Seventh Age of Man: Regeneration

by Kevin Gordon

Dawn held her head up high as she walked up the steps into the First Resurrection Church. While in her heart she knew that anytime one walked into a house of the Lord, one’s spirit should be uplifted, she felt only misery now at whom she would find inside. But she pressed on, through the massive wooden doors, through the narthex, down the side aisle of the nave, past the dozens of Grunts who even without the Deaconess still sat on bended knee, their hands clasped together as they murmured short, cumbersome prayers, begging the Lord to change their lot in life.

  She went through a small door to the side of the altar, and down a set of dark, tight steps, to a series of small rooms below in the sacristy.

  “Dawn—is that you?” chirped an excited voice from below.

  Dawn gritted her teeth, and resigned herself to the next few moments of misery. “Yes, Pamela.” She stood in the tight hallway, her body limp, listening as she heard small, eager footsteps racing towards her.

  “Oh my—don’t you look pretty!” The Deaconess kissed her gently on the lips, a kiss Dawn didn’t reciprocate. She merely kept her face as stone, tolerating the slimy moistness that pressed on her. “Oh, when will you give in, my dear thing? Ah well, I suppose one can’t have everything, or everyone. If nothing else, the Lord teaches us that. Come on, come on!” She grabbed Dawn’s hand, and dragged her back to the small room the Deaconess used as a study. It was cramped, with only enough room for a desk, a chair, a tall bookcase, and a narrow cot pressed against the wall that still reeked of sex. “So . . . tell me . . . how did things go?”

  “He’s leaving. Tomorrow he flies out to take care of some business.”

  “And . . . what would that be?”

  “He didn’t say, and the conversation didn’t flow in that direction.”

  Pamela shrugged. “Well, you would know best. I have never met someone with so great a command of conversational and listening skills.” She almost licked her lips as she drank in Dawn’s silent, youthful form. “So, any more secrets about our arch-nemesis? Any psychological weapons we can use against him?”

  “Not much. I learned Charlie only decided to seek power when the Countdown happened. Prior to that, he wasn’t a model solider, but he came from a wealthy family, and seems to be yet another sloth from the faded world of decadence.”

  The Deaconess nodded. “I can see it. But . . . what keeps him going? Why is he so single-minded?”

  “He is seeking another to take over—one of the prototypes. He’s waiting to see which one will show leadership qualities.”

  “Why?”

  “He knows that he won’t last forever, and that this new world needs someone young to take it over.”

  “So . . . he sees himself as something temporary?”

  “I believe so. It seems that he also believes not in the human race, but in the fictitious ‘America,’ that he wants only our people to succeed, to rule over all.”

  The Deaconess nodded, putting together the pieces of the puzzle. “I see it now! He never seemed the type to want to sit on a throne and tell people what to do. He just wants as many toys as he can get, as many women as he can have, and to be left alone. Any idea who the best prospects are?”

  “He mentioned none, and other than the crew of Enterprise, I know of no other standouts.”

  The Deaconess nodded to herself. “Then when we attack, that ship and its crew must be our priority. “

  ”When?”

  The Deaconess rubbed her hands together, smiling a toothy grin. “Tomorrow night. Charlie will be far enough away that he’ll be unable to help, and the base will be relaxed, celebrating how well everything went with him.” She took out a cigarette and quickly lit it, then took a long drag, venting a cloud of smoke. “How they worship him – it utterly sickens me! Well, I’ll need to get our force mobilized, and get weapons passed out. Can you be off Scott tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. There’s nothing planned that I need to be part of.”

  “Good, good. You’ve never told me, why are you doing this?” Pamela took another long drag off her cigarette, feeding herself the courage to ask the question that long percolated on her lips. “When you came to me, with your command of the scripture, I knew you to be a true believer. But you’ve shown no interest in me,” she said, with pouting lips, “and told me of no ambitions for power. Why are you doing this?”

  “Because there will come a time that the world will follow the true word of God.”

  “And . . . what about me? When I take over the Homestead? Won’t they then?”

  “No. You are self-serving, and only desire power and sex.”

  The Deaconess’ lips curled into a sneer. “Ever the honest little bitch, aren’t you? So, you think me to be something temporary? Some passing storm that you can wait out?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what if you were to be killed after all this happens?”

  “I won’t be. As you have me inside Scott, so I have hundreds of followers inside here. They may give you their bodies, let you ravage them, but their minds belong to the Lord. And they know only I represent the Lord truly.”

  Pamela came close, itching to break this young, arrogant body standing defiantly before her. “Why haven’t you stopped me before now?”

  “Because you serve a useful purpose. Because the Lord works through all kinds of people. Because you’ve done some good work, and deserve these last moments of greatness in your life. You’re old, Pamela, and won’t last long after this revolt. I won’t trouble you while you still live, and neither will I hasten your death. But do not stand in the way of my ascension. It will happen, whether you like it or not.”

  Dawn stood, and for a moment the Deaconess saw someone else in front of her, someone shrouded in darkness, someone even to be feared. Then, a wide smile spread across her lips.

  “Damn I want you,” she grumbled in a low voice. “Damned Charlie for being able to have you.”

  Dawn replied firmly and confidently; “he has never had me. He has had my body, but never my soul. In the eyes of the Lord, I am still a virgin, for what I have done with my body has been in His service.”

  The deaconess watched her leave, and then sat back in her chair, taking another hard drag off her cigarette.

  Damned she isn’t some kind of fucked up.

  Chapter 15