“Do you ever think about how things would have turned out, if you hadn’t been in that crash?” I asked him, breath catching in my throat.
He nodded, solemn. “I used to, all the time. But now it makes me sad. To think how easy it would have been to live my whole life and never learn the truth.”
He was right. I couldn’t imagine the rest of that other future, the one where we were just ordinary college students, the future that didn’t end in this underground city. I couldn’t imagine graduating from high school and still not knowing the truth. I couldn’t imagine Jude still being dorky and awkward, me still being judgmental and self-righteous. I couldn’t imagine those two people connecting the way Jude and I had. Our relationship had been forged in struggle, in loss, in absence.
“To never become the person you are now,” I said softly. He nodded, and I continued, “I like this you. And this me.”
“Me, too.” He still hadn’t broken eye contact, and the longer he held it, the more it felt like six months ago, like the night we decided to run away to Nova Scotia. But just for a moment . . . and then he shook himself out of it. Remembered where we were, when we were. “I’m going to try to get back to sleep,” Jude said, as he let go of my hand. Or get to sleep for the first time, I guessed.
“Good idea,” I said, back to politely platonic.
“I’ll walk you back.”
He seemed wary as we navigated the quiet halls, as though our moment of connection had scared him. When he dropped me off at my room, my instinct was still to kiss him good night. I wanted to say more, I wanted to tell him I still loved him, that I’d always love him . . . But every time I tried to get the words out, my conscience caught up with me. Jude seemed happy, genuinely happy, and if I got in the way of that, I would always hate myself.
“Good night, Jude,” was all I said.
“Good night, Grace.” He walked away, and I shut my door softly.
14
I drifted off, maybe even slept a few hours, but it felt like just the blink of an eye before someone was banging on my door.
I bolted upright, on guard. My first thought: What now? I didn’t have the energy for another coup, an invasion by Prophet Joshua. I considered staying in bed, pretending not to hear it . . . but as the banging continued, I groggily pulled myself out of bed and cracked open the door.
Professor Irene Hernandez, Dawn’s wife, was standing in front of me. I stared at her, shocked.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” she said, as though it wasn’t early in the morning, and she wasn’t the last person in the world I’d expected to see right now.
I shook my head groggily. “It’s okay. I’m glad to see you’re safe.”
“You, too. Dawn sent me to check on you.”
So Irene had heard about Mohammed’s request. The concern in her voice made me think Jude was probably right about what that request meant. “Well, maybe I was safer back at home,” I grumbled.
Irene nodded solemnly. “When do you have to go?”
“I have no idea. Jude said maybe Dawn could help?”
Irene hesitated, then said, “I hate to say it, but Dawn doesn’t have much help to offer.”
“Why not? Is she still angry at me?” Had I burned all my bridges by jumping out of that taxi?
“It’s not you.” She looked me square in the eye and said bluntly, “Dawn doesn’t care about anyone.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, thrown.
Her tone was markedly different from the last time she’d mentioned her wife. Clearly something had happened between then and now to change her outlook. “Dawn only cares about what’s strategic for the resistance,” Irene said, and I could hear the resentment in her voice. “You don’t know her like I do. She’ll hang you out to dry, if it helps her cause. It’s never personal, just business.” I thought of the cruel way she’d let those scientists die, and I wondered what other horrors Irene might have witnessed.
“What do I do, then?” I asked desperately. “Jude thinks Mohammed might be sending me on a suicide mission.” I looked around, getting frantic. My instincts to run had been right all along—Great Spirit had been telling me I wasn’t safe down here. “I need to find a way out.”
“Don’t. If you run, and you get found somewhere in Cappadocia, the prophets of the world will know we have a safe house here.” Though her words seemed logical, they didn’t quell my desire to get the heck out as quickly as possible.
“Is there anyone here who can help me?” I asked. “Do we have any allies?”
Irene shrugged. “None that will go out on a limb for someone they don’t know. You saw what just happened. Jude’s right, Mohammed can’t afford to alienate anyone politically important, and I’m sorry to say, hon, you aren’t important. The extremists might be down right now, but they’re not out. The secular wing of this group held power for a while, longer than I thought they would. But sooner or later, the religious radicals are going to take over. It’s inevitable.”
“But they just lost,” I argued. “First in the election, and then when they tried to stage a coup.”
Irene clearly missed being a professor and reveled in the opportunity to give her own little lecture. “That’s just it. We think we have them beat, but trust me, being in the middle’s a losing proposition. Moderates aren’t passionate, they’re not recruiting, they’re not proselytizing like the Originalists. Do you know how fast that movement is growing? And after years of being ignored, being ridiculed, now all the radicals are teaming up against us . . . in the long run we can’t defeat a coalition like that. Eventually they’ll all turn on one another, but until they do . . . the centrists might as well leave.”
I shook my head, determined it couldn’t be so inevitable. “There has to be a way to find common ground . . .”
Irene laughed a little, in that way that made me remember how naïve I was. “You mean, convince everyone to believe in Great Spirit? That’s your religion, right? I think we tried that one already.”
“Yeah, it’s my religion,” I said, not wanting to defend my ideology to yet another mocking nonbeliever. “So what?”
The woman shrugged. “So, nothing. None of my business. It’s all bullshit as far as I’m concerned.”
“All religion?” I asked her. Though it was the kind of statement that instinctively made me cringe, at this point I could at least discuss ideas that felt blasphemous.
“Sure,” she continued, still in lecture mode. “The Revelations were just a natural outgrowth of religion in general. I try to stay impartial, as a professor studying religion, but the larger trends are obvious. Every society has some kind of worldview you have to buy into in order to join.”
“Not secular ones,” I pointed out, but she shook her head.
“Even if it’s ‘democracy,’ or ‘communism,’ or a flag—we have plenty of secular ‘gods.’ And every society’s gods serve a purpose. Religion, a common worldview, that’s the glue that holds us all together, keeps us moral, keeps us acting in ways that help the greater good.”
“Those sound like good things.”
“Of course they are. Doesn’t make God real.”
“It doesn’t mean He isn’t,” I fought back.
“True. But ultimately, that isn’t what matters.” She seemed to enjoy getting on her soapbox. “The question is, can we survive without one? Are human beings mature enough to make our own decisions? Or do we need a god to control us? Because, historically, if you invent a fictional deity that’s watching over you, telling you what to do, then your society functions better than one that’s godless. Gods give us rules, laws. That’s why we have them in the first place, because the societies who invented them were the ones that survived to give birth to us. God’s always been the fictional thing keeping us in line.” She eyed me with a smirk. “Where do you think the inventors of that nanotech got their inspiration?”
“You say ‘fictional,’” I said, getting more and more frustrated, “but you haven’t explained why a
ll that can’t be true and Great Spirit can’t be real.”
“Because it’s just too easy. That there’s some all-powerful being ready to help us out? Isn’t that exactly the fiction we’d make up, to reassure ourselves?”
Her words gave me a moment of pause. But then I thought of all the times I’d felt guided by Great Spirit. The times I’d despaired, when things seemed hopeless, and I prayed and felt a little less alone. And I felt sad for this woman, who’d never felt that kind of comfort. “I guess we’ll never know for sure,” is all I said. Looking for a subject change, I added, “If Dawn can’t help me, why are you here?”
Irene’s expression grew grave as she pulled something from her pocket. “I do have one gift from Dawn, in case you’re captured. Cyanide. Better than torture.” She handed me a small vial, and my insides convulsed with dread.
I pocketed the vial. “Safer for everyone,” I reassured her, throat dry. Though I knew Dawn had given it to me as a protection, it still felt ominous. And I wasn’t sure, if the time came, that I’d be brave enough to use it.
As Irene left, I realized just how much I needed Great Spirit’s guidance right now. Irene had warned me, Jude had warned me, about the dangers of leaving this place, but I kept coming back to one thought: You aren’t safe here. I knew the threats that lurked in the world aboveground, but staring at that vial of cyanide, deep down I felt it—the risks of staying outweigh the risks of leaving. And the more I meditated on it, the more I felt Great Spirit wanted me to get out of here.
But just as I was planning my path out, Layla appeared at my door. She was back to her old, standoffish self—or at least, she was faking it well enough to avoid talking about her recent trauma with her least favorite person in the world. Her voice was even, robbed of any emotion. “My father would like to speak to you.”
15
“Don’t we need more time to prepare?” I asked, hoping to delay the inevitable.
“As you said, your prophet could notify the others at any moment. My father says you must go now.” My own words, coming back to bite me.
“What will I be doing?”
She remained impassive. “My father will explain.”
I had no desire to die just yet, but I couldn’t see any way out of this. The halls were starting to fill with early risers as we walked to Mohammed’s office; no one we passed said a word, but I could feel their eyes inspecting me, judging me, pitying me.
As we entered, Mohammed was already waiting. “Grace!” he called out, as Layla left us alone. “I am grateful to Allah for bringing you to us.”
“No problem,” I said sardonically.
“Do you have any proof that you are a member of Prophet Joshua’s organization?”
I remembered the little square card—and then kicked myself for bringing it along. Without it, I might be off the hook. I could always lie and pretend I’d left it behind . . . but I remembered how my gut had told me to grab it—clearly Great Spirit knew I might need it for a moment just like this. Feeling like it must be important, part of Great Spirit’s master plan, I reluctantly pulled it out, and Mohammed examined it, curious. “This should work.”
“For what?” I asked hesitantly.
“We need to learn the identity of one person. We think someone with your credentials can help.”
“Why? What’s so special about this person?” I asked.
“This person can lead us to a device, which will remove the machines that live inside your brain.”
“The nanotech, you mean?” I asked, hope rising.
“Yes. There is one person who can give us the key to turn them off.”
Turn them off. It sounded too good to be true.
Mohammed continued, “This key is something you breathe in, a gas, which acts as a kind of fail-safe. It will signal the computers to destroy themselves.”
My breath caught in my throat. If the nanotech in our brains died, everyone would be saved, and no one else would have to die. “Are you sure this gas exists?”
“Yes. But the last time we tried to steal the key, we failed, and the prophets destroyed all paper and electronic record of it. Meaning the only copies of the key are held within the minds of a few trusted individuals. Memorized.”
“And we’re looking for one of those people,” I put together.
“We have a spy working in the prophets’ office in Israel-Palestine. He witnessed this man being called once before, and he even knows the name for the event: Protocol 44. But because our spy was not anticipating it, he was not quick enough to trace the call. If we re-create the conditions that led to the last Protocol 44, we are certain we can trigger another one.”
“So my job is to convince the prophets’ office to call this one guy?” I asked. I knew from experience it would probably be ten thousand times more difficult than it sounded.
“That’s correct. Once we have this man’s identity, we can capture him and find out what he knows.” I didn’t ask how they planned to find out—I didn’t want to think about any more terrible things I might be responsible for.
“But I told you, my cover is blown,” I said. “Joshua knows I’m working with you. No office will trust me until they check with him, and when they do, they’ll arrest me and kill me. Whatever your plan is, it’s not going to work.”
“A couple months ago—with your help, I have heard—we were able to hack into Prophet Joshua’s computer system. We will change your status in the system. If we succeed, no one will know you have betrayed the American prophet unless they talk to Joshua directly.”
I hesitated, thinking of what Jude had told me. “And if they do?”
Mohammed paused, looking at me with compassion. “Then you will likely not return.” There it was, as Jude had predicted. Mohammed was okay with the risk that I could be captured, or even killed.
“What if I want to make it back?” I asked. “What if I want to survive?”
He nodded, sympathetic. “Then it is your choice not to help us. And you are young, I understand why you would not want to take that risk. But your sacrifice would mean humanity’s freedom.”
Why on earth would I agree to this? I didn’t know this man, had no reason to trust him. And in fact, every cell in my body was telling me not to trust him, not to trust any of these people I’d just seen engaging in a kind of civil war. But I had to admit, I’d never trusted Dawn either, and I’d been fighting on her behalf for six months. Was helping Mohammed now really any different?
I thought of Jude, of how grateful I was to be fighting alongside him. Of my father, still trapped in a prison of his own certainty. Of how much bigger all this was than my one little life. And when I thought of the prophets in Israel-Palestine, a sense of calm came over me. It felt like a message from Great Spirit, that I was supposed to go there. That I was supposed to perform this mission, get to those prophets, get out of this claustrophobic cave.
So I was able to push aside my fears and my prejudices and nod. “I’ll do it,” I said, my voice shaking only slightly. I was desperately afraid, but I also had hope that I was finally back on the path that Great Spirit was laying out for me.
Mohammed smiled. “Thank you. If the worst should happen, your sacrifice will not be forgotten down here.”
“You’ll keep Jude safe?” I asked him. “If I die.”
Mohammed nodded with a chuckle. “Of course. My daughter would never forgive me if I didn’t.” Apparently he approved of Jude and Layla’s relationship more than they thought. “Layla will accompany you on your journey,” he continued. “There are very few people that I know I can trust, and she is familiar with your destination.”
Great. The last person I’d probably ever speak to would be Jude’s new girlfriend.
I had the rest of the day to say my goodbyes—to Irene, and then to Jude. I hugged him for a long time, not caring what Layla thought. “I’m going to miss you,” I said. I’d lost him so many times—I couldn’t bear to imagine that this might be goodbye for good.
Jude wouldn’t even humor the thought. “I’ll see you soon,” he insisted. His words gave me a boost of confidence. When Jude believed in me, I always felt like I could do anything.
I hoped that he was right.
That evening, I emerged into the humid country air—it was fresher than I remembered air could smell, after weeks in that cave, and I inhaled deeply, grateful for a moment of peace.
Layla appeared next to me, clucking like a protective older sister. “Do you have your passport?” I showed her my fake Turkish passport, and she nodded. “Good. Our bus for Israel-Palestine leaves in an hour.” Amid all the fear, a bit of excitement surged through me. Whatever awaited us on the road ahead, I was ready.
Book Five
1
Most of you know the history of Israel-Palestine, but for those who might not, a quick primer.
For thousands of years before the Revelations, various religious and ethnic groups had been fighting over the land southeast of the Mediterranean Sea, a fight particularly bitter because of the area’s importance to three of the old religions—Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. But since the Revelations, those feuds had become irrelevant. Sure, some of the old prejudices remained, as they did everywhere, but discourse became more civil, and populations that had once been entirely separate began to work together as they never had before. The nation was heralded as the greatest success of the post-Revelation age. Great Spirit had finally ended a conflict that most people thought would last a few more millennia.
I had always dreamed of going there. In such a religious era, the holy sites that littered the land were a massive tourist attraction. And, in fact, the bus we took from Ankara into Syria was packed with ardent worshippers of Great Spirit, eager to make their pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
“We’ll blend in,” Layla told me, and indeed, the swarms of people did feel like a welcome disguise, a cloak to wear over my anxieties until we reached our destination.
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