Along with a tactical agility, this new task required ingrained humility, humility in the truest sense, a realistic assessment of one’s place. Like no other military council in all of human history, the new national leadership had intentionally staffed the NDC with people steeped in that kind of humility. That humility would serve them all well in what they grew to understand to be a primarily diplomatic role. If their best defense depended on the servants of the King in Jerusalem, their task as sympathetic mortals would be to serve as liaisons between the mortal community they represented and the immortal community that ultimately controlled the planet. Even if they had suffered an alien invasion, wisdom would dictate this sort of approach, in the face of the comprehensive superiority of the invaders.
Filling in the tactical liaison tasks for each of their areas of responsibility occupied the remainder of their agenda. Rodney pursued this responsibility with the confidence that the President of the Congress wanted him in this role and that the immortals had seemed to endorse him, as well. Given his place as a negotiator, one could hardly over value an endorsement by the side with which he hoped to win favor and learn to cooperate.
That evening, the committee members ate dinner in the hotel restaurant again, but with no business agenda attached. Anne, Baxter, Rodney and Dr. Winslow sat at one end of the line of four conjoined tables, recounting their experiences with the immortals, each speaking in the most sympathetic and admiring terms. A large man, who had placed his Stetson hat in an empty chair next to him at a nearby table, listened to their conversation with somber interest. Rodney sensed the eavesdropper and his disapproval, before the man spoke up.
“Excuse me.” The gray-haired man of about sixty-five said, interrupting laughter at a story Dr. Winslow had told. Half of the committee turned toward the stranger, alerted by his impatient tone.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Pardon me for listening in, but I’m curious about something,” he said with diplomatic care.
“What’s that?” Baxter asked.
“You all seem very friendly with this crew based out of Jerusalem, but I’m wondering if any of you has lost his business to these invaders? ‘Cause I can tell you, it makes it a bit hard to be so friendly.”
“What business are you in?” the professor asked him.
The big stranger stood up and extended his hand. “Walter Bartlett,” he said, offering his hand to the professor and then to each of the committee members at that end of the table. The members at the other end of the table returned to their separate conversations, as Walter resumed his seat. “I’ve been a railroad man all my life and used to run the rail yards from Oklahoma City to Omaha, for agricultural transport primarily,” he said. “Back when the government got out of logistics, and before the Dictator stuck his big nose in it, I was making a good living for myself and hundreds of employees. With that weasel out of the way, I expected I could get back to business, pulling my company out of the mothballs. But there’s a new dictator now, when it comes to railroads.”
Rodney and company nodded sympathetically. They all knew that the immortals had taken charge of the transport and supply systems, as typified by the new granary that Baxter and Rodney had visited.
Dr. Winslow cleared his throat and looked kindly at the railroad man, but Rodney thought he detected a glint of diamond in the professor’s eye. “Did you have any kind of conversation with the immortals around your interest in cooperating with their transportation plans?”
“Cooperating?” Walter asked. “Why should I agree to cooperate with them? It was my railroad; they were my rail yards and grain storage facilities and cattle yards. Why should I need to cooperate with them to run my own business?”
“Your business provided a vital service for the country,” Dr. Winslow said. Walter nodded his adamant agreement with this. “So the manner of your railroad’s operation is a relevant concern of the government.”
Walter’s face darkened when he saw where this was going, but Dr. Winslow didn’t yield the floor yet.
“Didn’t you always have to cooperate with government regulations, with other aspects of the overall economy? What’s so repugnant about cooperating now?”
“I see what you’re about. You’re looking for ways to reduce the initiative of businessmen like me, to rope us into submission, so the government can run us, instead of us being free to do as we please.”
“You’re free to do as you please now,” Dr. Winslow said.
“Sure, if I want to start from scratch and build my own railroad all over again. There’s not much chance they would let me get away with that.”
“You mean you don’t expect they would cooperate with you?” Dr. Winslow said.
Walter could see the conundrum he had fallen into and he paused before answering. Dr. Winslow waited a few seconds to give him a chance to respond. Hearing no answer, he concluded, “We’re all on this planet together and all of us require the cooperation of innumerable people all around us. If you’re willing to accept your place in that whole order of things, then you can be a contributing member, but there has always been, and always will be, active government interests in the distribution of resources. Personally, I want that system to be in the hands of those who have a big picture view, and no selfish profit motive, when it comes to supplying people with the things they need to survive,” he declared. Then he concluded, “But you are, of course, free to disagree.”
Walter nodded. He knew he was outnumbered and outwitted in this debate. His tight lips and half-closed eyes signaled his resignation. He said no more, except, “Well, good evening to you sir.” With that, he pulled his napkin from his lap, dropped it on the table, picked up his hat and left, with a nod to Rodney, Baxter and Anne.
They watched him weave his way through the tables, out of the restaurant. Rodney spoke first, “It’s always good to remember that not everyone feels they’ve benefited under this King.”
Dr. Winslow nodded. “It’s also good to remember that there’s a thing inside most people that believes that they alone should be king.”
In bed in his hotel room that night, Rodney recalled this insight, understanding it to be far more than an argument with which to dismiss a disagreeable opponent, but rather a feature of the human landscape that would have to influence any effort to govern. Uniting a country of would-be kings, in cooperation with one true King, would keep him awake at night, if he believed he alone had to solve that conflict. Fortunately, Rodney had given up his urge to be king, at least over most things.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“No offense, old friend, but how do you get to be so well connected that you’re in charge of the National Guard all of a sudden?” Steve asked, sitting on Rodney’s front porch after supper.
Rodney rocked in his chair a second and said, “What you have to keep in mind is that almost all of the politicians signed up with the Dictator, including the top military brass. Then, factor in all the prominent people that refused the chip, who were assassinated or executed in prison, and that only leaves us regular folk.”
Steve, who had been merely teasing Rodney, pushed a bit harder to get a reaction. “And now the new national government is so desperate for help that they’re turning national security over to a chicken farmer?”
“Hey, I’m not a chicken farmer,” Rodney said.
“Right,” said Steve, “you’ve neglected those poor chickens so badly that you don’t even qualify as a chicken farmer.”
Rodney shot him a look, remembering the old days when pinning Steve to the ground would have been the only way to shut him up. This time he just laughed, feeling too old to wrestle his friend to the ground, even with his weight advantage.
“Seriously,” Steve began, sobering up, “the trick has got to be figuring out whether we even need any kind of government apart from the King.”
Rodney nodded. “That’s what I would be thinking too, but, for whatever reason, the immortals have endorsed our whole process of setting up a n
ational government. I feel like we’re gonna have their approval, as long as we’re clear that we survive because they want us to survive, as a government and even as individuals.”
“So you believe the stories about Jesus executing all of the Dictator’s people, even the ones that just went along with the chip to save their lives?” Steve asked. With school starting, he had begun to face the questions of teenagers, who could pick out the most unattractive characteristics of anyone or anything.
“Actually, that’s a question for me,” Rodney said. “I met a guy in Kansas City last week whose wife had been imprisoned; she gave in to having a chip implanted after they tortured her and threatened to take her kids to reeducation camps in Europe. She’s still around, with the scar to show where a doctor pulled the chip out of her.”
Steve raised his eyebrows, thankful for a glimmer of grace that he could pass on to his students. “I’ve heard rumors of things like that, but never anything I could quote. You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet,” he said.
“I didn’t meet her myself,” Rodney said. “But her husband was as believable as any man you’ll ever meet, he’s the Director of the Navy right now.”
“I wonder how many like her survived.”
“So few people of any kind survived,” Rodney said a bit wistfully.
Emma came out onto the porch, paused and stretched her back, her pregnant belly ballooning her summer cotton dress. Rodney reached over and pulled her close, so he could rub her lower and middle back from where he sat. She put one hand on the arm of his rocking chair and stood content as a cat getting a scratch behind the ears.
“You’ll get your turn later,” Emma said, as she enjoyed the relief to her muscles.
Steve said, “Great, I’ll look forward to that.”
Both Emma and Rodney shot him that look this time. He burst out laughing. “You two have the exact same killer look now. You must be married.”
Emma snickered. “Well, what about you and Marney? When do we get to go to your wedding?”
Steve sobered up again. “Hmm, that may be a while, if it happens at all.” He sat and rocked a bit.
Emma started to apologize, but he spoke up before she got the first word out.
“We get along great, and we’ve talked about her moving in and us getting married, but...” He tried to calculate how much he could say without violating Marney’s privacy.
“Complicated?” Rodney said.
Steve nodded. “Yeah, complicated. The war was hard on all of us, but we all have different ways of recovering,” he said thoughtfully, “or not recovering.”
Emma began delicately. “You know, I saw Lilly last week while Rodney was in Kansas City. She has a way of helping people recover. I know she’s done that for Betty and she’s helped me.” Her voice faded a bit at the end, conscious that she hadn’t told Rodney about her last conversation with Lilly.
Rodney spoke up. “It makes sense to me. They can heal our bodies, why not our souls too?”
Emma took hold of her long skirt, stepped over the rocker and sat on her husband’s lap. Rodney gently wrapped both arms around her belly, as she leaned back and put an arm around his neck.
“Okay, you two, remember there are minors around here,” Steve said, quoting Daniel.
Again he turned serious, returning to the delicate conversation. “There is one of the immortals in the school who’s supposed to be a counselor for the students. I suppose she could help Marney too. I’ll see if I can encourage her to give it a try.”
“Don’t push too hard,” Emma said softly.
“I know.”
Emma stood up, turned to kiss her husband and then meandered off toward the garden, the air beginning to cool, as darkness finalized its approach upon the heels of dinner. She wanted to check for vegetables that ripened during the day, losing track of which should be ready in the unfamiliar, perfect climate.
In the days, months and years that followed, Rodney meant to ask a question that crystallized in his mind that night, as he considered the extent to which the immortals were watching them and waiting for an opportunity to help in some way. Jason Cooper had died in his bathroom. If he were under surveillance, Rodney wanted to know, wouldn’t someone have intervened?
That evening, with Steve and Rodney sitting silently there on the porch, a figure appeared, walking up the driveway. By this time, Rodney had discovered that most of the immortals made their landing, or sudden appearance, out of sight, preferring a less spectacular entrance than Lilly. Having no neighbors within easy walking distance, Rodney assumed that the dim figure on the driveway had come from Jerusalem.
As the man drew close enough to discern his features, Rodney recognized a man that he had seen at the wedding, but had not spoken to. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with black hair and dark skin, as if from the Pacific Islands, with a round face and a small point of a chin. He approached as if he often visited and knew he would be welcomed.
Rodney stood up and Steve followed his lead. They stepped off the porch and Rodney shook the man’s hand, reminded only too late of the electric jolt that often transferred across those handshakes. Steve shook his hand, as well, as the stranger greeted them.
“Hello, my name is Hubert,” he said with a very slight bow. “Of course, I know who you are, which is why I am here. Shall we walk?”
Rodney nodded and Steve shrugged his shoulders, busy trying to guess what this might be about. As they started down the drive, Emma rounded the corner of the house and stopped in front of the porch.
Rodney heard her sandals on the pavement and turned to wave. “Just going for a little walk,” he explained.
Steve and the stranger looked back and both waved. Emma chuckled quietly to herself. She had come to expect good things whenever one of the immortals appeared.
The three men ambled down the drive, Hubert setting the pace. They turned left at the county road.
Hubert spoke first. “Your wives have been praying,” he said, as if that was a meaningful explanation for his unannounced appearance.
In the low light, Steve and Rodney tried to make eye contact, but it was just dark enough to make each of them uncertain of the look in the other’s eye. Hubert answered their unspoken question.
“Yes, we already consider Marney to be your wife, Steve. That is how we count these things, though I don’t intend to convince you that this is the right way,” he said.
Steve decided to pass that over and focused on another question. “She’s been praying and that’s why you’re here?” Steve had talked with Marney about his habit of talking to God, but she hadn’t said much in response.
Hubert looked at Steve. “It doesn’t take much.”
Steve slowed down, as if momentarily forgetting to walk, devoting all his mental resources to comprehending what he was hearing.
“When someone prays, God releases the angels, such as the ones I am now seeing all around us,” Hubert said.
Steve was wishing this was a sitting down conversation, because each time Hubert said something he had to remind himself to keep walking. Now he had to strain himself to keep from looking around for those invisible angels.
Hubert continued. “But the King sends us to talk to you, because it’s easier for you to hear from us. The angels are pretty scary.”
Rodney turned to look at Hubert, wondering if he was kidding about the angels. He realized that he didn’t know much about angels, but he hadn’t heard anyone say that they were scary.
“What did you come to tell us?” Rodney asked.
Hubert looked at Steve and said, “Emma was right, that it is not good to push your wife to get help, but I am here to tell you that you will not have to push. She only needs to hear your support and your commitment to her, as she pursues freedom from her grief.” He checked to see how Steve was taking this and then continued. “Just tell her gently what you have observed. Let her know that you are ready to do what it takes and are committed to sticking with her
.”
Steve took it in, but wanted more clarity. “You’re telling me how she will react because you’ve seen the future?”
Hubert tipped his head a bit, assessing the adequacy of that description. “It’s not so much that I have seen the future, it is that God is in the future and has revealed enough of it to me in order to be helpful to you.”
“So why do you want to help me?” Steve asked.
“I am God’s servant. I want to help anyone God wants to help. God wants to help Marney now and has chosen you to be instrumental in her healing,” he said. “And, by the way, Nancy, who is the school counselor, would be a fine contact for this.”
Rodney stepped in to ask his question about how this conversation happened. “Were you listening to us on the porch? ‘Cause the things you’re saying make it seem like you were spying on us,” he said frankly.
Hubert smiled. “Didn’t your mother tell you that God is always watching you? It was not me that was spying.” His smile grew bigger and the white of his teeth pierced the settling darkness.
“You said that both of our wives have been praying for us,” Rodney said.
“Yes. What I have said to Steve is true, but it will be too difficult for him alone. He will need your support and Marney will need Emma’s. Emma is ready. God wanted to get you ready too.”
Rodney nodded, as Hubert slowed down and stopped in the middle of the road, he pointed to the abandoned house Rodney had passed many times on his evening walks. “Now I get to show you something you do not know is hidden inside this house.”
The REIGN: Out of Tribulation Page 36
