by David Beers
“What happened?” Trinant asked, ignoring Benten’s scoff.
“We abandoned the program after a hundred years. No contact was ever made. The only observable effect was that it gave the participants an ability to see things they shouldn’t have been able to. Things in the past. Things in the future. Things in the present.”
“What’s this got to do with now?”
Yule looked to the High Priest. How much did he know?
“Do tell, Most Holy Father,” the High Priest said. “What have you found out recently?”
So he knew. Yule didn’t understand how, though he imagined their technology had helped. One of their drones, perhaps. It didn’t matter—he would have to deal with that later.
Yule looked at the other two. “The genetic engineering spreads through procreation. We’ve been eliminating the offspring since we ended the program. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one, though. We didn’t consider them an active issue anymore—”
“Get to it,” Trinant snapped.
“We’ve had a report of someone this week. A woman. We’re in the process of finding her.”
The table grew silent for a few moments.
“What’s it mean?” Trinant asked. Benten seemed to be fuming, anger growing inside him, and the High Priest only sat there as if nothing had been said at all. “What’s it mean that she’s here and the Black is returning?”
“We don’t know,” Yule answered. “Truthfully. The subjects in the program didn’t have the same brain structure as Veritros. We couldn’t accomplish that, but we were able to make their brains mimic hers in action. Even so, weren’t ever able to make contact. Like I said, all we know is that sometimes—and only sometimes—they see things they shouldn’t. It doesn’t always happen, either. There’s an onset period, and sometimes nothing occurs. If it doesn’t, they go through life like normal people.”
“Wait,” Benten said. “You mean you only know if someone has this abnormality based on whether or not they have a vision, or an episode, and it’s reported?”
The High Priest was smirking.
Yule nodded.
“So there could be more of them out there, and you just don’t know about it? And they could actually connect with the Black, and create further threats?”
Yule said nothing. He had been given this predicament. He hadn’t created it.
“So the issue is a bit more severe than we first believed,” the High Priest said. “There isn’t just one weapon. There are at least two that we know about.”
Benten turned to the High Priest. “Well, first, what are you going to do about yours? He’s clearly been spreading, and maybe for two decades.”
“We’re handling it. He’ll be taken care of shortly. It’s the other one I’m worried about. The woman engineered to talk to the Black.”
Fifteen
The True Faith Ministry
“This is our guy,” Lynda said.
Raylyn looked at a picture hanging in the middle of her office. A black man with a bald head stared back at her. He was a little chubby, with a clean shaven face and large eyes.
“How many other options are there?” Raylyn asked. “How many other matches didn’t return?”
“Zero. We hit on everyone but him.”
“So, he died within the past week. His name is Stellan Magnan, the same name the informant used. All of that adds up,” Raylyn said. “What else? I need to be sure.”
“I spoke to his family this morning. Cult characteristics galore. Withdrawal. New friends. Secrecy. He didn’t want anyone knowing what was actually going on, but he still talked enough to let people know something was different. Based on the conversations, I think he started talking to this leader, or someone from the leader, about ten years ago. Eight years ago, he disappeared.”
“Why didn’t his family say anything to us then?” Raylyn asked.
“They didn’t want to get him in trouble,” Lynda said.
“Set up an acquisition for them. They’ll need to be detained and punished for the breach.”
“Do you want me to apprehend them?”
Raylyn shook her head. “No. Someone lower. We’ve got to focus on where this guy died. His family didn’t report it. I don’t care if they didn’t want to get him in trouble. They put their family over Corinth, and so they need to pay.” She turned her attention away from the screen and to Lynda. “Do we know who he was closest with before he disappeared? Who he last contacted?”
“I think so, or at least one of the last people he spoke with. Magnan worked on the Earth’s surface as a lower level crew member who maintained the quarantine perimeter. Apparently he went through a time where he was talking a lot, and I think that’s when he first got involved with the cult. After a couple of months, he shut up about it, but he was still pretty close with the guys he worked with. From what I understand, anyone working up above is tight with each other. Comes with the territory. They rely upon one another for their very survival. Magnan’s best friend was a co-worker, Hithran Billmore. He still works on the surface.”
“When can we go see him?” Raylyn asked.
“Just depends on how you want to do it. We can go to his work or we can have him come here.”
Raylyn looked back to the picture in the middle of the room. If they brought Billmore here, they’d be doing him a favor. If they went to his work, it’d probably put the fear of Corinth in him.
Message received.
“Give me a second, Lynda,” Raylyn said. The message was important or else her nanotech wouldn’t have passed it along. She turned her chair around and stood up, facing the back wall.
Play. No visual, she thought.
There was no delay as the message ran through her head.
Sister Brinson, this is the First Priest. It’s imperative that we talk immediately. Contact me at your earliest convenience.
Raylyn’s spine grew cold and her nipples hardened without the least bit of pleasure.
The message was over. Three short sentences that left no possibility of confusion.
“Lynda, I’ve got to call ….” Her words caught in her throat and she swallowed. “I’ve got to call the First Priest. Can you give me a few minutes?”
Lynda was quiet for a second, then asked, “Are you okay?”
Raylyn nodded, not about to tell of the fear growing like cancer in her stomach.
“Okay,” she said. “Just let me know when you’re done.”
Raylyn remained staring at the wall as Lynda left the room. She stood there without moving for another few minutes, gathering her thoughts.
You have a plan. It’s a good one. You’re getting closer to the cult’s base. Just explain it to him.
She thought the words, but they held no weight. It was like her thoughts were flower petals, things that would float away with the slightest breeze.
Route backwards through message. Connect if port open, she thought, feeling she’d already waited too long.
A few seconds passed, and then her eyes tingled as she connected with the First Priest. A green image projected from her eyes and into the space in front of her.
We give thanks, the First Priest said.
We give thanks, Raylyn answered.
Sister Brinson, I appreciate you getting back to me so quickly. How are you?
The First Priest sat at a table and was looking at her. The table was mostly empty, with a few sheets of paper just under his hands. Raylyn didn’t know when she’d last seen actual paper. It was a rare thing underground—the majority of energy created from the SkyLight was used for food crops.
She kept her eyes on the First Priest, forcing her mind away from the silly, extraneous thought.
I’m well, your Holiness. How can I be of service?
The Council is curious about how your investigation is progressing. As you know, this is a very pressing matter, and your last update says that the informant hasn’t been revealed yet, nor do we know where their leader is. We are … concerned
.
Raylyn nodded, the nanotech in her eyes ensuring that the image didn’t move with her head.
Yes, your Holiness. The informant has been difficult to work with, but we may have found a way around them. We believe we’ve discovered someone who was recently killed inside the cult.
And? the First Priest asked.
We believe that before he disappeared, the man may have given clues as to where he went. He was very talkative leading up to it.
When you say disappearance, are you meaning his death, or when he left to join the Black?
The Black, your Holiness.
The First Priest nodded and looked straight at Raylyn. She felt he saw everything about her, yet took no notice of her at all. And then, as if she’d said nothing, he continued. We’re concerned, Sister, that this may be growing out of your grasp. It’s not that we don’t think you’re capable, only … well, let’s be honest. We’re talking about the world’s destruction, and while the Prevention Division is adequate under most circumstances, perhaps this isn’t one of them. We’re going to send someone to assist you. He’s a Disciple of Corinth, although not a Priest. Are you aware of the difference?
Raylyn held her face firm despite the comment. She wouldn’t let the Priest see any emotion if she could help it. I’m vaguely aware of the differences, but wouldn’t consider myself an expert, your Holiness.
It’s not that important, and there’s no real reason for you to understand it. Briefly, though there are different paths those that serve Corinth daily can take. A Priest spends much of his time in contemplation and prayer. A Disciple spends his time in action. We feel that sending such a man of action will help speed up the investigation. Is that okay with you?
Raylyn nodded. I will serve in any way the Council sees fit. When will the Disciple be here?
He’s arriving within the hour, Sister Brinson. We sent him yesterday. I would like him to accompany you as you interview this Magnan’s former colleague.
Raylyn’s brain simply stopped any forward thinking. It hung on the Priest’s words.
They’d already sent him, long before they decided to tell her. That was somewhat important, but her brain focused on the latter half of the message. Raylyn hadn’t mentioned Magnan’s name, nor who they planned on speaking with—not in a message nor in this conversation.
Which meant only one thing.
They were listening to her conversations.
Or your thoughts.
Yes, your Holiness, she said. I look forward to meeting him.
She didn’t even think to ask the Disciple’s name.
Thank you for your understanding and cooperation, Sister. Please update us as soon as you finish interviewing the former colleague.
The green holograph flittered away, disappearing and leaving Raylyn alone in the room.
They’re monitoring your conversations, maybe even your thoughts. There’s a drone above you right now, flying above the Earth’s surface and probably taking in everything you and anyone around you says.
Raylyn had always known such technologies existed; the PD used drones sometimes, though theirs couldn’t read thoughts. She’d heard rumors that some drones could do that. However, Raylyn hadn’t once considered the possibility that one would be used on her.
And the First Priest? He wanted you to know.
Why? What reason could that possibly serve?
The answer was a cold one, a wind blowing from an arctic cave.
Because you’re not in control and you never have been. You know that now. That’s what he wanted, for that knowledge to live in your head the same as your name does.
The Disciple sat behind Raylyn in the transport’s second compartment. They had met 30 minutes ago, and the introductions were brief. Disciples had names, apparently, even though Priests did not.
“Rogan Nether,” he told her.
The way he looked at them was different than anything Raylyn had encountered before. The Priests at the First Council had certainly made Raylyn feel small, sitting up high and looking down upon her. Perhaps some of that had been in her head, but perhaps not. This man, though …
A man of action, she thought. That’s why they sent him.
She didn’t know if that description fit, at least not from looking at him.
He was thin, but not scrawny. His eyes spoke of a deep calmness within him, much calmer than anyone on the Council—or any other Priests for that matter. He spoke softly and appeared to look at everything at the same time, though not in any manic manner. All of it created some strange attraction in Raylyn.
A brief thought of Manor went through her mind at that. She was starting to care for Manor, so such a thought shouldn’t exist.
But yet, it did.
Raylyn had pushed it away and they’d only spoken briefly before the Disciple said, “Are we ready to go meet with the person in question?”
Somehow, the Disciple’s presence had made Raylyn forget about her conversation with the First Priest. Something about the man inspired peace, and despite the real fear the Priest’s words invoked, she hadn’t felt apprehensive since he arrived.
Lynda was quiet inside the transport, sitting to Raylyn’s right. Raylyn didn’t speak either, though there was no awkwardness in it. The Disciple seemed incapable of anything awkward, although Raylyn had only known him for an hour. The flight to Billmore’s would take the rest of the night, their transport able to expand when they were ready for sleep. They were heading to the Earth’s surface, to a containment site owned by a company named Titan Industries. Raylyn had told the Disciple they weren’t going to announce themselves, and he agreed without any argument.
She wasn’t sure what prerogatives the man had, except that he’d wanted to be quickly on his way.
The plan was to arrive at Titan Industries and then corner Billmore; they had pretty much free reign to do as they needed, but Raylyn hoped his fear of the Prevention Division would be enough.
Raylyn hadn’t had much time to brief Lynda on the Disciple’s arrival. It wasn’t like she knew a lot to begin with; Disciples were nearly unknown. They were an afterthought, if that, and Raylyn couldn’t remember ever meeting one. There wasn’t any mystique around them, no shadows—the Discipleship simply never seemed important. It was the Priests one turned to for guidance.
Raylyn looked over at Lynda for a second. She was staring forward, her eyes half closed. The trip to the surface was long and maybe they should sleep soon. Raylyn wanted to try talking to this Rogan person, though, even if only for a bit.
“How long have you been in your Discipleship?” she asked.
“My entire life,” he said from behind her, his voice as soft as it’d been in her office.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know much about your … vocation? You mean you’ve been in it your entire adult life?”
“No,” he said. “We are born into Discipleship. We don’t choose it.”
Raylyn’s eyes lit green and a mirror formed in between herself and Lynda (whose eyes were wide open now). Both women looked in it to see the man behind them. His own eyes found the mirror.
“What do you mean, you’re born into it?” she said. She wouldn’t have dared ask such a thing of any Priest, let alone the First, but the man in the back … Raylyn thought the poisonous air above could seep down beneath the ground and he would be just fine with it.
“Exactly that. At birth, Disciples are willingly given up from their parents and put into the Discipleship. It’s known before birth what we will be.”
Raylyn caught Lynda looking at her. Neither had ever heard that, despite the tens of thousands of times they attended service.
“How many of you are there?” Lynda said.
“I don’t know. It’s not my place to know. The Priests determine where we are needed, and I imagine they determine how many of us are needed as well.”
Needed.
For what?
Action, the First Priest’s voice said.
“What is that you d
o?” Lynda asked, though Raylyn wasn’t exactly comfortable with the question. “What is the Discipleship needed for?”
“There are things that the Priesthood cannot do, as they aren’t suited for it. We are.” Rogan turned from looking at them to the sky outside. They were traveling at a gentle slope, heading north and up at the same time. They were beyond the last major city, and farms grew high above them. The SkyLight was very, very dim here, as the plant life above was so close to the crust that any brighter and it would kill their growth. “The terms come from the Old World,” the Disciple continued. “Long before the Reformation, when the man named Jesus supposedly walked the Earth. Disciples are who followed him, and when he died, they turned into Priests and built their church. The Disciples walked the Earth with Jesus, and they were willing to die for him. To kill for him.”
Lynda nodded and then slowly turned back around. Raylyn kept the mirror up for another second, but the man didn’t look at her. He didn’t appear done with the conversation, merely accepting whatever way she chose to take it.
“Why are you here, Rogan?” Raylyn asked after a few seconds.
Without even glancing at her, he said, “To ensure the Black doesn’t get through.”
Raylyn stood on the Earth’s surface for the first time in her life. She didn’t want to be here, and her heart thumped in her chest as if someone had pumped her full of amphetamines.
The suit she wore was thin on her body, snug against her thighs and butt, with a little more room in the chest. An oxygen processor was built into that area, the tubing moving up to the ‘helmet’ over her head—if it could be called that. She looked at both Rogan and Lynda, seeing nothing on their head though she knew it was there. Each of them had put the helmet on a hundred feet below the surface, and within 20 seconds, it had formed to fit their skin perfectly.
At first Raylyn had nearly panicked, watching as what she thought had been glass turned to liquid and collapsed on her face—she simply knew she was going to suffocate.
And then it was over. It was as if nothing was on her face, and the men who worked for Titan Industries? They were grinning. They’d of course known what would happen, but gave no warning.
