The Armor of God

by Diego Valenzuela

  More importantly: he wanted to pilot Nandi again, because the Minotaur had become a piece of him, and he couldn’t part with it.

  Only a couple of restless hours of sleep later, Ezra was awoken by Barnes, who instructed him to shower and dress in a formal uniform he had never worn before. “Make yourself pretty, Blanchard; you’re making a public appearance.”

  Twenty minutes later, Ezra was escorted by Barnes and Erin to the station. Both of them wore similar uniforms, ready and proud to be part of the first significant step to save Zenith from Proposition Tomorrow: Ezra’s appearance before the citizens of Roue.

  On the train ride to Roue through the long tunnel that connected the city with Zenith, Erin gave him a document. “Your script, as written by Director Blanchard. Read it, memorize it. She has the whole thing ready in Roue. She’s been working through the last few days trying to fit Zenith back in to Roue’s collective consciousness and apologize for the government’s decision to hide it. Showing that there is a human being behind the Creux is essential.”

  “It won’t help,” said Barnes. “People won’t agree with giving that much power to an eighteen year old, but what do I know?”

  “Nothing,” said Erin. “The army recruits and arms soldiers at the same age, with less training—”

  “I’ve never seen an eighteen-year-old soldier pilot a fifty-foot suit of armor,” argued Barnes, and he regretted his tone almost immediately. “Listen, Blanchard: You know I want Zenith to exist as much as you. You know I want the Creux and Besoe Nandi to remain active. Don’t forget I also know what’s coming. I just . . . I’m just not sure Director Blanchard’s strategy will convince anyone.”

  “You’re gonna have to have a little faith, but it won’t be easy,” Erin said. “Governor Heath is going to be there. I don’t know the details but I believe he’s come to some kind of agreement with Director Blanchard. As I understand, the governor never approved entirely of Zenith, so he might try to take this opportunity to shut it down. Though the entire city will vote on Proposition Tomorrow, he can cause some serious damage to the campaign. People love him.”

  Ezra nodded, remembering how Governor Heath had been jokingly cast as a villain among the Zenith employees, who often took advantage of the man’s legendary unattractiveness to make jokes. Though the citizens of Roue in their ignorance approved of him, no one in Zenith did.

  He trusted Tara Blanchard, but knew Erin was right: it wouldn’t be easy, even for someone with her respect and influence. Ezra sighed; he wanted to see the infested world outside through the windows of the train, but there were none; that world was not meant to be seen.

  The lies started from the very beginning, he thought, and began reading the script. And now they must continue.

  One of the most important parts of his appearance involved Ezra having to put up a convincing performance. He had to claim that the laani he had killed in the guise of Besoe Nandi was threatening the city (lie). He had to claim that if he had not done what he did, there would have been casualties, and that it could not be avoided (lie). He had to say that despite everything, he had been properly disciplined (lie).

  He had to convince everyone that the pressure of protecting Roue from the laani was extreme.

  (Not a lie.)

  At no point could he reveal that he had lost control. He couldn’t refer to his mother as anything other than Doctor or Director Blanchard. She had left him a note at the end that scared him: Ezra, this whole thing boils down to the proper use of your common sense.

  Ezra hated lies, but as he read, he began to understand the threads with which they were playing. It dawned on him that sometimes the correct lie in the correct mind was acceptable.

  He had to convince himself that this was one of those times. The fate of Zenith, of the Creux, and then of all of Roue, depended on his performance.

  He arrived at a public square at the heart of Roue in a heavily escorted military car, all the way searching for the part of the dome he had damaged, but he never saw it. It seemed like every citizen in the city had gathered to watch in one way or another. An enormous crowd surrounded a stage at the center of the square at the heart of the city. Above it flew the flag of Roue: a golden wheel with seven spokes against a field of red.

  Maybe it was the protection of the military around him, but he had expected a significant degree of contempt from the crowd. He had been wrong. Yes, someone yelled a few cuss words at him as he walked; someone referred to him as “just a kid”; some others appeared to be laughing at him.

  But there were also some applause and cheers. Maybe his mother—no, Director Blanchard, he reminded himself—had been right: maybe the opposition wasn’t as overwhelming as he had feared.

  Ezra climbed to the stage. Waiting there for him were Director Blanchard, Governor Ronald Heath, General Lydia Adams of the Roue Army, and Dr. Mizrahi.

  All looked at him with masks of severe solemnity.

  Television and press cameras were pointed at the stage, some directly at him, as he made the climb and was asked to sit. Behind him, there were a couple of screens projecting the insignias of the army, of Zenith, and the Roue flag.

  Most of the voices in the crowd silenced when his mother walked up to a stand and began to speak into the microphone. Ezra noticed only a fraction of the people there were looking at the speaker: most were focused on him. He began to try and remember the script, but it was hard to focus with the pressure of a million eyes. Director Blanchard talked for about twenty minutes, an undoubtedly well-rehearsed speech meant to appease minds, dismiss myths, and cast a spell of hope.

  Near the end of the address, Director Blanchard invited the crowd to turn towards the screens behind her. Ezra looked on to see the most unexpected sight: Besoe Nandi, standing lifeless like the suit of armor it truly was, somewhere deep in Zenith. “This is a live feed inside of the Zenith complex. It is Creux model twenty-one, codename Besoe Nandi. This is the Creux you saw crash into the dome in a desperate attempt to stop the laani threatening it—threatening us. As you can see, it is nothing but a weapon. It has no mind of its own and poses no real threat to us,” she said. “It is here to protect each and every one of you.”

  Some people began to clamor and rant.

  “Sitting behind me is the matched pilot of Besoe Nandi. He was inside model twenty-one, and he will address a few words to you.”

  When he left his chair, the white shirt of his uniform was clinging to his sweaty body. Ezra walked to the stand on weakened legs and stared at the microphone for a minute, unable to speak. He could hear through his nervous haze some people were applauding, even cheering him on. A large section that marked with their matching red clothing a clear spot among the crowd seemed to be focused on opposing him; most of the booing and ranting came from them.

  It was difficult to phrase the suggested script in a way that reassured the people of Roue of his confidence and competence, but soon he began to realize that his anxiety was working in his favor. Some might have seen him as a weak little man who had no business inside a Creux, but many began to perceive him as a human being who had made a mistake trying to do his duty.

  As he spoke of “the pressures of protecting all of Roue,” the “great pain it caused him to bring harm to the city,” he began to focus his eyes on the sea of faces before him. Some of them had gone from an emotionless stare to a hopeful smile. Some were nodding along to his words. Sometimes he would imitate his mother, trying to strengthen the point of how Nandi was nothing without a pilot, and that the pilot stood before them, wanting nothing but the protection of mankind, and the expansion of their domain on earth.

  When he was finished, the number of hands coming together in approving applause had increased greatly, even if there were still some very vocal detractors. He ignored the critics, and a significant weight was removed from his shoulders: He had done his job.

  Ezra returned to his seat with something more closely resembling a smile. After him spoke Barnes, who explained to peopl
e the basics of how a Creux was piloted, and the stress it caused to the pilots. After Barnes it was Erin’s turn. She introduced herself as the leader of the Creux Defense Squad, described the type of training taking place in Zenith, and created a narrative of Ezra’s character that was (mostly) earnest and truly heart-warming, at least to him.

  At the end it was the turn of General Adams and Governor Heath, both of whom had been muttering between themselves throughout the entire presentation. Ezra knew that the citizens of Roue approved of Governor Heath, but was still impressed by the respect the man seemed to command. General Adams, elegant in her formal uniform, looked at Ezra and gave him an approving nod, which Ezra countered with a smile.

  “A few days ago, Director Tara Blanchard proposed making this gathering public as means to convince you, the people of Roue, that the thing back there. . .,” he pointed back, and Ezra first thought he was pointing at him, but then realized he was pointing at Nandi, “. . . is harmless. I don’t know about you, folks, but I am not convinced.”

  A part of the crowd, especially the section wearing red, cheered. Ezra saw his mother’s previously calm demeanor darken. She looked at him.

  The man continued: “We spoke and I allowed her this audience under one condition: she had to convince both General Adams and myself that the weapon was truly harmless, coupled with a pilot or otherwise. You, the citizens of Roue, will decide upon the fate of Zenith when Proposition Tomorrow is put to a vote in ten days. However, the fate of that thing back there has been decided today.”

  People began to cheer him on. People began to scream in protest.

  Ezra turned to his mother; she was afraid. She got on her feet and attempted to call the governor’s attention, but he gave her none of it. General Adams began speaking to his mother, but Ezra couldn’t hear through Governor Heath’s speech and the crowd.

  The nervous confusion in Erin’s face matched his. Only Barnes appeared to maintain a certain degree of stoicism as panic began to set in.

  General Adams got on her feet and grabbed the microphone. “People, please listen to me. These enlisted members and employees currently working in Zenith have made their case in favor of the facility and Creux twenty-one in particular.” She looked back at the Minotaur. “I required very little convincing, as I’ve monitored the facility for almost a decade and can attest to the enormous advantages it brings to us in our war with the laani. I think every single Creux in existence is an invaluable asset, and destroying one would be—”

  Ezra couldn’t hear the rest. He was sweating again, losing himself in the furious eyes of the crowd. He could no longer tell who supported Zenith and who didn’t. Suddenly it didn’t seem so important; he hadn’t been warned that Besoe Nandi himself was at stake. That his future as a pilot was at stake.

  When he looked again, it was Governor Heath at the stand again. “Regardless of General Adams’ one-sided and uninformed opinion, the deal made with Director Blanchard to grant her this platform stated that the opinion between the three of us had to be unanimous, or the Creux would be destroyed. I’m afraid I stand by mine: that monster destroyed part of the city, and nothing can guarantee that it will not happen again. It cannot be controlled by this child.” He pointed at Ezra; his finger was like a venomous snake. “Dr. Mizrahi, I’m afraid the thing will have to be destroyed.”

  The crowd roared their opinions, supporters and detractors lost in the thunder. Erin and his mother walked up to Governor Heath and spoke words that were dead before reaching his ears.

  Ezra’s eyes went to Dr. Mizrahi, who mournfully began to speak through a phone—a direct link to Zenith.

  A few seconds later, Erin brought her hand to her mouth and looked up at the screen displaying the live feed of Nandi back in Zenith.

  Ezra could almost hear the Minotaur scream in the back of his mind as red-hot molten steel began to cover him in a deadly shower. The thick red cascade burned Ezra, and after a moment that stretched itself for far too long, a huge tower of fire had replaced Besoe Nandi, with the helpless Minotaur melting inside.

  His mind went to a cold place, and he was swallowed by darkness.

  Chapter 20

  No Return

  The sights and sounds and scents were not unfamiliar, but decidedly new. He opened his eyes to the sky of a new day, the smell of grass bathed in cold dew, an icy wind, and the song of a bird. A setting red sun showered him in sweet heat, and looking up at the colorful sky, he knew not one of these stimuli were caused by a man-made dome.

  These things were nature. Real nature he had never truly known.

  A few feet away from him he saw Besoe Nandi, a red horned giant lying flat on its back as if dead.

  He closed his eyes again, hoping not to wake up and prove that this was just a dream.

  When Ezra woke again in Zenith, the feeling of overwhelming physical discomfort was altogether familiar. Again he came back to the world with a sore throat, bloated eyes, wet clothes, and angry bitterness.

  He would later see on the official vids of the event that he had controlled his rage in ways even Barnes would have applauded. Though his face was in no way stoic, it did not reflect the fire inside, not really. It wasn’t until he was back inside the military car that he allowed himself to scream and curse and rave, stupidly elbowing at the reinforced windows and asking for an explanation for what, to him, felt like another betrayal.

  Why had they not prepared him for the possibility of forever losing Nandi? Of losing his status as a pilot and becoming just a worker in Zenith? Several months earlier he had lost an entire future when he was placed in Zenith, and now he had lost that new future as well.

  What did he have left? A life in service without any discernibly exceptional aspect about him: a return to mediocrity. He had barely begun to grow enough to fit in the Creux, had barely begun to feel strong and significant, and now he was deflating like a balloon. He was afraid he would relapse into his self before Zenith: a pointless existence of idleness and boredom only buoyed by the vague hope that maybe soon the world would end.

  No wonder some people opposed Zenith and its vague promises of hope.

  His mother had stayed in Roue, and Barnes had gone mute. Only Erin made an effort to comfort him, but it was no use. Even she figured out that she couldn’t rid him of the anger and sadness, and stopped before the train made its final stop.

  No one had dared oppose his choice to lock himself in the dormitory and get some sleep and solitude. He needed the time alone, but his dormitory proved to be an awful place to be. He couldn’t forget the loss of Besoe Nandi when its name and colors and insignia oppressively surrounded him.

  A shower upon his awakening gave him a certain degree of peace, but his mind had fallen into a gaping pit: suddenly everything that had happened before, all the things he had begun to put in his past, came rushing back with snapping jaws. Suddenly the death of Alice and Susan, the violence they forced upon an otherwise peaceful soul, all the lies and, more recently, the enormous pressure of preventing a cataclysm stopped feeling like fires forging him into a powerful weapon; they were melting him away into nothing.

  Ezra grabbed the nose ring and put it on; at least he had that to remind him that he had once ridden the Minotaur. He wouldn’t let those scars heal.

  He was sitting almost naked on the red-and-blue bed sheets when there was a knock on the door. He begrudgingly got dressed in uniform and opened the door. Akiva stood at the other side, once again making him feel small. Ezra had no energy to deal with him, so he reached for the switch to shut the door.

  Akiva stopped him. “Ezra! Man, I have some good news.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” he said, and noticed Poole and Jena were standing a few doors down the hallway, waiting for him. Seeing Jena awakened the tiny monsters that clawed at his stomach. If Dr. Yuri had intended to torture Ezra by suggesting he had killed the mutated form of Leonardo Crescent, he had done a great job. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “I just said:
Good news.”

  “Please don’t say I’m going to be placed as one of your crewmembers, because I swear I’ll jump into the train tracks,” he said.

  “Oh, gosh, of course not,” said Jena.

  “And you couldn’t be a crewmember, anyway; you don’t have the training,” Poole added. She immediately regretted her words. “I apologize. Ezra Blanchard, you should come with us. You’re still a Creux pilot, and Zenith still needs you.”

  Ezra didn’t know what to think during the few minutes it took them to cross Zenith from the dormitories to the Compatibility labs and down the hallway where the docking chambers, and the doorways to the Creux, waited.

  The door of Docking Chamber 14, where Besoe Nandi had docked, was closed off by yellow tape, indicating it was no longer operational—or rather, that its former occupant had been destroyed or was otherwise unavailable. Akiva opened the door anyway, and invited him to ignore the tape and step inside.

  He froze where he stood when he looked inside and saw Nandi’s face through the thick window of the docking chamber. Ezra didn’t even register the presence of Kat and Barnes when he ran towards the window to make sure that the entirety of his Creux was really standing out there, waiting for him.

  It was the kind of relief he had never experienced before, the one felt when a blight in your past was suddenly wiped clean, removing a burden from memory. “What happened? How did you do it?” he said, still looking at the Minotaur through the glass as though it might vanish, his rapid breathing making it fog up.

  “You’ll have to thank Vivian for that one,” said Barnes.

  Ezra finally turned around and saw Poole nodding. “No, not just me. Sergeant Barnes and Akiva helped me.” Jena cleared her throat. “And Jena, I suppose. A few days ago, when you were still confined to your dormitory, Director Blanchard did put Besoe Nandi on the line for the opportunity of this morning’s event in Roue—”