by Mike Luoma
"Because you represent his opposite number in at least one regard,” BC informs the pontiff. “You are the NcC's religious head, as he is the UIN's. But he is also the political head of the UIN, and so he regards DeMag as his political equivalent. I think Salid views this as a political conference with religious overtones. You need to be here to witness and be included, but the real give and take will be between the UIN and the UTZ," BC tells him, boiling it down for the pope.
"Okay," Linus says. "So he's really here to see DeMag. Fine. I will still be at the table, and I will not be slighted, do you hear me Campion?" Pope Linus wags a finger at BC. One of the pope’s assistants interrupts with a communiqué for the pope from the Vatican. The pope looks over the tablet and okays whatever the communiqué requests with his thumbprint. Something on the tablet makes the pope laugh a small laugh.
“You’re not a superstitious man, are you, Campion?” Pope Linus asks him.
“Superstitious?” BC asks. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Do you know what tomorrow is?”
“Friday?” BC guesses. “The start of our future? A new beginning?”
“Tomorrow is Friday the Thirteenth,” The Pope tells BC. “People used to think it was unlucky.”
Great. Cursed by superstition from the outset, just my bad luck…
“I’m glad to hear you’re not superstitious,” The pope says. “As a follower of Jesus Christ, you shouldn’t believe any of that poppycock anyway!”
“Yesssir!” BC says.
Poppycock?
"I want to see DeMag tonight,” the pope tells him. “Before tomorrow's proceedings get underway. Please arrange it, won't you? Thank you, Campion. You’ll let me know when we'll meet with DeMag, won’t you?”
BC nods.
"Good,” Linus says. He turns his back on BC.
So... it's like that. Fine. Off I go, holy rollin' errand boy. So, Mr. DeMag, let me introduce you to his holiness Pope Linus...
BC sets off to set up the requested meeting.
The next three days are a blur for BC, meetings upon meetings: Pope Linus meets with DeMag, DeMag and the Pope meet with Ayatollah Salid, Salid and DeMag meet alone, then with their staffs, then with Linus and his staff. BC is sometimes involved, sometimes left outside the doors to ponder what the three men inside are discussing.
Governor Erskine has an undefined role as an objective observer, either involved or excluded depending on some unspoken agreement between the primaries involved in the talks. Eventually, Erskine's help as a mediator is enlisted, as agreements begin to be hammered out. She seems to be level headed enough to deal with the large issues and even larger egos. The grinding monotony of the sessions hurts BC’s head. He’s glad of Erskine’s expertise and help. The meetings grind on, but by Sunday there are some results. BC takes one result personally. As a goodwill gesture, Pope Linus has offered to officially and permanently dismantle the OPO, and the offer has been accepted and agreed upon.
Other news coming out of the conference is more positive. Ayatollah Salid and Chairman DeMag commit to a business agreement between the UIN and the UTZ: The UTZ will assist the UIN with the terraforming of Mars.
Salid admits their own terraforming efforts have not been as fruitful as hoped, and says the UIN
welcomes the assistance of UTZ technology and know-how.
They hash out free trade and free travel and visitation zones around the ruins of Jerusalem and Mecca, and the official reopening of Medina to UIN visitation. Some UIN citizens will even be granted temporary residency to cater to the needs of UIN visitors.
Salid and DeMag paint the broad strokes, and then the career diplomats take over to hash out the details.
At the end of the third day, DeMag and Pope Linus ask Al Salid to stop calling the entire Earth Mecca. On this point, Salid refuses to budge. The conference grinds to a halt. BC is in on the meeting where the line is drawn.
“We have, on both sides, agreed to many things,” Al Salid observes. “But this we cannot agree to. Let us end here for now, this time. We will sign the agreements we have made, but we will not agree to this.”
"Essentially, calling all of Earth 'Mecca' means they want the whole world," Pope Linus observes for everyone's benefit.
“When Mecca was destroyed, the Earth became Mecca,” Al Salid says in a “simple as that” tone. “We do not desire the whole world. The world belongs to Allah, not to any man.”
DeMag is a considerate man, a good listener and careful decision maker. He's about 6'2", gray hair, and medium build.
Average UTZ management unit number 3... He is pretty average. But it takes someone with an even keel to deal with the Ayatollah. Ha! And Wentworth, for that matter!
I'm sure Wentworth has approved each of these concessions.
Oh, he's talking...
"Yes. We've been more than accommodating," DeMag says. "If you won't let go of that 'Earth as Mecca' position, there's not much more we can do for now. We’ll sign the agreements made so far,”
DeMag promises. “But this is a major sticking point, Ayatollah. We won't give up Earth! We won't." He shakes his head.
DeMag pauses, gathering his thoughts. Al Salid simply looks on.
"Look,” DeMag continues. “Many of us see that, certainly, as human beings, you have some claim to Earth, but not as a political group. Or as a religious group set on the persecution of others!"
“Well, then,” Salid says. “If that is how you see it… I’m afraid we can go no further, for now.” Salid stands up from the table. “But we have accomplished some things this weekend, have we not?” The ayatollah steps away from the table. “Have the documents sent to me on Mars and I will sign them into UIN law. Thank you,” he says, with a slight bow of his head. He leaves the room followed by a trail of staffers.
“I told you it would be the sticking point,” DeMag says to Erskine, BC and Pope Linus. He bundles his belongings together and hands them off to an underling. “Make sure they get the documents back to me on my station,” he says to BC. “I’ll sign them there,” he says. “Well, it’s something, I guess.” He leaves the table and the room, followed by his staffers. Governor Erskine follows him out of the room. BC is left sitting with Pope Linus and the Vatican group.
“That went well,” BC says, sarcasm dripping off his words.
“You got some things done,” Pope Linus says to BC, “the business deals, the terraforming. There were some accomplishments. You’ve done well, Ambassador! You just need to keep plugging away!”
“Right,” BC answers, “sure, but… why me?”
“Because… we have to assume God has put you in the right place, at the right time for a reason, Campion!” Pope Linus says with a flourish.
He gets up from the table and leads his staffers out of the room. BC is left sitting alone at the table. And that's that, then... conference over.
The next morning the groups make ready to leave Lunar Prime. Hands are shaken and pictures taken, and there are assurances and agreements made. The news media eat up the photo ops and the conference looks like it went better than BC feels it really did.
BC sees the guests off along with Governor Erskine and a group of LSC. He smiles and waves, but in the end BC feels disappointed with the results of the conference.
Guess maybe Friday the Thirteenth was unlucky… but things didn’t really fall apart until Sunday the Fifteenth, so go figure.
Are there any superstitions about Monday the Sixteenth? I think I may just crawl back into bed and avoid any possible unluckiness the rest of today…
BC gazes out a window and contemplates the conference's end results. He watches as the Pope's, DeMag's and the Ayatollah's ships drift off away from Lunar Prime, each carrying its precious diplomatic cargo home.
I guess I hoped with the major players finally all at the table together something more would happen, we'd make major strides toward peace or something... Well, we did end up with more than we started with. UIN people will be visitin
g Earth to worship, UTZ people will be visiting Mars to help terraform.
And there will be no more OPO.
I think Linus threw that in there just to feel included.
Now everyone goes home.
What next?
It bothers me we set no date for the next conference. But I couldn’t pull the same stunt twice. Patience, I guess.
Everyone heads home. Al Salid arrives on Mars and signs the agreements, allowing the UTZ news media to cover the signing. DeMag’s return to his station is in the news as well. He looks ill and sniffles as he lands on his station, but he smiles and signs the agreements after landing, and UIN media are allowed to cover it.
The two signings get most of the news coverage. The pope’s return to the Vatican gets minimal attention. BC finds himself pulled back into the day-to-day operations of the Vatican Mission on the Moon as the week goes on. But Thursday, the third day after the conference, strange news hits. Odd things begin happening.
DeMag grows more ill after he returns to his station. The news media on Thursday report that DeMag has been rushed to Earth for treatment. He disappears into a private hospital. Rumors fly that many of DeMag’s people are also sick. The UTZ refuses to comment on DeMag or any of his entourage’s condition.
BC has been fending off the news media’s questions about the weekend all week, but on Thursday their questions change from conference analysis to health questions. Is he all right? Feeling Ill? Sniffles?
Anything?
BC tells them he’s fine. He sees on the news that the media are bothering the conference’s other participants as well. Governor Erskine is fine. The Vatican is offering no comment. The UIN has once again closed up, with no broadcasts from the UIN media and no word on Al Salid’s health. What is going on?
Do they think DeMag picked up a bug here on the Moon? At the conference? Could someone have slipped him something?
BC tries to contact Wentworth for news, but he doesn’t hear anything back from him. There’s no word from Pope Linus or the Vatican, either, despite BC’s repeated attempts. And here I thought we’d bridged some gaps… still no love for BC from Rome, I guess…
There does seem to be a bug going around Lunar Prime, a flu bug. Not everyone catches this bug, but those who do are debilitated by it, forced into bed rest. BC is thankful when the symptoms pass him by, especially given his proximity to DeMag during the conference. Ten cases of the “flu” are reported on Lunar Prime by the week’s end.
BC visits a sick member of his congregation on Saturday, says the Mass on Sunday, and waits for word from Wentworth or the Vatican throughout the weekend, to no avail.
Wentworth finally calls BC on Thursday, a week after BC called him.
"Campion, did you hear about poor DeMag?"
"Still sick?" BC asks.
He must be over the flu by now. It’s a week later.
"He's dead," Wentworth delivers the news.
"Dead? Jeesh. He just had the sniffles..."
“Chairman DeMag got the ‘sniffles’ while at the conference. He developed flu-like symptoms on his flight home to his station. His doctors had him rushed to Earth to the hospital. His condition quickly deteriorated. He was dead within days. Some of his staff are sick as well, quarantined off. Are you sick?
Is anyone there sick? Anyone on Lunar Prime?" Wentworth asks him.
“Yeah, there’re about ten people sick here with that ‘flu’ on Lunar Prime,” BC tells him. “Are you saying they should be quarantined? It’s deadly? What’s going on?”
“DeMag is dead, Campion, that’s what’s going on! That he caught this ‘flu’ at your conference is no coincidence! Someone infected him on purpose, I’m sure of it.”
“Wait a minute, Wentworth,” BC says, shaking his head. “Are you suggesting the UIN did this to him?
Bio-terrorism?”
“I’m not the only one suggesting this is the work of the UIN. The doctors who took care of DeMag and his people say this bug isn’t really the ‘flu’ as you call it. They’re suggesting this could be a man made virus of some kind. They don’t know what it is, yet, though. Not really.”
Great. The doctors don’t know what this is? I’m glad I didn’t catch it! At least I haven’t yet.
“Well, at least you’ve got the rest of them quarantined…” BC says.
“Too little, too late, Campion,” Wentworth says. “Even though you aren’t sick, you were exposed to the illness. You could be a carrier,” he tells BC. “Everyone at the conference could be a carrier. DeMag and his people all mingled with the crowd in the Lunar Prime spaceport. Anyone traveling out of there could be a carrier. And we haven’t been able to get any word from the Vatican in the last week. We don’t know if anyone from their delegation got sick… but they all could have carried the sickness to back to Earth when they returned.”
“You mean this could be big? Bigger than DeMag?” BC asks.
“We fear the worst,” Wentworth says. “It could be an outbreak of a biological contagion, a weapon. There are reports of isolated flu outbreaks on Earth, but we don’t know yet if they’re connected,”
Wentworth tells BC. “What about you? Any word from the Pope?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything from him, but that’s not unusual. You know that.”
“Right,” Wentworth says. “Keep me informed.” Wentworth signs off.
Two days later, everything changes. People are getting sick, all over Earth. Some are sick on the orbital stations.
Some people are dying.
Sick people on Lunar Prime have died, now, too.
The plague begins like a common head cold, with sniffles and coughing. A temperature soon follows as the plague mimics the flu. The plague then breaks down terminally differentiated tissue, impairing the body’s ability to repair itself on a cellular level.
This is when the plague becomes truly destructive. The body begins to rot from the inside out. The plague victim’s cells lose the ability to repair and regenerate, and the body’s tissues begin to break down into an undifferentiated cellular goo.
The kidneys usually fail first, followed quickly by the liver, the nervous system, the lungs, and the heart. It only takes a week from the first sneeze to the last, raspy breath.
BC hasn’t heard from Earth, nothing from Vatican City. But he does hear from Richard Wentworth again, on Saturday. Wentworth sounds almost panicked:
"Campion! What's the word on the sickness on Lunar Prime?" he demands without introduction.
"We have about a hundred people sick. They're quarantined. A couple of sick people have died," he tells him.
Wentworth goes off, “On Earth, people have been getting sick at an alarming rate!” He shakes his head.
“No one on my station is sick. Yet. I’m fine myself. But we’re crossing our fingers. And we’re going to keep our doors closed. Everyone is guessing it's some kind of biological weapon, used on DeMag by the UIN at the conference. That's the common buzz on the street, at any rate. It's some kind of epidemic, but our researchers are a long way from figuring out what it is and how it's spread. Or where it came from,”
Wentworth says. “We're sealing our station. I suggest Lunar Prime do the same. I'll tell Erskine that myself," Wentworth declares. "They'll pay, I swear it!"
"You're sure it was them?" BC asks Wentworth. "The UIN?" Wentworth pauses. "No. Not ‘sure’ sure. There's no proof or evidence yet. Just people dying!
“Do you know how many people pass through a major port, Campion? Who then travel to other ports?
And so on and so on... this thing is everywhere on Earth already, Campion! After DeMag and his delegation passed through, and the Pope and his people... it’s everywhere down there. Already!”
"Everywhere? Have you heard yet if the Pope is sick?" BC asks.
“Not that I’ve heard, but who knows? I’d expect you’d know that before I would.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. I still haven’t heard anything from the Vatican since Thurs
day,” BC admits.
"Anyway,” Wentworth says. “We have no choice but to seal off our station!"
"That seems like a drastic move. What if you’ve been exposed?" BC cautions.
"Necessary!" Wentworth insists. “I’m fine. One of my people got sick. They left for Earth yesterday. Otherwise the station is fine. No one is sick on my station.”
“Oh, I see. If you’re sick, leave! And no one comes in. How humane of you. Think that’ll keep you safe?”
“I can try. I’m recommending all our stations do it. You should, too. I’ll talk to Erskine,” he says, signing off.
Wentworth issues a statement for the UTZ orbital holdings later that day, declaring the orbital stations off limits to traffic from Earth. Two days later, Governor Erskine announces Lunar Prime will not accept traffic from Earth.
BC watches her make the announcement on the news. None of the news is good. The number of people sick on Earth is easily one billion, now. There are at least five hundred sick on the Moon. The numbers for the orbital stations are unknown, and communication with many of them is spotty at best. What about Mars? The UIN? There’s no word… but why would they tell us if they were getting sick?
Would they really do this to us?
Erskine had no choice but to seal us off, too… It may be too late for us, anyway. Everyone is suddenly living in fear of getting the sniffles. Funny. I feel fine! Well, not funny... good. But funny because I was there, with DeMag, for much of the conference. BC's com is going off.
Priority message from Earth, from the Vatican! Pope Linus? Finally. He hasn't replied... but that's normal for him...
BC checks his collar in the mirror then turns on the communicator's full mode to face an older woman in a Cardinal's red.
"Ambassador Campion?" She asks, sounding surprised.
Yeah, I know, sometimes I'm still surprised...
"Yes," BC answers, "I'm Father Campion."
"I'm Cardinal Terpa of the Curia, Father. We have some bad news. Pope Linus has taken ill, and appears to be on the verge of dying from the current unknown epidemic, the one that killed Mr. DeMag, who met with the Pope just days ago. Just before he became sick," she says, trying to get it all out at once.
