by Tom Doyle
“No,” I said. The acute fever of my power had departed with Roderick. I only wanted to conquer a hospital bed, and I doubted I could manage that. I also doubted whether the Oikumene would believe me.
“You’re going to need a prosthesis for that foot,” Grace said. “I hope you don’t get a boring one that tries to blend in. Something chrome and shiny would be the ticket.”
I pulled us to a halt.
“Seriously, Grace. I’m falling apart. You really should…”
She kissed me into silence. Then she spoke. “I didn’t want to tell you this. I didn’t want to tell anyone. But I want you to understand me, so here it is. When your soul transmigrated for a brief stay with mine, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen it. I see your soul all the time. Not as something separate—it’s part of how you appear to me, in a very, very visceral way. Your soul is why you are so beautiful. And yes, even after all your poor soul has been through and the choices you’ve made, it and you are still beautiful, only more so. OK, love?”
Being dehydrated and low on blood is sometimes a good thing, as my face was having trouble going red or tearing up. “OK, love.”
We walked out into the open, and into the rising sun, clean cold air, and lots of guns pointed in our direction. The Mortons were interrupted in their yelling at some officer. We skirted around the robotic bomb carrier that had stood ready to proceed down the tunnel.
Not bothering to get anyone’s permission, Scherie went to work with Grace’s assistance on my foot, stopping the residual bleeding, eliminating infection, and stimulating some skin growth. But a healer couldn’t regrow so substantial an amount of limb, and whatever the Left-Hand craft and other spiritual power had done for my skull, they didn’t seem interested in regenerating my foot.
* * *
While the women worked on Endicott, Dale stood back, eye on the perimeter, waiting for some other boot to drop. It came in the form of his father suddenly standing next to him. Dad was out of uniform, in worn blue jeans and leather jacket, which meant some new form of trouble.
“Where have you been?” asked Dale. This latest absence at a critical time was a disturbing return to form.
“I’ve been helping your grandfather round up the American unknowns before they got chewed up in the bunker. Some from the bunker are still intact, but he can handle those alone.”
Dale stared his father directly in the eyes. “Is that all, sir?”
“No,” said his father. “I couldn’t go near that portal thing.”
“You mean you couldn’t go near a portal thing again,” said Dale. “It nearly killed us.”
“Yes,” said his father, dead eyes lowered. “And that’s one of the reasons I need to speak with you now, before you go.”
“Now you want to talk? Once again, Dad, I have to ask: why didn’t you tell me what Roderick would try to do?”
“Because we didn’t know who would try to open a portal, just that someone would.”
“We?”
“I’ll explain that in a minute. We didn’t know it would be the old Left Handers, because we didn’t know who had survived, and they had failed to do it before. Roderick and Madeline and the rest had the Left-Hand dead to use, which should’ve been a perfect engine to breach the wall between the worlds. So why hadn’t they acted?”
“From what I saw here,” said Dale, “I think Roderick had been trying right before Joshua and Abram got him.”
“That’s likely,” said his father.
“Look,” said Dale, “forget about who. You certainly knew how.”
“All too well.”
“But you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”
“You’re my son. I didn’t want you to repeat my mistakes.”
“Yet here we are,” said Dale. “Was it Yasukuni that caused your breakdown?”
“No, it was what I found afterward. I went to an appropriate hole, and I opened a moment’s crack between the worlds to see, to see…” He shook his head violently. “I thought, with that power, we could use it for good, we could defeat what was coming. The portal slammed back shut, but too late for me. When the Gideons found me, I was in the woods near all these bunkers, screaming at them to shut all the doors.”
Dale saw the other, figurative hole in his father’s story. “Dad, where did you get the energy to open that portal?”
“I was in the Sanctuary. I brought your mother with me to help.”
Stunned silence, then Dale said, “OK, I think that’s enough for today. We’ll talk again soon, Dad.” But before he could ask Scherie to show his father out of this mundane plane, another ghost was standing before him.
It was Sphinx, in her big glasses and boots, smiling with stained teeth and gentle sadness. Only one likely way she could be here at will, unsummoned. She must be a family ghost, and Dale had one likely gap in his family. All those years his supposed mother, his father’s wife, hadn’t cared much for him, were now explained in this woman’s presence.
Sphinx finally spoke. “My dear, dear boy. I’m so sorry.”
Dale fought to control his many, explosive emotions. “Sorry doesn’t really count for much now, does it? My whole life, and you weren’t there.”
“I couldn’t come close,” she said. “That way led to your madness. My way only led to mine. But I cared for you. I saw all of it. Your whole life.”
“I nearly killed you!”
“Oh, that! That would have been nothing. But it was better instead to die for you.”
“Why? Why all of it?”
“You had to be born, for you and your friends to all come together and save everything. And nobody could know. Because you’re my son, the child of an oracle, it means that the living Left Hand have never been able to predict clearly the actions of you and those close to you. Me, they could hardly see at all.”
Dale’s mouth tried to wrap around a new word. “Mom. Why are you telling me now?”
“Because you very nearly died without knowing,” said his father.
“And,” said Sphinx, “we don’t know when, or if, we’ll get the chance to talk like this again.”
The two ghosts looked meaningfully at Eddy, who was walking toward the women and Endicott. “Good-bye, Dale,” said his father.
“We love you always,” said Sphinx, his mother. Then, they were gone.
* * *
Eddy stood above me, peering down over Grace and Scherie. “Is he fit to travel?”
“To a hospital, yes,” said Grace.
“We’ll talk about that on the way,” said Eddy.
“On the way where?” asked Scherie.
“We’ll talk about that too,” said Eddy.
Dale joined us, and everyone carried me back to the road. Eddy left his own car and driver behind, and we all got into the car we’d taken from the Upperville airstrip.
In the car, Dale drove again. “No ‘thank you’?” he said to Eddy. “Flowers and a card might’ve been nice.”
“Or those big Star Wars medals,” said Scherie. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”
With no humor or hint of a smile, Eddy replied as if someone had asked a different question. “H-ring has issued orders to bring all of you to the Pentagon for an immediate debriefing.”
“He’s in no condition,” said Grace, indignantly.
“However,” Eddy continued, “there’s been a slight delay while those orders are received and acknowledged by Langley. Nor have we certified that the op has concluded.”
I held up a shaky hand to quiet further questions and snark. “I see. Eddy, what happens after H-ring’s debriefing?”
Again, Eddy seemingly answered a different question. “Major Morton, you are correct. I and the nation owe you a debt of thanks. I’d like to offer you the services of the private jet you flew in on, to take you and your friends to the international destination of your choice for a well-deserved leave of action.”
“That’s … very good news,” Dale said. “Scherie and I…”
> “Major Morton!” I nearly passed out with the effort. “We’ll discuss our travel plans later.” I focused again on Eddy. “Is it the national services fighting their Left Hands, the spiritual disturbances in the mundane world, or simply the terror at what Roderick attempted?”
“Yes,” said Eddy. “And some of the tricks you pulled along the way.”
They thought I might be the new Roderick. “So at best, we’ll be ordered back to barracks, indefinitely.”
“At best,” said Eddy, looking truly sad now.
That left the at worst to Dale. “Ex-22,” he said. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.
“At best,” continued Eddy, “you should be somewhere where your future is your decision.”
“What about you, Eddy?” I asked.
“I was never here,” he said. “You took the plane on your own initiative, for valid service reasons.”
“I meant long term,” I said.
“Remember the old Peepshow joke you told me, Morton, when we first met? We only like to watch. They still need the watchers, and the watchers of the watchers.”
We were already at the plane. A refueling truck was finishing up by its side. Doors were opening, and my friends were readying to help me onboard. “Eddy, thank you,” I said.
The sad man finally smiled. “I’m just sorry I don’t have an engagement gift for you and the commander.”
I gaped stupidly at him, but I was smart enough not to question a Peepshow about the engagement. Instead, I said, “I thought this transnational relationship was impermissible.”
“Regs nearly got us all killed,” said Dale.
Eddy held up a finger. “There’s been at least one exception. A British craft Family and an American Family were allowed to intermarry because farsight showed one of their children, though not likely to inherit either power, might be important to both countries.”
“How did it work out?”
“We won World War Two.”
“Oh, him. Are you saying…?”
“No,” said Eddy. “I most distinctly said nothing of the kind. All I’m saying is that your relationship is now the least of your problems—that is, from the official point of view.”
They brought me up into the cabin and straight into the bed. Scherie got medical supplies. Grace bent and kissed me. “Bloody typical. We British always have to take care of you Yanks.”
“Ah, that subtle British humor,” I said, unclenching my teeth for a moment. The day’s damage was asserting itself.
“We’ve been spiritually dampening the pain,” said Grace, “but I’m going to administer a nice strong painkiller now so we can all rest.” She paused, as if considering. “Then, I’m going to play some rock music on the stereo.”
“Sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll?” I asked.
“Sex later,” she said.
“After I’ve recovered?”
“After the wedding,” she said, tapping a syringe and injecting it into my IV.
Call me a Puritan, but I’ve never been so happy to be denied in my life.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.
—Psalm 137:1 KJV
I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.
—Winston Churchill
We defy augury. There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
—William Shakespeare
On arrival, Scherie and Dale visited the Yasukuni Shrine, while Grace set me up in a hospital. The Mortons secured the ghost of Dale’s great-grandfather Dick, but before Scherie could proceed to dispel and liberate any of the other spirits, Dale’s old colleague Kaguya-san arrived on the scene with some well-armed ninjas in salaryman suits and some Shinto priests to restrain the unhappy dead. Dale had prearranged the timing with Kaguya-san, as it accomplished several objectives at once. First, we were now official “guests” of the Government of Japan, so an immediate response to orders to return home wasn’t possible.
It also allowed the Japanese craft service time to weigh in on Dale’s promise to dismantle the Yasukuni doomsday device. Long discussions ensued, with much sucking of breath and declarations that the plan was “difficult.” Risk averse in such matters, perhaps the leadership wouldn’t have gone along with the Mortons’ plan, but Japanese practitioners were at their best in a crisis, and the news of recent events in the U.S. and around the world made for crisis decision-making. The Japanese craft service agreed to our attempt, with a one-month delay to cement consensus. The shrine accepted all of this more philosophically than one might have thought.
In the meantime, I recuperated and got fitted for a custom-made prosthesis. It was as shiny as Grace or a killer robot could’ve wanted, and it could set off metal detectors a mile away, but Grace said she’d make sure that any detectors remained silent. “I’ll just give you a pat down later,” she said. The fit was good, and the remainder of my foot seemed to preternaturally grip the prosthesis, making it more integral than I would have thought possible. “Wear sandals,” Grace said. “We’ll get it weaponized.”
We set up a temporary residence in an eighth-floor apartment in the Moto-Akasaka area. It overlooked the grounds of the Crown Prince’s palace, and on a clear day we had a distant view of Mount Fuji. Dale guided us down the narrow streets to amazing sushi places and scary karaoke venues. Dale called me “Saint Michael Silverfoot” and sang faux epics of my past missteps. I was very much afraid his nickname would stick.
Grace and I finalized our marriage plans. We would wed at Yokohama Christ Church—a nice old Anglican building, but I wasn’t that concerned about the venue for this particular rite. Though her government said they wanted her back, they didn’t press her on the fig leaf of being detained by Japan. For now, by staying close to the Mortons and me, she was where the Crown wanted her.
When I wasn’t stumbling and grunting in PT, I watched TV and monitored confidential communications from the States. In the news, hundreds of witnesses to the recent spiritual excesses around the globe had come forward, confused, but not completely discreditable. The Internet was full of science-fiction bullshit about these events, though discussions of possible nanotech and weather control weren’t that far off the mark. Serious news services were also reporting rumors of costumeless superheroes or supervillains. These reports were sneering and superior in tone, but it was still a bad sign that governments were letting the media mention anything remotely like us, and worse if someone was encouraging this sort of reporting.
The news from within the spiritual services was bleaker still. As Eddy had warned us, American mundane authority had decided to intervene and calm everything in the spiritual world way the hell down. All American practitioners were ordered back to barracks or into house arrest, and that was better than what was happening in some countries. Despite our recent service to the world, we wouldn’t be exceptions. Grace and I had used Left-Hand life extension techniques to heal me. Dale and Scherie had let the Left-Hand dead out from the House of Morton again. Worst of all, I had transferred bodies, if only briefly, and some with farsight probably knew that. I could tell them that, if I survived so long, I would lay down my life at the Biblical three score and ten rather than accept any life extension by Left-Hand means, but I doubted my words would make a difference. In the current view, we had to be at least quarantined from the rest of the world until things were back to normal.
A person could reasonably believe that, with Roderick gone, this period of imposed quiet made sense. But all of this ignored the pervasiveness of the rot in the global services. Sure, most of the traitors who had acted overtly had been rounded up or killed, but if the Don was any indication, many more had covertly crossed the line and were now dependent on the Left-Hand techniques. Full pardons were offered to all who reported their transgressions, but many who had ventured and tasted would want, even need, more. Also, the mundane authorities enforcing the new restrictions we
re themselves suspect. Bottom line: it was far too late to simply clamp down. A war was coming, and the evil had to be dealt with root and branch.
Perhaps I was biased, as I had a personal stake. My power of command made certain demands on me. Right now, planning and recovery was taking all of my focus, but that wouldn’t last. I couldn’t wait quietly in confinement. I needed to stay occupied, or my new power might slip my control. But I didn’t think I was alone in this. Practitioners were like nuke scientists: they needed to keep busy building things or they’d keep busy blowing them up. Too much leisure was dangerous for all practitioners, not just me and the Left-Hand Mortons.
Grace reported some intel from her UK sources. Ukraine now had a spiritual power vacuum due to the decimation of its leadership, and mundane protests had heated up in Independence Square. The Renfields had taken up the slack in supply of certain goods, selling power-of-command countermeasures and something they claimed was Roderick’s alchemical serum. They were also reportedly building new bodies on the Ukrainian model and conducting transference experiments. “So besides their usual fees, that’s the coin Roderick paid them in,” she said.
Scherie told me that the Oikumene had attempted to contact her. They seemed to be the only power out there that knew the war continued. But none of us felt like talking to them yet.
One day, a package arrived from Eddy: a uniform that my father had once worn. Dad wanted to attend the wedding, but needed some help finding his way across the ocean. I hung up the uniform, and said, “Dad, are you there?”
My father manifested in non-military formalwear, a statement of the awkwardness of my current position. But he seemed happy enough to see me.
After a brief exchange of news, I asked him, “Are you sure you’re OK with this marriage?” He hadn’t been very complimentary of our British cousins in the service while living.
“You mean the international aspect?” he said. “I think you’ve misunderstood me. Did you think all those times I talked about serving America, I meant a specific piece of real estate? Oh, heck, maybe I did, but I shouldn’t have. Even crazy John Endicott knew it wasn’t the territory. America is shorthand for an idea for the world. And it’s time again for that idea to shine for the whole world, including the place we call the United States.”
