting on hold,” I subvocalize and the projection freezes.
“Computer, go ahead,” I say.
“Reports coming in indicate that all over the Capital Grid,” the calm voice says to me. “Alert level Alpha. Native population is displaying signs of en masse asphyxiation...”
Well, there’s just one word to describe this day.
Shitty.
Master Merchant Byuren
“It’s almost over,” I mutter to myself.
