The Prophet of Queens

by Glenn Kleier

  Ariel replied, “I can’t say yet, not till this is over. I’ll be in touch.”

  Scott and Ivy must have read the anxiety in her eyes, Ariel saw it reflected in theirs. Ivy stammered, “Wh-what is it? Something’s wrong. Please tell us what’s coming!”

  Before Ariel could respond, her screen began to quiver, table and keyboard trembling. And to her horror, she realized, Timequake.

  Max slashed a finger across his throat to cut the session, and Ariel made a stab at her keys—a moving target.

  Suddenly a more violent tremor upset the table, and she and her computer tumbled to the ground.

  Chapter 97

  Monday, October 27, 2:09 pm, Queens

  Ivy watched Scotty rooting under his desk, checking wires. Moments ago, during their session with the angel, his videochat window abruptly convulsed and went blank.

  She bent down to ask, “Anything?”

  “Nothing.” He crawled out and retook his seat as the rumbles and whines returned and faded. “I think she dumped us.”

  Ivy felt a chill. She’d seen the look on Ariel’s face when Scotty asked her about their fates, just before the transmission dropped. “Something bad is gonna happen to us,” she whispered. “Ariel knows, and she couldn’t deal with it. She cut us off.”

  Scotty was slow to respond. “Didn’t she say the Lord was going to bestow a great blessing on us? She won’t let anything happen, not Ariel.”

  He didn’t sound convincing. Ivy felt her heart shrink. “If the Lord chooses to make martyrs of us, what choice does she have?”

  “The Lord owes us,” Scotty snapped. “Not just for these Missions, for what He took from us seventeen years ago.” He locked eyes with Ivy. “For whatever reason, the Lord wants that tape, and He wants it to go through me. If I do get it, we’ve got a bargaining chip. I say we create our own Covenant. In return for the tape, the Lord gives us a bright future, too. Same deal He made with Thornton and his cronies, and all the countless other chosen people down through the ages.”

  The idea of imposing a condition on the Lord seemed ill-advised to Ivy. “What if He just smites us and takes the tape?”

  “Why didn’t He just smite Thornton and take the tape to begin with? Why involve us at all? It makes no sense to me. Not that anything about God ever has.”

  “Like throwing the election to Filby. How divine is that?”

  Ivy’s awe was wearing thin, too. If, in fact, their futures were bleak, what did they stand to lose by haggling with the Lord?

  Scotty gave Ivy’s hand a squeeze, only to stop and ask, “What’s this?”

  Ivy had forgotten the envelope Kassandra had given her, now crumpled in her fist. Smoothing it, she passed it over.

  He opened what looked like a fancy invitation, trimmed with ghosts, goblins, and demons.

  “Well?” Ivy said.

  “Seems I’m invited to a party.”

  “That’s what Kassandra’s so amped about? Lemme see.”

  He handed it back, and Ivy felt her eyes bug. “Not just any party. Webster Hell, VIP floor!”

  Scotty scrunched his face. “What the hell is Webster Hell?”

  “You from another planet? It’s the biggest, baddest Halloween costume party in the world.”

  Every kid in her school knew about Webster Hell, aka the Devil’s Playground. An outrageous spectacle staged annually at Manhattan’s oldest, largest nightclub, Webster Hall. Each October 31st since 1886, without fail, the Hall’s four stories of bars and dance floors metamorphosed into a massive blowout unlike any other.

  “Lots of celebrities go,” she said. “Rock stars, movie stars, sports stars. People kill for tickets. A VIP pass costs thousands, if you can get one. You gotta do this!”

  He shook his head. “Ariel has me in solitary.”

  “Fine, then I’ll take your place.”

  Scotty snatched back the invitation. “You’re underage. Anyway, I don’t have to respond tonight, I’ll run it by Ariel.”

  Turning the card over, he saw a handwritten note, and his brow furrowed. “Kassandra says, Come as you are. I thought you said it was a costume party.”

  Chapter 98

  October 27, 2:34 pm, Talawanda

  Ariel was still shaking as she and her team picked up the tent. A Timequake had sent her laptop crashing to the floor, abruptly ending her session with Scott Butterfield. Strongest quake they’d yet recorded, tipping the seismograph at five-point-eight, followed by a Timewave.

  Timequakes were caused by changes to the past impacting the membrane that separates past from present. In turn, Timequakes generated Timewaves—vast pulses of energy sweeping down the Timeline, updating history as it went. This was Tia and Stan’s first hands-on experience with the phenomena.

  “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” Tia said, holding a hand to her heart. “Those giant swells coming at us from every direction!”

  Max noted, “Twice the size of the wave Ariel and I faced.”

  The Timewave appeared to pass harmlessly, but the team had no way to know its effects until they left the protection of the Trapping Horizon. So long as they remained inside, they and their memories were shielded.

  “I have a confession,” Stan said. “I was trying to grab the rabbit’s foot from the wormhole when the quake struck.” He paid Ariel a sheepish look. “I dropped it. It’s still on the other side.”

  Ariel’s stomach knotted. But she assured him, “No worries, you’ll retrieve it next run.”

  Max wasn’t so forgiving. “Make sure you do. If Butterfield gets hold of it, we’re screwed.”

  Indeed. The flashdrive contained four years of New York Times archives. Also, Ariel’s journal detailing the team’s activities in the wormhole, and sensitive documents regarding her stepfather.

  The tent was back in order at last, and Max brushed off his hands and pointed to the door. “How about it? Ready to step outside the bubble and see what surprises the Timewave left us?”

  Ariel wasn’t. The team had no clue how leaving the Trapping Horizon would affect them. They might experience minimal changes like before—hairstyles, minor memory adjustments. Or something far more consequential.

  “Nothing to be gained putting it off,” Max said. “I suggest we pass through one at a time and assess developments as we go.”

  Not waiting for an answer, he left the tent for the Horizon line.

  The others exchanged antsy glances and rushed to follow. Stan caught up to Max and placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

  “Allow me,” he offered, and for once, Max let him take point. Stan turned to face the group, paid them a brave smile, shut his eyes, and backed across the threshold, halting on the other side.

  He opened his eyes and blinked. “Nothing,” he said with relief. “I don’t feel any different.”

  He didn’t look any different. And his memory was intact enough to recall what he was doing.

  But suddenly his phone buzzed, startling everyone. He pulled it out, read its screen, and his face fell. “Oh no,” he moaned. “The collider’s down again. Another quench. A big one.”

  The others checked their phones to find no such news. A new wrinkle in Time, it appeared. The timing couldn’t be worse. With the collider down, the team would be unable to keep tabs on Thornton as he and his Council wrangled over the vital videotape.

  “Of all the dammed luck!” Max spit. He stormed across the Horizon to join Stan, reporting no discernible changes, save for the quench. Tia went next, then Ariel. The same.

  And seeming no worse for it, they adjourned to the house to hash over their latest setback.

  Updates on the quench were not good. TPC estimated several days for repairs. The mood in the living room was already somber when Tia suddenly announced, “Once the collider’s back online, I’m dealing with Mom.”

  The others went quiet, and Ariel tensed. Tia meant, of course, she intended somehow to avert her mother’s suicide. The issue had been hanging fire since it became a bargain
ing chip in Max’s ploy to flip the election. Ariel had been dreading this moment. She’d no idea how Tia proposed to accomplish her goal, but Ariel knew her sensitivity in the matter. And Max’s callousness.

  Max was quick to respond. “Priorities. We do nothing till we’ve got the election in the bag.”

  Tia seemed not to hear. “I’ve thought it all out. I have to contact myself in the past and prove I’m from the future. Lay out the whole story for myself—collider, wormhole, Butterfield, Mom.”

  Max went red, and Stan asked Tia, “But how do you prove to Past you that Future you is really you? That’s a tall order, and you’re not exactly, how should I say? trusting by nature.”

  “The answer is to include personal details about myself only I could possibly know. Things I’d never tell anyone. I’ve already written the message. Past Tia will pay attention.”

  Ariel asked, “How do you intend to contact yourself?”

  “Via my old email address at the time, at MIT.”

  Stan reminded, “If you’re thinking of hijacking Butterfield’s browser to email Past you, there’s a problem. The Horizon on his end will block it.”

  “Already considered that. I’ll have him forward my message to me when the session’s over.”

  “After the election,” Max said.

  Tia turned to him. “It’s safe for me to proceed once Butterfield gets the tape and destroys it.”

  Max shook his head. “The risk doesn’t end with the tape. What if Butterfield reads your email, learns about the wormhole and how we conned him, and takes it to the media? How’s the country gonna react when it learns its precious Prophet is a scam? We’ll face another Big One.”

  Tia crossed her arms on her chest. “The Lord can forbid Butterfield to read my message. If we can trust Butterfield not to view the Shackleton tape, we can trust him with my email.”

  “Even if Butterfield views the tape, there’s nothing on it to blow our cover. But your email spills all our beans. We wait till the election’s over.”

  “The hell I’ll wait.” Tia’s face went crimson, dark eyes flashing. “I’ll be damned if I’m losing Mom again. I intend to be well out in front of that Time-tsunami.”

  Ariel saw Tia’s dilemma. If they succeeded in flipping the election, and assuming they survived it, the resulting Big One it caused would surely change their lives as they knew them. They might never come to know of the wormhole, denying Tia the chance to save her Mom.

  “Think,” Max said. “Assuming Butterfield gets the tape and destroys it, we aren’t out of the woods. What if there’s another copy? Or Thornton has some other smoking gun? We’ve got to keep the Prophet in our pocket until Shackleton is declared the winner.”

  The atmosphere was heating up, and Stan tried to dampen it.

  “Believe me, Tia,” he said, “we’re all for saving your mom. We’re going to find a way. But move too soon, and Max is right, it could cost us the election. What if sending yourself that email causes you to quit grad school and go home, and you never wind up here? It was you who found the farmhouse and brought us together to begin with, or none of this would’ve happened.”

  Tia wasn’t swayed, and Ariel feared it would come down to a vote she herself would have to decide. “Let’s find a middle ground,” she begged. “Assuming Butterfield gets the tape Saturday morning, we’ll have him destroy it. We know Shackleton will crush Filby in the debate Saturday night and surge in the polls. If no other tape or problems surface Sunday, let Tia send her email.”

  “Ariel has a point,” Stan told Max. “If Thornton’s Council has another smoking gun, they won’t wait to unveil it. Not after the drubbing Filby takes. They’ll release it Sunday, noon, like before. If we see nothing from them by then, they’re out of time. Tia should be good to go.”

  Perhaps realizing he’d lose this vote, Max locked eyes with Tia. “It’s all moot if the quench isn’t fixed, but I’ll agree to a compromise. Given there’s no bombshell from the Council before the polls open Tuesday, you can proceed with Butterfield at the ten o’clock session.”

  Before Tia could object, Max said, “Yes, the polls will already be open. But barring a rout, which isn’t gonna happen, the election won’t be called till the polls close on the west coast. That’s midnight, Wednesday, our time—the earliest the Big One will hit. You’ll not only have Tuesday morning’s session with Butterfield to send your email, but the afternoon to make sure he did. Well in advance of the Tsunami, and with no time for younger you to screw up our Plan.”

  Ariel’s head was spinning. If she understood correctly, the compromise would give Tia ample opportunity to contact her younger self without jeopardizing the election.

  Tia wasn’t satisfied. “What assurances do I have Butterfield will send my email?”

  Max replied, “What assurances do I have he won’t read it and give it to the media? That’s why they call it a compromise.”

  Stan reminded them, “We still have leverage over Butterfield. The fire.”

  Chapter 99

  Monday, October 27, 6:11 pm, Queens

  Scotty sat alone in his apartment on the couch, Ivy downstairs having dinner with Mrs. Steiner. Ordered by the angel Ariel to lie low, Scotty had passed on a home-cooked meal, relegated to a cup of soup. Also, as ordered, he’d contacted Reverend Thornton with the revised Covenant. And Thornton, rattled by the Lord’s threat of doom, had pledged to contact his Council right away. Now with luck, Scotty would soon have the tape in hand, and the means to barter better futures for Ivy and himself.

  A sudden weight in his lap broke his concentration.

  Come on, let’s play.

  Scotty had been neglecting his poor pet. Homer could stand some exercise.

  “Go fetch me a mousie.”

  The cat shook its head. No-no—The Game.

  Scotty blinked. How long had it been since he’d looked in on Scottworld? Anxious, he lugged Homer to the computer and went to the familiar icon of the eye enclosed in a triangle. For a second, he thought it winked at him, then noticed an asterisk appended to it. He’d never seen that before. Clicking on it, he revealed a message from the game administrators:

  Official World Record—Infinitiman: 5,492 days,

  2 hours, 12 minutes, 2 seconds.

  It was followed by an endless list of congrats and condolences from fans and followers. Frantic, Scotty raced to the blue globe, diving through the atmosphere into Times Square—and chaos. The streets were teeming with protesters faced off against police in battle gear. Clouds of tear gas, cars afire. He rushed to the electronic ticker to read of turmoil in Pan Europe, civil war on the Continent bleeding into Northern Africa and the Middle East. And now, North America.

  Scotty wilted. His once-thriving, prosperous world had sunk into anarchy.

  Do something! Homer growled.

  Too late. How many times had Scotty seen this terrible scenario play out on other doomed planets? After more than a decade and a half, Scottworld was finished.

  Now both his worlds, real and virtual, had collapsed on him. Devastated, he closed out the game and sat back in shock.

  Homer pawed him. Now what will we do when all this Prophet stuff is over?

  Scotty didn’t know. If Ivy was right, they might have no future.

  There was another link blinking on his screen. Selfhelpguru. If ever he needed advice… He opened it to read:

  Step # 87: Do not sit idle in the face of adversity.

  Swearing, he dragged the icon to the trash, emptied it, and moved on to his email.

  Full. Tons of notices from his matchmaker site, DateMe. Messages from women the world over, many young and beautiful and fawning to meet him.

  Homer perked. To hell with The Game, dude, you are God!

  A false god. These women didn’t care about him. They only wanted something from him. Like Kassandra.

  Everything rang false now.

  He trashed the emails along with his DateMe link, and abruptly his phone rang.

 
; He recognized the number, and his heart jumped.

  “Reverend Thornton.”

  “Hello, Scott, I’m relieved I caught you. Great news! The Council’s calling an emergency meeting for us to present the new Covenant. This Wednesday, New York City, noon.”

  The day after tomorrow, here in town. Great news, indeed. Scotty felt the weight lift slightly.

  “But there’s a proviso.” The weight returned. “They want to meet you. They insist on hearing the Covenant from the Prophet’s mouth.”

  Scotty sank in his chair. “I can’t. The Lord’s angry with me. I’m forbidden to leave my apartment.”

  “Then here’s a chance to get back in His good graces. If we’re to seal this Covenant in time, I need you at my side.”

  Knowing how badly the Lord wanted the tape, Scotty stuck his neck out. “All right,” he sighed, “make arrangements. I’ll clear it with Ariel tomorrow morning.”

  Once more Scotty felt hope. Assuming Ariel gave him permission to attend, and the meeting went well, he and Ivy’s dreams of a new life might yet come true. He so wanted a new life.

  On his desk, a wrinkled card caught his eye.

  Kassandra’s unanswered invitation.

  Chapter 100

  Tuesday, October 28, 2:11 pm, Queens

  For the second time today, Scotty and Ivy sat in front of his computer staring at a blank screen. Ariel had now missed both morning and afternoon sessions—after assuring yesterday she’d stay in touch. A week until the election, and not a single Cosmic rumble or whine.

  Ivy asked, “She ever stand you up like this before?”

  “Nope.”

  “One failed Mission, and the Lord shuns us!”

  It reminded Scotty of God’s pettiness in the bible story, Exodus. The Prophet Moses and the Israelites, having fled bondage in Egypt, were left to wander a desert for forty years. Dying of thirst, they begged God’s mercy, and God ordered Moses to strike a rock once with his staff to bring forth water. Fearing once wasn’t enough, Moses struck the rock twice, and God was so angered by the trivial affront, He condemned Moses never to enter the Promised Land.