by David Beers
Raylyn had turned to the Disciple, but he showed no surprise. No emotion at all, only his all encompassing peace.
“Let’s go,” Raylyn had said, annoyed at the whole endeavor.
They’d rose up the hundred feet, and gone through three air locked, double reinforced doors as they ascended.
Then they reached the surface. Raylyn made the decision to come up here, though not out of any desire to see this world. Hers was down below, where Corinth made it, and she was more than content. No, she decided to come up here because she wanted Billmore to understand that the Prevention Division would risk death over this threat.
Because that’s what floated around her. There were always conspiracy theories that the above world was fine, and that the Priesthood kept people beneath to control them. Raylyn had known such ideas were nonsense, but the proof was now here, right in front of her.
Raylyn looked at a desert that stretched forever. She wondered if it ever ended, or if it just continued, covering the oceans and the other Ministries. Perhaps that was the actual conspiracy, that there were no other Ministries because this desert had consumed them all.
She saw nothing but hardened rock beneath her feet. No plants, not even any remnants. The ground itself appeared calcified, as if no water had ever touched it.
Raylyn turned her head up.
Clouds roiled above. Huge and dark, some turning black as they grew thick. They churned, as if a large giant sat above them with a spoon and stirred.
“These men hold it all in,” the Disciple said. “No one thanks them. No one even thinks of them. But they hold all of it in and keep the blight here from spreading to the rest of the world.”
“How?” Lynda asked, staring up at the sky with Raylyn.
“I don’t know. I don’t know how this company, and the others that work up and down the land, do it. I only know they do. It’s ironic. The outside world tried to kill us, creating atomic weapons that continually detonate. Even now they’re still detonating, above, dropping their poison on us. That’s what the storm clouds are, never ending nuclear detonations. Our enemies wanted to ensure we never rose from our graves. Now, though, these men keep those weapons contained, not letting their poison spread to those who created it.”
Raylyn stared for a moment longer, understanding the gravity of the situation. The men up here were keeping the world alive, even though the world tried murdering the True Faith. They ran the technology that kept the nuclear fallout from spreading, that kept the self-generating bombs from exploding outside of designated areas. The man they were here to see—to frighten into talking—stood under these killer skies and did what no one else wanted to do.
And what about Magnan? Was he any different? He stood up here with these men and did the same job.
Maybe. But he forsook Corinth, and forfeited anything else he might have been.
“Lets go,” the Disciple said.
“Where is he?” Raylyn asked as she looked at their escorts, two men wearing the same life-sustaining uniforms as she.
“Billmore is just up there,” one of them said, pointing with his hand to a small hut about 200 yards off.
They started walking, Raylyn’s group bringing up the rear. It took them a few minutes to cross the space, but Raylyn stepped forward once they arrived.
“You two use your credentials to let us in, and then we’ll take over,” she said. Their joke was over and everyone knew it. The Prevention Division wasn’t what you wanted knocking on any door you might be on the other side of.
The men said nothing. One stepped up to the building.
“Callan, Harris,” he said.
The voice recognition software had already completed its job by the time he finished.
The door slid open with a whoosh as the poisoned air rushed in.
The small group walked inside. The door closed behind them, and the ventilators above turned on. It took another 15-20 seconds for the air inside the chamber to clear, Raylyn’s suit taking over oxygen production for the duration.
Finally, the second door opened with another whoosh, as more air funneled inside their small compartment.
Raylyn stepped forward. “We give thanks,” she said, and then wasted no time. “I’m Director Raylyn Brinson with the Prevention Division. I’m here specifically to see Hithram Billmore. The rest of you may leave.”
About ten men were inside the room, all of them looking at Raylyn’s group as if they were actual alien invaders. No one moved for a few seconds.
“Brother Billmore, would you please raise your hand?” Raylyn asked.
Slowly, very slowly, someone’s hand moved into the air on the far right side of the building.
“The rest of you can now leave. Hurry.”
Raylyn’s group stood in place as the other men picked up their things and shuffled from the room. A few nodded at Raylyn but most kept their eyes on the floor. Raylyn looked at their two escorts. “You two can go with them. I’ll call you when we need you.”
One man looked at her—clearly the highest in the corporate hierarchy—deciding whether that was appropriate. It didn’t take him very long, however. He nodded and then the two escorts joined their colleagues. The compartment door shut, and Raylyn looked back across the room to see Hithram Billmore standing.
“We give thanks,” he said.
Raylyn looked at the room, assessing it quickly. It lacked the neat order of her office and looked to be full of junk. Tables were crammed with mechanical pieces and ancient computers. The walls appeared to have some nanotech in it, but much of what was in front of her didn’t.
There were a lot of weapons in here, things that could be used to swing and stab if Billmore got the urge for such action.
“We’d like to speak with you, Brother Billmore. Will your desk be okay?”
“Shu-Sure,” he said and then looked at his desk as if just remembering he had one. It was as cluttered as everything else in the room, and he started trying to create space as Raylyn’s group walked over.
“It’s okay,” she said. The chairs in here had no nanotech either, so she grabbed one and pulled it up to the desk.
The man was frightened, his eyes wide as if he didn’t understand how such a thing could be happening to him.
“I ….” He swallowed still standing, all four of them now surrounding his desk. He seemed to gain some measure of control, and then said, “How can I help you, Sister Brinson?”
“Please have a seat.”
Raylyn was quiet, waiting as the man looked at the other two people standing next to her before following her order. Raylyn sat next, with Lynda and the Disciple sitting after her.
“We’re here to talk about a man named Stellan Magnan. We believe you used to know him, Brother Billmore.”
An hour passed with Raylyn asking questions, but receiving very few answers.
Billmore, for his part, had calmed greatly.
Which Raylyn didn’t like. She wasn’t sure if he was lying, or if he simply didn’t know anything, but both led to the same result: Raylyn was discovering nothing about Stellan Magnan. Apparently, the man had talked to family members, but never to Billmore—which she found difficult to believe. The men that worked on the Earth’s surface, they did six month tours on, then took two off. Magnan had been here with Billmore more than he’d been at home with his family, yet hadn’t said anything to him?
Actually, Raylyn’s better nature was keeping her from vocalizing the truth: she was being lied to.
“Brother Billmore,” she said. “We’ve been going back and forth for a while now, and I’ll be honest with you, I don’t want to keep doing it. We’re barely any further along now than we were when I first walked in here. I don’t think you’re telling me the truth. To be even more candid, I think you’re lying to me. I think that Magnan did tell you something before he left, and I think you’re keeping it from me.”
Raylyn leaned forward over the desk.
“And that makes me ask, why? Why would
you keep something from the Prevention Division? You know the seriousness of this, the situation was clear from the moment we walked in.”
“I’m not keeping anything from you, Sister Brinson,” Billmore said. “Stellan never talked to me about any of this stuff. This is the first time I’m hearing about it.”
“That’s not true.”
Raylyn turned to look at the Disciple before she even knew she was doing it. The man had been sitting next to her the entire time, and hadn’t said a single word after speaking about the sky outside. Raylyn had begun to think he was only a messenger for the First Council.
Now, though, he had finally spoken in his near whisper.
His eyes looked at Billmore, holding that same calm.
“It is true,” Billmore said back.
The Disciple shook his head and kept staring at the man.
Raylyn realized she wasn’t in control of the room anymore. The past hour or more had been under her command, but it somehow had passed from her to this Disciple with only a few words. Billmore had been calm, even confident, when speaking to her.
But as Raylyn looked to him now, his lips had grown thin and his eyes more manic.
She turned back to the Disciple. Was it calm she saw there? Or something else?
What else would it be? she asked herself.
You’re seeing whatever Billmore is seeing, even if you can’t name it.
“I—,” she started to say, but the Disciple stood and the words died in her mouth.
“You’ve been lying to us for an hour,” he said, “and I’m growing tired of it. I’m growing tired of this entire place. You know what I think, Brother Billmore?”
He stepped to the corner of the desk, still on Raylyn’s side.
“It’s not a rhetorical question,” the Disciple said, his right hand lightly touching the desk. “Do you know what I think?”
And yes, Billmore was nervous, and perhaps Raylyn had grown so too. The man’s cadence, his odd calm, all of it in the face of a situation that might mean the entire world’s death.
Billmore shook his head. No.
“Another lie. Why do you lie so much?” the Disciple stepped to the other side of the desk, still on the edge, but much closer to Billmore now. “Corinth teaches us not to lie, but to be truthful in all things, yet you continue to blaspheme him with each word you say. I don’t understand it.”
“I’m not,” the man said, his voice only slightly louder than Rogan’s.
“I imagine Sister Brinson thinks you’re lying because you’re trying to protect your friend, but that’s because she sees the best in people. I disagree with her, because I can’t see why you would protect your friend, knowing that it might very well end with you sacrificing your own life. No, I think you’re lying because you’re a part of this group.”
Raylyn felt lost inside the Disciple’s words. He spoke so softly, so calmly, yet she felt an edge to them, and it drew her in, making her feel like a spectator instead of a participant.
Billmore shook his head.
“You two can leave, if you prefer,” Rogan said without looking at Lynda or Raylyn. “You might not want to see what happens next.”
Raylyn’s head jerked back, the spell she had been under breaking.
“What are you talking about?”
He said nothing, only kept his eyes on Billmore.
“Rogan? What are you talking about?” Raylyn asked again, standing up.
The Disciple stepped closer to Billmore. The man shoved his chair back with his feet, pushing himself away from Rogan.
“Tell me true now. Are you a part of them?” the Disciple said, taking another step forward.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” the man shouted.
Raylyn’s skin was suddenly covered in sweat. She glanced at Lynda and saw her colleague sitting with wide eyes and a wide open mouth.
“Rogan! Stop!” Raylyn said, unsure of what was happening, only knowing that none of this felt right. There were protocols, rules to be followed. Formalized laws given by the Priesthood itself about how to approach subjects.
The Disciple took another step forward and Billmore tried to stand up.
Rogan’s eyes lit green, but unlike anything Raylyn had ever seen before. Usually, there were specks along the whites—dots here and there. The entirety of his whites glowed a dark green. He didn’t move at all, but stood there staring with more nanoparticles alight in him than Raylyn had thought possible.
Billmore was held in place, halfway to standing, except it appeared he’d lost all control of his muscles. He leaned backwards and his arms splayed out to the side, his torso almost horizontal while his legs were still in the (now paused) process of standing up.
Green dots appeared on Billmore’s face, the same as they would have in his eyes if activated.
But they weren’t supposed to be on his face. That wasn’t possible. The nanotech floated through a person’s body, but it only appeared in the eyes.
“Stop,” Raylyn whispered, though she wasn’t aware of it. She watched the green particles, now popping up on his neck, too. They were pushing out against his skin, stretching it as if they were tiny pills beneath his flesh, trying to burst free.
The man’s mouth opened and his chest heaved up as if about to release a horrible scream.
“No. No, air for you, Brother Billmore,” the Disciple said.
His chest stopped moving and Raylyn could see glowing particles pushing out from beneath his suit.
“I’m going to let you nod, Brother. If you’re protecting the people Magnan went to, I want you to nod. If you’re also a part of them, nod twice.”
Raylyn found her eyes moving toward the man. Terror held her firmly in its grip, refusing to let her do anything besides watch. Because this wasn’t possible. What she saw now was against the very Proclamations of Corinth.
Five or ten seconds passed, and then Billmore nodded once.
Another five, and then a second nod.
“Good, thank you.”
The glow in the Disciple’s eyes died, fading away as his usual whites returned.
Billmore collapsed, first to the chair, which spun out behind him, and then to the floor. His chest was held frozen for a moment, and then it released—a huge gasp of air rushing from his lungs.
No green dotted his skin or appeared to be ripping through his suit. He lay on the floor, curling into a ball and breathing heavily.
Raylyn looked at the Disciple, both fear and righteous anger raging inside of her.
He gazed back at her calmly. “We’ll need to bring him with us.”
Raylyn said all of five words on the way back. Lynda said none.
It was now very early in the morning and both sat in Raylyn’s office. The SkyLight outside was still showing the moon, but they’d agreed to arrive before the sun rose. They didn’t want the Disciple hearing what they had to say, though Raylyn figured it didn’t much matter. If the Council was listening, she couldn’t hide anything.
Still, she didn’t want to say any of this to his face. She didn’t want to be around the man at all, and definitely not when discussing what happened yesterday.
“Corinth,” Lynda started and then stopped. She was choked up, and Raylyn saw tears in her eyes. Raylyn said nothing, letting Lynda gather herself. “Corinth said that each person’s nanotech is their own, and under no circumstances is it to be used against them. Under no circumstances.”
Raylyn nodded. She’d thought about it all night. The Proclamation was clear, and it’d been in place since the True Faith’s beginning. Even if a suspect violated direct canons, one couldn’t simply take control of someone’s nanotech. To do that, it would give the Priesthood unlimited power—exactly what Corinth hadn’t wanted.
Yet, this man, this Disciple of Corinth, had done just that.
“What can we do?” Lynda asked.
“I don’t know,” Raylyn said. “He’s from the First Council. I’m not sure we can do anything.”
“I can’t … I can’t watch that again, Raylyn. I cried all night last night. I haven’t slept at all, not a single hour. I can’t do this.”
“Listen,” Raylyn said, finally having the chance to tell her everything. “They’re listening to me, Lynda. My conversations. Maybe even my thoughts. They basically told me so when they said he was coming, and then he was here and … Everything happened so fast. I probably should have told you earlier … I imagine they’re listening to you, too.”
“What?”
Raylyn nodded, understanding Lynda’s confusion. It was massive, finding out something like that—you, someone who served Corinth regardless of the costs, were being watched.
“They knew we were going to speak with Billmore before I told anyone. They’re most likely listening to this very conversation.”
Lynda was quiet, her eyes still wet with tears. She turned and looked out the window, staring up at the SkyLight.
“I can’t,” she said after a minute. “I can’t do this anymore, not if this is what we have to do. That man, that Disciple, he broke the commandment and it doesn’t matter to me what anyone says. There’s no justification. Corinth didn’t give us an if/then clause. He said you don’t do it.”
“What are you saying?”
“I quit.”
Raylyn was stunned. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find any words.
Lynda nodded, though most likely to herself rather than Raylyn. “Yeah. I quit. I’m done.” She stood and walked to Raylyn’s desk. “Scan me.”
A ClearView floated down from the ceiling and to her wrist. She pulled back her sleeve and turned her palm up. “Tell it to deactivate me.”
“No,” Raylyn said. “Think about what you’re doing right now. This is your career. Your life.”
“I know. I don’t care about any of that. This isn’t right.”
Raylyn’s office door opened and she looked over. The Disciple stood at it. She hadn’t heard or seen him approaching.
Lynda turned to him.
