It became a sort of game among the four Somerville delegates to try to identify who among the attendees were mortals and who were immortals, as they had come to speak of the Jerusalem worshippers. Clearly, the majority of the people in the meetings were just like Pete and Rodney, mere mortals. However, a significant number of the immortals had facilitated the meeting of delegates. No doubt remained regarding Jerusalem’s approval of this congress. All the questions focused instead on how much space Jerusalem would afford the mortals in shaping their own government.
Most of the delegates clung loyally to their towns, counties and states like one guards an old family home. They gladly conceded Jerusalem to the new King. As far as they were concerned, he could have the entire Middle East, if he wanted. Rodney, and a minority of other delegates, on the other hand, understood that, if the one on the throne in Jerusalem was who his followers claimed, then he intended to rule more than just a small fraction of the world. This underlying question toppled all other agenda items from the very start, which made the presence of so many of the immortals uncomfortable to most of the delegates.
Thus, the first vote advanced by the provisional chairperson of the congress asked whether the immortals should be allowed entry to the meeting hall. Debate over this point introduced the tenor and scope of what would follow.
Fourteen speakers won the opportunity to address this issue, including one of the immortals who would speak as a guest of the congress, not a voting member. This allowance, decided by the organizers, caused a great stir in some corners of the room and a group of twenty western delegates stormed out when the chairperson announced it.
Rodney and his three friends thought this great expulsion of energy wasteful, given the very preliminary nature of the question. However, after some shouting from the floor, side meetings among the organizers, and a decision among the immortals, the fourteenth speaker withdrew from the agenda. Only mortals would be allowed to speak in the official meetings. This conclusion seemed unnecessary to Rodney, but he felt no compulsion to protest. He had learned not to worry about the immortals. They could take care of themselves and would suffer no loss from being banished from the gathering. The only question remained how much the mortals lost by excluding the representatives of Jerusalem.
The thirteen remaining speakers were divided nearly evenly in three parts. First, those who fully embraced the Kingdom in Jerusalem and believed that the King actually was Jesus, second, those who felt no ill-will toward Jerusalem, as long as it stayed out of their affairs, and, finally, those who were highly suspicious of the Jerusalem people, still speaking of them as “aliens.” From the presentations they heard, it seemed that this division correlated, in part, to a delegate’s level of direct exposure to the immortals. Another obvious factor was the loss of children to the ruler in Jerusalem.
Sara listened to the whole debate and commented to Pete and Rodney, “This must be what it was like for those small Latin American countries when we were children, having to think about what their relationship was to the U. S. before even starting any kind of policy debate of their own.”
Of all the speeches, one by a former schoolteacher from Kansas incited the rawest and catalytic response. In part, she said, “Does it really matter where they come from, or who they are? What matters most is who we are. We are Americans. We fought and bled for this land. This is our land. We fought and bled for freedom and we must not give that freedom away to any power, to any king. Let the revolutionary spirit of this nation not be quenched by religious fanaticism or deception. Let the liberty that is our birthright not be taken away from us by any throne or any lie. We are free Americans and we will stay free Americans as long as we have breath in our lungs. Let every enemy of that freedom beware, that America is alive and well and ready to expel any invader, any conqueror, who would try to take our sovereignty away from us.”
Hundreds of delegates stood and cheered, full-voiced and waving fists in the air. Hundreds of others stood and applauded uncertainly, stirred by the patriotism that pumped through those words, but disturbed by its prospects in the current world. No one jeered at the patriotic declaration, or shouted curses, or threw objects in protest, but hundreds did stay in their seats, arms folded, heads shaking, at the voice of what seemed an historical anachronism.
Could a body so divided effectively govern any country? Could it rise above these deep differences, to rebuild a nation out of twisted metal and crater-pocked pavement? It seemed doubtful to Rodney.
That night, in their hotel, the four from Somerville sat drinking and discussing the opening day of the congress. Rodney watched for signs that Pete or Will might be persuaded to support the rebels against the King in Jerusalem, but they remained in that nearly neutral group in the middle, their hearts cauterized against the full-blooded patriotism that seemed a relic of a buried civilization.
Will summarized a question that had not been openly addressed from the podium that day: “What we’ve seen from the immortals is a government with global reach and superhuman powers, one that seems fully capable of squashing any resistance. Yet all they’ve done is disable some weapons and begin rebuilding all the things we rely on for a civilized life. Does it not occur to those folks stirring up a rebellion that resistance may not only be futile, it may be impossible? How are you going to fight against people you can’t kill? Can you even plan a revolt without them knowing everything you say and think?”
Rodney relayed those questions further forward: “Maybe the hardliners doubt the power of their enemy, but they’re not open to any doubt about the King’s oppressive intentions? I mean, is it possible that some of the rebels know how useless it is to resist and are driven by the desperation of that realization? Are we basically dealing with cornered animals here?”
Sara intervened in the speculation. “You know, the only way to get answers is to go to the source. We should spread out tomorrow, get to know some of those folks and find out what’s going on inside their heads.”
“You mean infiltrate?” Pete teased, having had a bit too much to drink. “That sounds fun. But if you can’t find me, look for me hanging by a rope from one of the trees outside the Civic Center.”
The other three barely laughed at Pete’s dark humor, though they understood his point. Depending on the core temperature of the opposition’s desperation, infiltration might be dangerous. They agreed, however, to go ahead with the plan and to do so with tact and sobriety. Pete recognized the dig in that last point and excused himself to go sleep off his liquor.
The morning of the second day of the congress, Rodney managed to connect a mobile phone call to Emma. His attempts the day before had failed. Given the ragged state of the infrastructure from one end of the country to the other, Emma had not assumed any other reason for Rodney’s silence. She welcomed his call with bright humor, in spite of feeling slightly sick that morning. “Just something I ate, maybe,” she said. “I don’t even feel so much sick as sort of not myself. Must be a hormone thing.” She tried to assure Rodney, when he sounded concerned.
After saying goodbye to Emma, Rodney’s mind fidgeted anxiously regarding Emma’s health issues. When they arrived at the congress early that morning and had time to sit and read some of the documentation of the previous day’s speeches, he kept feeling the pull of that anxiety, until he finally identified the reason. He had not seen anyone sick since the arrival of the new Kingdom. That thought shadowed him the rest of the day.
When more of the delegates had arrived, the four from Somerville carried out their plan, taking seats around the periphery of the section where most of the anti-Jerusalem members had been sitting the previous day. True to human nature, the same delegates gathered there again. They spoke openly with each other about their agenda.
Rodney sat, pretending to read, listening to one man spouting about Jerusalem’s violation of basic human freedom. When Rodney looked up, he realized that one of the delegates listening to the opinionated speaker was a former officer in the resista
nce that he had met in Texas. Here he found a premium opportunity to gather information.
Standing up and looking straight at the former officer, whose name he was still trying to remember, Rodney shuffled free from the seats and wound through the standing delegates, until he could speak face to face with his old acquaintance. The other man noticed Rodney’s interest and seemed to be working through the same memory issue when Rodney reached him.
“You fought in Texas, right?” the man said to Rodney. His ruddy skin, muscular neck and light, short-cropped hair, distinguished him from many of the civilians around him.
Rodney smiled, a genuine smile and said, “Yes, Sir, Rodney Stippleman, from Iowa.” He offered his hand.
His fellow officer shook his hand vigorously and said, “Darrel Maxwell, from Oklahoma.”
“Was it Major Maxwell?” Rodney asked, sorting through his memory. “You were with General Hawlsey, right?”
“That’s right,” the Major said. “And you were on that raid near Dallas that spooked the chipsters into retreating back to the city. I remember that, for sure.”
Rodney nodded. “I was just glad to live to fight another day,” he said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” said the Major. “Seems like we got another fight on our hands right here.”
Rodney smiled, trying to stay noncommittal and maintain some integrity. “Listening yesterday, I was starting to wonder if war wasn’t about to break out in the building.”
“Well, we gotta remember who the real enemy is and not fight among ourselves,” Major Maxwell said. “If it’s up to us to keep the human race alive, we can’t be fighting our fellow humans.”
“I’m with you on that.” Rodney assured him, honestly. “But I’m not sure everyone would agree with you,” he said in a lower tone.
Major Maxwell followed, lowering his tone, as well. “I know what you mean. There’s some folks here that are mad as Hell and ready to start shooting.”
To keep from getting too deep with Major Maxwell, Rodney joked. “It’s a good thing we have the body scanners at the doors.”
The major nodded, perhaps uncertain whether Rodney was kidding.
For Rodney’s part, espionage was never his forte and he didn’t want to burrow in too deep on his first contact with his fellow veteran. Already he felt certain that he had identified an answer to the desperation level of the hardliners, as well as divisions among their ranks. There would be time to exploit his military reputation and learn more about both of these key points.
Soon after he ended that conversation with the Major, the proceedings began. After several frustrating detours into procedural questions, including whether lands formerly under Canadian jurisdiction should be included in the congress, Rodney found very intriguing a report from delegates with contacts in other parts of the world. After a minute of their presentation, it became clear to which side this information and analysis leaned.
Information regarding surviving populations around the world turned into a report of rebel fighting against the new King. The evidence represented only a latticework of the global picture and hewed toward the rebel factions in the congress. These delegates tried to portray a widespread revolt, which they characterized as not only a struggle for national sovereignty, but a struggle for the future of humanity.
The short, gray-haired man who summarized these findings, focused on what he had discovered about rebellion in Russia. Throughout the vast reaches of that country, local militias had formed in resistance against the new ruler. Though facts remained in dispute and had been filtered by multiple levels of reporting, the speaker was convinced that this was evidence of a unifying global struggle. He concluded his remarks, saying, “We owe it to the Russian people, our fellow human beings, to resist the hand of the alien oppressor and band together for the liberation of our planet.”
During the lunch break that afternoon, Rodney met with Will and Sara, Pete having gone back to the hotel for a nap. They reflected on the morning’s proceedings, as well as what they had collected from conversations in the hardline section of the congress. Most interesting to Rodney was Will’s inadvertent discovery that there would be a side meeting that evening, after the congress dismissed for the day. Will’s source described it as an intelligence meeting for gathering information and formulating a military strategy for resistance to the new ruler. Apparently, this group had met at least once before and was open to members of the former resistance, on an invitation basis.
With this information in hand, Rodney struck up another conversation with Major Maxwell, after lunch, as they returned to their seats in the assembly hall. The Major greeted Rodney with a handshake and a smile, saying, “So, all this talk driving you crazy yet?”
Rodney returned the smile. “You know it is. It makes a guy miss the war, at least we did more than talk back then.”
The Major’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that? Are you serious?”
Rodney sobered too. He looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. “You know something?” he asked.
“I might,” the Major said in a low tone. “See me when this session is over.”
Rodney nodded, keeping a neutral face, and then returned to his seat. He had found what he was looking for.
The afternoon session turned to an alternative viewpoint. Several delegates spoke about their experiences with the immortals, to whom they referred as ‘the Jerusalem people,’ just the way Rodney had seen on the Internet. These speakers reassured Rodney that his experiences in and around Somerville had not been unique. Stories of healings, generous assistance and advice; then stories of their invulnerability to firearms and any other kind of danger, stories of self-propelled flight, superhuman strength and supernatural knowledge, built the foundation for a case against rebellion.
From his position near the discontented core of anti-Jerusalem delegates, Rodney could see the inflammatory effect of these stories. Most of those sitting near him squirmed in their seats, grumbled to allies around them and shook their heads, in disgust. But Rodney also noted others who seemed captivated by what they heard, as if they had no previous exposure to this side of the balance sheet. Rodney just observed, careful not to react one way or another.
When the dinner break arrived, Rodney stood up and stretched, caught sight of Pete deep in conversation with someone nearby, and then Major Maxwell stepped to the end of his row and motioned for Rodney to follow. The confidence with which the Major commanded Rodney’s compliance irritated him a bit, but he kept that under wraps and followed placidly. Sara saw Rodney push past and stopped herself from speaking to him, when she figured out that he was being towed by the military type in front of him.
Out on the street, in front of the Civic Center, early evening light tinting the bright and clean buildings of downtown Pittsburgh, Rodney came to a stop next to an empty newspaper vending machine, where Major Maxwell had landed. He turned to Rodney and said, “Let’s get some dinner and we can talk about what we can do about all this.” He waved his hand toward the Civic Center, as if to encompass all they had heard that afternoon.
Rodney nodded and said, “Lead the way, I’m hungry and I wanta hear what you have to say.”
As they settled into a restaurant about a block away, with a bar and small, round tables, Rodney recognized dozens of other delegates taking seats around them, or already seated at the bar. He had noticed some of those from his section at the congress slipping out early. They seemed to have a strong head start on a night of serious drinking.
After ordering dinner, they each sat with a cold bottle, as the tables filled up around them. The general noise in the room served as their privacy shield, when Major Maxwell dug into the topic at hand.
“We’ve been meeting on the side, to work on a military response to this latest invasion. Not everyone’s with us, of course and we don’t want this meeting known to those aliens hanging around the congress. So what happens is, after we eat, we take a cab across the river to a hidden location.
There you can see what we’re talking about and decide if you got an interest in signing up.” He sipped his beer and looked hard at Rodney. “I’m countin’ on confidentiality here, of course,” he said sternly. But his scowl slipped away as quickly as it arrived. He assumed Rodney’s cooperation, the way one does when no real alternative seems available. This assumption was exactly what worried Rodney, suspecting that the new resistance consisted of people who would not even consider the possibility of an alternative view of the world. Their struggle against the Dictator had seemed so clearly a war against evil and they carried that absolutist attitude into this next conflict.
When they finished their meal, which included more beef than Rodney had seen in years, Major Maxwell led the way out onto the street, where they grabbed the first cab they spotted. The Major gave the driver an address and the driver returned a suspicious look, but said nothing. Rodney could see the source of that suspicion a few minutes later, when they exited the cab next to a park with no working lights in it. Darkness had begun to settle over this part of the city’s riverfront and the cabbie sped away as soon as he got his coins. Major Maxwell watched the cab go before stepping off the curb and gesturing for Rodney to follow. “Didn’t like the look of that guy,” he said. “We’ll have to walk a couple of blocks to get to the meeting.”
The husky veteran, full of beef and beer, set a sauntering pace across the street and down a poorly lit road. Like Rodney, Major Maxwell constituted more of a threat than any potential criminals waiting in the shadows. Rodney’s only worries revolved around how far he should go with this ruse, concerned that he might meet someone with a more suspicious eye than Major Maxwell. On the other hand, if the overloaded men at the bar were the sort he would be meeting, he could rely on the blur of alcohol to obscure his disdain for their conspiratorial gathering.
The REIGN: Out of Tribulation Page 28
