by J A Bouma
He offered, “We’re leaving for a short trip. Shouldn’t be long.” Was even that too much?
“A short trip? Hey, stop.” She grabbed his arms and forced him to a standstill. Holding firm, she asked, “Seriously, what’s going on? Why am I being kept in the dark?”
“I don’t know, alright!” He jerked his arm from Tara’s grip. She raised her hands in surrender, then planted them firmly at her hips.
He sighed, then continued in a hushed voice, “Look, we’ve just got something to take care of. And if Father Jim didn’t say anything, there’s probably a reason. Which means I’m not spilling it. Besides, it’s probably for your own good. The less people know the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
Tara stood staring at him, irritation and skepticism mixing in a penetrating glare. “Fine,” she finally said, turning away from him. “You’ll be sorry you didn’t take me along.”
“Yeah right,” Alexander mumbled under his breath as he watched her walk off. He turned and continued down the hallway toward the parking garage where Father Jim had parked the car the night before. The doors of chrome and frosted glass opened with a whoosh into the concrete bunker gleaming with fluorescent lighting. His former mentor was already waiting when he arrived.
“Good morning, my boy! Ready to set sail on our little clandestine ecclesial adventure?” He was grinning from ear to ear, enjoying things a little too much Alexander feared. “Here, let me take your bags.”
“Thanks, Father—”
“And stop with the Father rubbish!” he interrupted as he slammed the trunk. “It’s driving me bonkers.”
“So, what, Mr. Ferraro then?”
He frowned as Alexander smiled. “Father Jim will do, Alex. Or Padre, if you prefer.”
The frosted glass behind them opened again, and out stepped Father Kojo and Mother Kayo.
Father Jim said, “Alright, off we go. Pray for us, that by some form of magic and providential movement we’ll find a way through this blasted mess.”
“May the Lord be with you, Cardinal Ferraro and Father Zarruq,” Mother Kayo said.
“And also with you,” the two responded.
They sped out of town as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, casting long, burnt shadows over the countryside. Father Jim slipped the magnacar into auto drive for the two hours back to Byzantium, allowing them to sleep the whole way. As they neared their destination, the vehicle sounded a warning, waking Father Jim to commandeer it once again to bring it safely into the magnarail station parking garage. They found a spot in the back, parked, then made their way to the ticket counter to purchase tickets for the high-speed monorail line to Kiev.
Since the Armageddon and subsequent Reckoning that had banned commercial airliners, high-speed magnetic rail transportation had been perfected with maximum speeds approaching what commercial airliners used to achieve. Which would make the 1500 kilometer trip less than a two-hour journey. The modern rail lines were sleek ultramodern inventions of the 22nd century that utilized small fusion reactors for power with dedicated rails for transportation throughout Europa, Vostokana, Muscovia, and Asiatica. There had been threats of terrorist activity over the years, but so far they’d escaped the kind of catastrophe the airliners had faced for over a century..
The same tight security was employed as the deep submergence vehicles, which increased Alexander’s anxiety once again. This time, however, he was able to use his real identity. Father Jim and Alexander stood in line with the other travelers to be checked by the humanoid waiting for them up ahead.
Alexander tried to slow his breathing, concentrating on his rehearsed lines: What’s the nature of your trip? “I’m going to see an old friend on holiday.” It was the perfect truth that should allow him to pass with flying colors. He continued imagining him giving the line to regulate his pulse, watching the others up ahead answer their own questions and place their finger on the scanner for—
The scanner. His finger.
The one that had been injected with the subcutaneous transmitter bearing his false identity!
Alexander grabbed his forefinger, fear coursing through his veins, the narcotic ribbons throbbing in his pocket for his attention to bring relief. He turned to Father Jim, face grim and panicked.
“I was given a chip with a new identity,” he whispered wide-eyed.
Confused, the man looked at Alexander as he held his finger and whispered his rushed sentence of panic. “Slow down, my boy. What’s the matter now?”
“My finger!” Alexander huffed as he held it to be examined. “Tara injected me with a new identity to get me through security under disguise.” He looked around, eyes darting from security guard to humanoid. “And it’s still there!”
“But I sent her to you this morning to remove it. Did she not say anything?”
“No!” Alexander said too loudly, which attracted the attention of the humanoid he was fast approaching. He cursed his slip and cursed Tara under his breath. “No, she asked what we were doing. And when I refused to tell her, she walked off, saying something about being sorry for not taking me along. I guess so…”
Father Jim’s brow furrowed with worry and confusion at why Tara disobeyed his command. He shook his head and sighed with frustration. “Alex, it doesn’t matter. It should have died out by now anyhow.”
“But how do I know? And I don’t have my contacts anymore so I have to use my real name!”
Sweat stains were starting to appear at Alexander’s armpits, the creases in his forehead channeling beads of sweat that ran from side to side. The transmitters were designed to have a limited life and degrade into the skin on their own, unlike the Republic issued identity chips that had a ten-year lifespan. But sometimes stealth ID chips would transmit longer, depending on the condition of the host.
One way or another, he’d find out, for in three turns he was about to meet the humanoid guard up ahead.
Alexander reached into his pocket as he tried to regulate his breathing, fingering the tiny narco box that rested at the bottom. He knew that the AI unit would have questions if his heart and breathing were elevated above accepted levels, giving away his deception. But then again, if the transmitter was still operating, and he gave his real name, he’d be in more trouble than he cared to imagine anyway. Subverting the Republic carried a life sentence of hard labor at a reprogramming camp, without recourse.
“Just tell him you are Father Zarruq. If there are any problems, we can tell them about your alias that’s used for ecclesiastical business,” Father Jim said with a calm murmur, trying to be reassuring.
Alexander considered this as he stood next in line. Yes, that might work. The humanoid in the stall next door motioned for him. He hesitated, then proceeded over to the transportation security guard.
“Finger and eyeball,” he grunted in a digital monotone.
He hesitated, taking a breath and wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. He glanced behind him at Father Jim, then slid his finger inside the scanner and faced the humanoid to be scanned. After a few seconds, he slid his finger out and waited for sirens.
The guard glanced at him, something not registering right on his face. “Scan your finger again, sir.”
Alexander cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”
“The first scan came back inconclusive.”
Bloody hell. The subterfuge from his first visit must have still been faintly transmitting, preventing the scanner from registering either subcutaneous implants well.
“What? Why?” he asked again.
The humanoid sat up stiff and ready for trouble. “Sir, place your finger inside the scanner for a second scan.” Then he stood, resting his hand on his holster as if putting an exclamation point on his demand. An augmented human guard stood next to him at attention, the Auger glancing from Alexander to the humanoid guard and back.
“Alright, no need to get jumpy.” Father Zarruq rubbed the tips of his forefinger and thumb together.
With all of
his might, he pressed his finger on the scanner, hoping the pressure would bring the original identity implant to the surface and crowd out the fake one. He waited three more long, aching seconds for the results. Holding his breath, he glanced at Father Jim, who looked like he was holding his own breath.
“Cleared,” the humanoid chirped. “Next.” He ushered Alexander onward in step with his programed efficiency.
Alexander continued holding his breath until he was out of range of the Solterra guards. Then he let it out in force, heaving large gulps of stale terminal air. He shuffled over to a curved bench of glass and chrome and plopped down with exhaustion.
While Father Jim was being scanned, he shoved his hand into his pocket in search of his narco relief. He yanked out the small capsule, quickly retrieving a translucent wafer and shoving it onto his tongue. He pressed it against the roof of his mouth and closed his eyes.
Damn that woman. Why had Tara not removed his implant like Father Jim had asked? Was she hoping that he’d get caught? Surely not if she was working for the Order, it would have potentially compromised their mission.
Unless…
No, that didn’t make sense. Why would she act to subvert their efforts? She was probably pissed that he wouldn’t give up the mission details, thinking she’d get back at him for withholding from her, that he’d be sorry they didn’t bring her along.
Father Jim walked up as Alexander finished swallowing his narco intervention. “We better get a move on. I shan’t think we should tarry any longer than need be.”
The two hustled off to find their train after the security scare and delay, nearly missing its departure. They settled into seats near the back of the long airliner-size metal bullet. A horn blared one long blast, then two short ones and another long one, letting the station know they were about to depart.
The sleek metal tube bulleted out of the terminal and zoomed along its track underground through the city before emerging out into a barren world darkened by storm clouds. Alexander stared out the window as rain painted streaking droplets on his window by the rush of wind speeding past. A few minutes later, the world outside began to drift behind him. Leaving the city fully in their wake, the world disappeared in a fast-moving kaleidoscope of smeared colors as the train peaked to near 600 kilometers per hour. Soon they would reach their destination, the capital city of Vostokana and home to his college buddy.
He wondered how his roommate would take their sudden intrusion in his life, especially after they had fallen out of contact. For eight years, they shared life together before Alexander’s residency and Sasha’s own work split them apart. Early on, they talked weekly via video conference. But over the years, distance and their own work obsessions dwindled the flame of friendship. He considered the news he had read a few days ago, about the world-altering—and time-altering—discovery that had pushed Sasha into the limelight. A spark of envy needled his heart as he thought about how their careers had taken two very different turns.
By the look of it, Sasha had established himself as a global expert in theoretical physics working for a prestigious university at the heart of the emerging powerful Vostokana province of Solterra, amassing acclaim and attention and commanding billions of dollars in research money with hundreds of students and probably several assistants. Alexander, on the other hand, was an unknown, nobody priest of a small congregation in a backwoods town in North Alkebulana. He was part of a dying profession that commanded little fame or glory allied with an ancient people who had become a curse word among the Republic—Ichthus.
Who in their right mind wanted to be a priest nowadays? A physicist, making monumental discoveries and appearing on the front page of OneWorld News, sure. Leading a flock of shallow, dwindling believers and attracting the ridicule of the world, not so much.
Oddly, each of them had found themselves leaders within a sort of religious order of their own right. Over eight centuries, Science had taken prime place as modern humanity’s religious affection, replacing the Church with the University as the hallowed ground upon which life’s deep questions were sought and satisfied. Sasha had found such answers at Oxford deep in his textbooks exploring the mysteries of the universe in a way he hadn’t through catechism. While growing up in the Church, he was left wanting. And now Father Pavlovich was leading the charge within Science in a way Father Zarruq never would in the Church.
Alexander cursed himself for his silent transgression, knowing it was one of the chief of the seven deadly sins. Envy was one of those personal thorns in the flesh and fatal flaws that had silently, slowly burrowed itself deep within his heart over the years. He wanted to have what other people had, be what other people were, experience what others were experiencing. He was thankful for his simple life and the opportunities it afforded him to care for people from cradle to grave, to teach the Holy Scriptures and lead people to rescue from sin and death in Jesus Christ. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. And Sasha symbolized the more he wanted: an immortalization that went beyond immortality.
He sighed and closed his eyes as the bullet train continued coursing through the Vostokana region through Bulgaria to Romania and onward to Kiev, Ukrainski. He nestled into his seat and drifted off to sleep, praying a nap would set him right again after a harrowing thirty hours.
Two hours later, he felt the gravitational forces of the speeding magnarail begin to retreat, slowing to speeds reserved for entrance into major populated areas. He awoke with a start, staring out into the bleak cityscape frozen in a five-hundred-year-old era dominated by bland, gray, harsh-looking concrete structures, punctuated by colorful cathedrals capped by golden domes. This was the Ukrainski region that once stood as the eastern front to the former Soviet Union, a bloc of nations buffeted by Communism and finally finding freedom from its iron grip a century and a half ago.
Ultramodernity had worked little of its magic in bringing the hardened crust of the former U.S.S.R’s influence into the 22nd century. That would change with Sasha’s discovery of time travel, putting it on the map in a way nothing else had over the decades.
What did that mean, anyway, practically speaking? And what did Father Jim expect to gain from this misadventure? An actual device to send them back and film early Church history? Nonsense. This was a fool’s errand, an act of desperation by an old man desperate to leave a legacy on a crumbling institution.
The train came to a halt at a dirty, dimly lit terminal underground. A lighted sign above the exit gave them permission to safely exit.
“This is us,” Father Jim said, sounding stiff from the journey. “Now, let’s hope this wasn’t a wasted trip. Do you know how to get a hold of Sasha? Where he lives and such?”
“I say we just drop by the university. If he’s still the Sasha I know, he’ll be hard at work, especially now that the world spotlight is shining brightly on him. He’ll want to perfect his discovery. Sasha was ever a workaholic.”
The two marauders left the station in another clunky, stuffy AI-powered cab as wretched as the one Alexander and Tara took in Byzantium. Blessedly, it was a short trip to the university that sat at the heart of the ancient city stretching all the way back to the Bronze Age, playing a pivotal role in the development of the East Slavic civilization before becoming an important trade and transportation center during the Russian industrial revolution in the late 19th century. Now it was the third largest city in the pan-European continent and the anchoring regional capital city of the Republic in Vostokana.
The cab lumbered over the Dnieper River along with hundreds of other commuters returning home for the evening. As one of the oldest cities in Europa, Kiev stood as a standard-bearer of the resilience of human civilizations across the expanse of time. It probably existed as early as the 5th century as a major commercial center for the trade between Scandinavia and Constantinople. It is said that the apostle Andrew, brother of Peter, preached the gospel along the Black Sea and the Dnieper river as far as Kiev. A church, Saint Andrews Church, still stands over the city
gleaming white with a turquoise crown and gold-accented spires as a testament to his mission and devotion to the gospel.
Alexander could see the church off in the distance to the right as they entered the city and made their way toward the university. He prayed his old friend would receive them well. And he prayed Father Jim was right: that Sasha could lend Ichthus a helping hand.
Because the good Lord above knew his Church desperately needed one.
Chapter 11
Kiev, Ukranski Province.
The cabbie brought them to a cluster of buildings that made up the Faculty of Physics. Departments included Astronomy and Astrophysics, Experimental Physics, General Physics, Quantum Field Theory, Molecular Physics, Theoretical Physics, The Physics of Metals, The Physics of Functional Materials, and Nuclear Physics. Father Jim paid the fare with Republic Merca credits and off the AI went, leaving them to sort through the array of buildings and find their friend.
“So where to now?” asked Alexander, hands on his hips and eyeing each of the drab, concrete temples of higher academic learning, the cloudy sky quickly giving way to darkness and making the angular accents of the buildings that much more dramatic.
Father Jim shrugged, eyeing the quad and grimacing at the dreary, industrial remains of the Communism that had ravaged the lands for decades before their day of freedom. A coed walked toward them, head down and grasping a slate to her chest. Father Ferraro stepped out to engage her.
“Dobry den…” he said, greeting her in the regional language before launching into a conversation about what Alexander could only guess.
“Spasibo. Dosvidaniya,” Father Jim finally said before the young lady quickly walked off. He pointed toward a large, squat building at the center of a cluster of taller ones. “It’s that building over there.”
“Since when do you speak Muscovia, Padre?” Alexander asked, amazed and amused all at once.
“I picked it up several decades back while at Oxford. Never know when a few words from the former Mother Russia will serve you well.” He winked as he led them on toward a four-story building overgrown with ivy and several towering sycamores. Evening had settled over the city, and several windows were lit bright. They had a hunch Sasha was in one of those rooms slaving away on his latest project.
