McClellan smiled along with Bauer’s bantering. Of course he remembered Estrada. He was a civilian lawyer who petitioned military tribunals for records on the combat programmers. He tried twice to get to McClellan, but it didn’t take long for the Military Police to learn who he was—a Sal operative—and then to detain him. Marines had a name for undercover Sals that targeted the military. They called them “SOBs”—Sals on Base.
Bauer made a fist with one hand and wrapped it with the other. His eyes peered over them and his expression was strong. McClellan stiffened when he realized what had just been told. But he forced a smile for show.
When Archbishop Bauer ended his call, he prayed a quick prayer for the intercession of St. Thérèse. Then he called in his assistant Antonia, who was working late, and would now be working later.
“Please immediately contact Father Lee in Seoul,” he said. “Tell his secretary not to delay this conversation. McClellan needs the help of the Dominican Order, and he needs it now. And I’ll need to talk to Cardinal Kwalia.”
“Yes, Archbishop.”
“And then call Tommy Harper. Tell him I need to go fishing—and he’d better be able to meet soon.”
THE TRANSIT AND BOARDING application for Rudolphus Draeger came early and unexpectedly the next morning. It passed quickly through the normal security offices and then went to Commissioner Zhèng for a final sign-off, which he provided just six hours before the threatened strike of the builders, four before Tanglao’s funeral, and thirty minutes before his team briefing to coordinate the day’s security.
Clarke arrived early at McClellan’s offices. He said he was eager to share with McClellan his news about Wagner’s offer to tour the water reclamation systems.
By the time Zhèng and the other agents arrived, the transit and boarding approval had been transferred to the builders. As the morning launch preparations were under way in Gainesville and the countdown had begun, the coming of Tucker’s lawyer was the talk of New Athens.
McClellan was already seated at the briefing table when the others arrived. He wore black clerical pants and his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, and he was finishing his rosary. It was Thursday. This meant that the rosary meditations were about God elevating the nature of this world to reveal and make possible the one to come. The fourth mystery was the Transfiguration, and McClellan thought of the painting in his chapel. And he thought about the printers that had printed it.
“You approved Draeger’s boarding request?” Lopez demanded. She stood behind her chair, squeezing its back, her eyes cold. She had ignored Clarke’s words about engaging the room’s dampener fields, and paid no attention as its blue energies crystallized around them.
“How could I not?” Zhèng said, stopping himself before taking his own seat, matching his agent’s stare. “Draeger’s paperwork had been processed days ago. He’d met all the preflight requirements, and there was available seating on the transport. It’s an Aesir class with a scheduled passenger inventory of only ten engineering teams and a handful of settlers. I could hardly cite overcapacity as a reason for denial.”
“But what about the intelligence from McClellan’s archbishop? Has that checked out?”
“It does,” Zhèng said. “Okayo checked on that last night. Her team corroborated Archbishop Bauer’s warnings. We’re not finding much, but it’s enough. Draeger has a history with the Sals.”
Lopez leaned forward, working to contain her fury. “Then why approve the transit and boarding? I don’t care if he passed the preflights. This is a dangerous situation, Commissioner. There are six hundred thousand lives at risk. That transport should not leave Earth!”
“Check your tone, Agent Lopez, or you will be off this case and this station. I’m aware of the population of New Athens, and I understand the severity of the matter. But there is nothing in any official record that ties Draeger with Juan Carlos Solorzano. Or his armies.”
“But you said Okayo has evidence.”
“Yes, she does. But while you and I would understand its meaning, others would not. They’d say it was speculation. If I had denied the boarding of Tucker’s lawyer—based only on what we have—the builders would riot.”
“You won’t find anything official linking Draeger with the Sals,” McClellan said, returning his rosary beads to its pouch. “The Sals hide their tracks. This happened on almost every case in the Corps. I suggest we forget the official records.”
“It was the same in Kenya,” Okayo said. “There are few jurisdictions that have not had their records tampered with. Every member nation that used the Global Union’s data systems was hacked by cartels.”
“Precisely,” McClellan said. “And then there was the GU’s eagerness to expunge criminal records.”
“Yes, often because of a naïve understanding of criminal justice,” Okayo said. “Or bribes. I know the results, Commissioner. I’ve buried family in Siaya, and close friends in Mombasa. I’ve fought my share of Somali pirates and others from the Sal armies, all who had their records wiped—whom we welcomed into our communities.”
The group was silent. Lopez sat but Zhèng remained standing. Clarke had been making adjustments to the table’s holodisplay, but now he watched Okayo with concern.
Lopez attempted a calmer tone. “May I ask what the engineers had to say? You must have told Jansen.”
“Of course,” Zhèng said.
“And?”
“She appreciated our resourcefulness, and she understands my—our—concerns. As does the wider Engineering Council. But they agree that in the current climate among the workers, it would be difficult to deny Draeger’s boarding.”
Clarke returned to the holodisplay. The model of New Athens glowed and expanded. Sharp lines grew out of the locations of the cities. They intersected with each other and then moved out again to intersect elsewhere.
“This is absurd,” Lopez said, watching but not acknowledging the light show of data revolving before her. “I had concerns about McClellan. But letting a religious zealot aboard is suicide. Who knows what he’ll do.”
“It’s not what he will do that worries me,” McClellan said, ignoring the discourtesy. “At least not at first. What will infect New Athens will be his words. The passions he will fire up. Remember, Draeger is coming among a builder population that has been trying to find its way in the new world since the beginning. And as robbers and printers take more of their work, they’re trying to save whatever purpose and dignity they can.”
“It would help if they had better attitudes,” Lopez said.
“Not all of us have your self-control,” McClellan said. “Although from what I’ve seen and heard, I’d say most of the builders are controlling themselves very well. That’s not to say there are no bad actors. Some will take advantage of this situation. Still, most builders are simply afraid. And, yes, even a little angry.”
“And one of their own has confessed to the first murder in their new world,” Zhèng said.
“Exactly,” McClellan said. “Add it all up, and you get just the type of environment that feeds Solorzano’s advances.”
“You’re right,” Okayo said. “The Sals gain power through division.”
“And mistrust and hurt and anger,” McClellan said. “And onto all that they throw explosives, and they celebrate as everything ignites, as they create more fear, more loss, and more hopelessness. Then they move in. That’s when they take over. And that’s when they’ll go after the printers—unless we secure the situation first.”
Zhèng took his seat and stared at McClellan through the holodisplay, which had a tight grid of lines throughout New Athens’s hull. Points of light traveled throughout the lines, all of which Clarke watched with intensity.
“I’m afraid that Father McClellan is right,” Zhèng said. “So remember this: New Athens is our home, and we’ve been entrusted to protect it.”
Okayo slapped her hands. “And we shall, Commissioner. And we shall. Together.”
“So what’s
the plan?” Lopez asked.
“First, we do our jobs,” Zhèng said. “And there’s plenty to do. We have a strike to prepare for, and we’re expecting sizable crowds for the funeral. The engineers have lifted certain provisions in the New World Agreement. Temporarily, of course. Both guilds will be sending delegations—more than your chapel can seat.”
“That’s reassuring,” McClellan said.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Zhèng said. “Attendance will be driven more out of guild competition than concern for a dead man’s soul. In any event, I’m sure they’ll all act civilly, until the body of Father Tanglao is escorted through the Wheel and to its transport back to Earth. And then the builders will strike and Tucker’s lawyer will dock. And then, as Agent Lopez correctly reminds us, we’ll need to be prepared for anything.”
Zhèng raised his eyes toward McClellan, who was standing and buttoning the sleeves of his black clerical shirt.
“Where are you going?” Zhèng asked.
“To get ready for a funeral, as soon as someone shuts down this dampener so I can leave.”
“But there are security details to cover. And Agent Clarke has a report on Ira Wagner, whom you have promised to visit this afternoon. Don’t you want to hear that?”
“Clarke already filled me in. Looks like he’s on to something. And it’s got me thinking.”
“About?”
“About where we go from here. But first things first, Commissioner. I have to say a Mass for the dead. And I intend to use this opportunity to bring peace to the living.”
The deep sound of church bells came from the chapel’s audio system, bringing low and regular funeral peals not just to those gathered inside the chapel, but also out to the boulevard. Chrissy and Jack helped each other into their albs as they vested in the sacristy adjacent to McClellan’s apartments. When they were satisfied with their appearance, Jack looked past the door that opened to the chapel.
“It’s full,” he said. “Every pew.”
“As are the seats in the main entry foyer and up in the boulevard,” McClellan said as he adjusted his black and silver funeral chasuble to fit evenly over his shoulders. “You’ll both do fine.”
Farther inside the apartments, Clarke was expressing some concern to Okayo, who was backing away from the entrance of McClellan’s bedroom, where Catherine Georgeson was snoring. Clarke followed Okayo, his hands in his dress uniform pockets, attempting once more to be relieved from the duty assigned to him.
“I am not a nurse,” he said, loud enough for McClellan to hear.
“You are now,” McClellan said.
Okayo laughed, her smile lingering as she met Clarke’s eyes. “Brandon, there’s no one else to watch Catherine. Everyone wants to be at the funeral, so that leaves you.”
Clarke scowled. “All right. But only because you asked so nice. Although I’m not just sitting there. I’m getting work done.” He turned to McClellan. “Mind if I set off a dampener? I’m pretty free to use them when I want now, and I’m betting there’s a fair amount of tunnel attempts this morning.”
“Will it disrupt the med monitors?” McClellan asked.
“No. She’ll be all right. And it will keep out all those bells and music.”
“Then, as you wish. And Clarke?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
A soft chime signaled the arrival of the funeral escort. The procession carrying the coffin from the Security Guild morgue had required extensive planning, since funeral processions had not been a part of New Athens’s design. But the builders of Troas City were determined to show that they could excel at being the center of attention—not just in New Athens, but also in all the orbits. The other two guilds, not accustomed to such competition, rose to the challenge.
The honor guard of builders guided the coffin down the boulevard with respect, and the security detail stood solemnly as the coffin and its pallbearers approached the main doors of the chapel. McClellan typed commands to cue the Introit hymn, and then he gave a final wave to Clarke, who activated his dampener, sealing himself and the sleeping Catherine Georgeson off from the noise of the funeral.
McClellan turned to Jack, the cross bearer who would lead the procession. The wiry youth had allowed himself an older man’s haircut, which seemed to make him surer and steadier. With the Introit sounding and McClellan giving a nod, Jack breathed in deeply, opened the door to the front of the chapel, and held the processional cross high as he stepped inside. The noise of the crowd standing met the young man. He led Chrissy and McClellan to the front of the main aisle, bowed toward the altar, and then turned up the aisle to where the coffin and the builder pallbearers waited at the main entrance.
McClellan stared ahead as he followed behind Chrissy, who in one hand swung the thurible with its smoking incense, and in her other held a small ornate pot of holy water and its sprinkler. He was not surprised, although he was a little disappointed, that the builders were exclusively on his left, which were the pews traditionally reserved for the immediate family, while the engineers, including Elaina Jansen, Hannah Ward, and Andrew Pavić, were on the right. On both sides there were faces he knew, others he had seen but never met, and many more he had never once laid eyes on. No one person stood out. And no one seemed to be hiding anything, other than discomfort.
Jack and Chrissy stepped to the sides of the casket. McClellan said the opening prayers—meant to unite those in attendance—and he took a moment to silently offer his own. Then he gripped the sprinkler in the holy water pot and wet the casket in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
And so the funeral began—a rite said billions of times on Earth, more than a hundred by McClellan. Now it was under way in the new world.
The procession turned and led the pallbearers as they carried the casket through the main aisle, coming to rest before the altar rail. McClellan entered the sanctuary, stepped up to kiss the altar, and went to the presider’s chair. After concluding the opening prayers, he sat and prompted all assembled to do the same. When quiet came, Chrissy stood to read the first reading, which she did in a wise and strong voice. “A reading from the Book of Sirach,” she said, then continued after a pause:
If you choose, you can keep the commandments;
loyalty is doing the will of God.
Set before you are fire and water;
to whatever you choose, stretch out your hand.
Before everyone are life and death,
whichever they choose will be given them.
Immense is the wisdom of the LORD;
mighty in power, he sees all things.
The eyes of God behold his works,
and he understands every human deed.
He never commands anyone to sin,
nor shows leniency toward deceivers.
After a moment, Chrissy looked up and said, “The word of the Lord.” Some in attendance joined McClellan and Jack in responding, “Thanks be to God.”
Antonia Rossi patched in the pending transmission from the Jamestown Police and Militia. Bauer settled himself behind his desk, pausing only to scan the security codes. The source was the Fort Wetherill Command Center, which meant that the stronghold rebuilt during the height of the Sal wars had, for some reason, been reactivated.
Patrolman Ryan Richardson came onscreen. The young officer had grown up two houses from Bauer’s brother Michael. He and Helen had babysat him for years. Then as a teenager Ryan watched over Bauer’s nieces and nephews, and they had all worked together on the farms.
“Archbishop, I’m sorry to be disturbing you,” he said.
Bauer cut him off. “My family?”
Richardson nodded. “They’re safe. But we had an incident with two of your nephews. Robby and Leo were out on the cove this morning. Their boat was targeted by a small-caliber drone. First time in years we’ve had anything like this. The boys spotted it in time, dove off, and swam a safe distance away. They were in cold water for a while, but the
y’re good swimmers. No signs of hypothermia.”
Bauer sat back in his chair. “Thank God they are safe.”
“They are. Your sister-in-law didn’t want us to tell you right away, but we felt we needed to.”
“Sal?”
“Looks like it. We’re still finding pieces of the attack drone—it wasn’t sophisticated, but it has the markings. It’s likely they wanted us to know it was them. We’re working with the state police and the Marine Corps Counterterrorism Unit, so we’ll know more soon.”
“Any leads?”
“A few. Chief Tedeschi is out with the Marines boarding a Venezuelan fishing trawler just past Beavertail. They think that was the source. We’ll certainly keep you posted.”
Bauer thanked him, then sorted through the possibilities of what would happen next. Helen would be more furious than afraid. And, as always, she would make things work, putting Robby and Leo to some chore to get their minds off what had happened. And the town would be there to support her and the children. What sickened Bauer wasn’t the thought of what could have happened—it was the unseen consequences of what had. His nephews had lately been expressing optimism for the future. And then there was Ryan Richardson, yet another young soul dealing with evil unleashed by the Sals. Bauer’s generation had promised to end all this. The Sals were supposed to have been wiped off the ledgers of human history. And yet there was Ryan, looking grim but brave, explaining to the archbishop that a giant had awakened.
“You’ve done good work,” Bauer said.
“Thank you, Your Excellency. That’s appreciated. One other thing: we shut down the bridges. We’re locked down until we know what’s happening.”
“Have you activated the militia?”
“Yes. The chief just called them up. Shore and air monitoring will be under way within the half hour.”
“Very good. And you say the family is safe?”
A Printer's Choice Page 19