by Platt, Sean
“Ask Gloria about it when you get a chance,” he said. “I was never a churchy guy, but in this case some of the hard facts make me want to believe. I can tell you all about quantum entanglement, but that’s not much different than what she’d call ‘the energy of connection.’ I used to think that ‘Law of Attraction’ bullshit was … well … bullshit, but really it sort of reflects what theoretical physicists have been seeing in the way intention and observation affect reality. It’s a bit outside her sweet spot, but Gloria will tell you that ayahuasca might have opened real doors for Meyer rather than just showing him hallucinations. It might have allowed him to see other worlds … and, more importantly, allowed those other worlds to peek in on him. My first instinct is to roll my eyes about that (the idea that we’re all somehow connected through an invisible god energy), but it’s the same phenomenon we see with quantum flux and the holographic universe theory as calculated by Susskind and ’t Hooft.”
“Okay,” said Piper, not at all understanding.
The monk laughed. “It’s just funny. History has always moved back and forth between periods of spirituality and rationalism, each a reaction to a previous period of the other. But both sides are arguing for the same stuff in different languages. The point is that in the past — when the Astrals were here before — human society had more or less reconciled the two. Those old societies all seemed to have developed high degrees of spiritual connectivity while remaining rational — something someone with my nerd background would probably try to explain as ‘nonlocal energetic phenomena’ and other big words. But it boils down something between church and science — or more accurately, both. The records imply that ancient human societies had learned mental tricks that the Astrals use without being taught — which makes sense, considering that the Astrals clearly seeded life here in the first place. But the thing is, what happened in the past — the development of a deeply connected human society, like the Egyptians or Mayans — didn’t happen this time around.”
“Why not?”
“Who knows? But it didn’t. Instead, in the false dichotomy of spirit and intellect, intellect won. The Astrals have been able to peek in on us through people who learned how to reach some of those far-away worlds with their minds — doing the things the Mayans did every single day — but could only get glimpses until they crossed space-time see our society in person. We’re far less spiritually connected than they seem to have anticipated, but we’re far more technologically advanced. I don’t think the Astrals quite know what to do. In a way, we went wrong this time around. We failed to grow into what they seeded us to become. But still, something deep down in modern humanity seems to know we should be connected and still yearns to build the mental bond we should have in another way — a way that suits what our minds became, more rational than spiritual. Hence computers: our attempts to recreate brains. And networks, which allow us to connect in a way our souls seem to crave.”
“It’s strange to hear a scientist talk about souls,” Piper said.
Thelonius flapped the loose arms of his robe. “Hey, I’m a monk, too.”
Piper smiled, feeling herself relaxing, descending from her paranoia about Reptars coming to get her.
“So,” he went on. “Let’s see what you’ve got here, shall we?”
He clicked on an icon indicating the archive’s primary image. It was the image, Piper saw as it opened, that had led her to commit theft and seek a second opinion.
The picture showed what looked like a stone tablet, indeterminate in size because there was no point of reference. It had been taken (probably with an iPhone; the Astrals had given up using their own technology for anything that had to pass through human hands) somewhere dark. Piper could make out a dark corner, as if of an underground passageway. The light seemed to have been provided mostly by the flash. The stone was covered in strange glyphs that Piper had never seen in any museum.
Propped below the tablet, visible as an apparent way of marking the object within the photograph, was a tablet computer, its screen filled with large white text on a black screen. The text — again, probably for the benefit of human toadies who’d file and analyze the image — was in English, likely typed by human hands.
EXHIBIT 401
EAST CHAMBER LOWER LEVEL
FOUND IN ARCHIVE CRADLE
** DEVICE MISSING **
“What does it say?” Piper asked.
“Exhibit four oh—”
“No. I mean the markings on the tablet. Is that a language?”
Thelonius squinted. Then he enlarged the image, pinched it in and out, scrolled around at the scratches, drawings, and indecipherable markings.
“I have no idea. But like you said, if anyone knows, it wouldn’t be the science teacher. It would be Benjamin.”
Looking at the image, Piper felt her creeping dread return. The image was only one of many files bundled into the drive’s package. Her heart had been pounding with hurry, but she’d popped open a few of the other documents before creeping intuition had sent her from curiosity to espionage. Some of the language (again in maddeningly readable English) in those files that had made her sweat, but seeing this one image sent it all rushing back. It renewed her sense of dawning hopelessness — a certainty that her husband, whom she loved and wanted to trust, was playing for the wrong team.
“What do you think this means,” the monk asked, “‘device missing?’”
A booming erupted from the front of the church, as if the doors had been blown open.
Then screams.
Around the enclosed back room, the scientist monks traded stares with wide and frightened eyes. Then they scurried like ants, grabbing drives and shutting down screens, every move purposeful and rehearsed.
Thelonius yanked the drive from the computer and shot a glance at the others. Across the room, Gloria stood.
“They found us,” he said, his voice barely calm. “Grab what you can in ten seconds, then get to the passage.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Mom.”
Heather waved Trevor away. She was watching Meyer at the table’s end. He’d behaved strangely for long enough now that she’d finally grown used to it, but this was unusual for even the new and improved Meyer Dempsey.
A man with a gray beard was speaking to him in a rather self-important manner, but Meyer was pressing a finger to his head, barely listening. As Heather watched, his hand rose until the finger was straight out and parallel to the ground. Meyer looked like he might be pantomiming a gun to his temple and was soon to pull the trigger, completing the visage of blowing his brains out with boredom. Heather didn’t think he was making an attempt to show the table how dull the conversation in front of the man, but it would be hilarious if he was. It was the kind of thing Heather would have done, if this banquet had been in her honor rather than his.
“Mom. I need to talk to you about Piper. I think she might be—”
“Shh, Trevor. I’m watching something funny.”
From the corner of her eye, Heather saw Trevor’s head tick toward Meyer. He looked back at her and set his hand on her arm, begging for his mother’s attention.
“Now. I need to talk to you now.”
“Hang on.”
At the end of the table, Meyer’s eyes settled. The last of his attention turned from the man. This wasn’t lost on the orator, who all at once seemed to realize he was being ignored but appeared similarly reluctant to call the viceroy on his lack of manners. Instead, he kept speaking, hoping the moment might pass.
Meyer’s finger pressed harder to his head. Wrinkles formed against his perfect dark-brown hair, graying at the temples. His finger paled from pressure. It trembled, the digit giving at the knuckle.
“Mr. Viceroy?” Heather heard the man say.
Meyer stood. He didn’t look at his inquirer or any of the dignitaries who broke from their conversations at the sound of his squeaking chair. Instead, he looked down at his own chest, pressing harder, seeming to focus intently o
n something that no one could hear.
“Mom!”
“Shut up, Trevor. Look at him. What do you think he’s doing?”
“Who knows. Listening to alien radio?”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you’re serious, Mom. But I need to tell you something about—”
Meyer left the table, exiting to the hallway. Baffled heads turned to watch him go.
Heather stood. A few people turned to look at her, but no one cared about Heather Hawthorne. She was something of a matriarch at this table, like a retired queen kept around to feign respect. She probably wouldn’t be here at all if Lila hadn’t given birth to Goddess Baby Clara, who so fascinated Meyer’s adoring public.
“Mrs. Hawthorne?” said the man to her right. He’d already offered his official title, but Heather had given so little of a shit that she’d actively forced herself to forget it.
“Mom?” Now Trevor sounded more curious than urgent.
Heather pressed a finger to her temple then followed Meyer from the room, trying to mimic his zombielike walk. Those who’d been watching the viceroy’s strange, out-of-the-blue departure turned to Heather instead. She was wearing a long green dress that might have been at home on a Hollywood red carpet. Her days on real red carpets were probably over, but at least the stiffs at the table could watch her still-fine ass on its way out.
Trevor came behind her, snapping at her heels like a terrier. She found herself safely out of the dining room with her seventeen-year-old son now demanding her full attention. Some of that attention was still on Meyer, who’d gone farther along the hallway and rounded a corner. So far as she could tell, he’d yet to notice her behind him.
“Mom!”
“Not now, Trevor! Can’t you see that your father is having an episode?”
Heather pushed past him. She reached the bend in the hallway where, thankfully, Trevor took a hint and fell silent. A good thing. The minute Heather arrived at the corner, she heard voices trickle around it: Meyer and someone else.
She peeked around the corner. The other voice was Mo Weir, Meyer’s aide. Meyer had beelined directly to him as if he’d known precisely where the man was, despite Heather assuming Mo had left for the day.
“Mo. Where’s Christopher?”
“The guard captain?” Still spying, Heather watched Weir shake his head. “I don’t know. I can radio out. Or if you’d like to go into your office—”
“No, no. Look. There’s been some sort of a breach.”
“We know that, Meyer. Your wife—”
“Not her,” Meyer said in an irritated, impatient voice. “Jesus Christ, nobody’s told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Fucking hell, Mo. You need one of those earbud things.”
“Maybe you could just tell me, Meyer.”
Heather liked Mo. He didn’t take shit, just like her. Half the world was awed by Meyer Dempsey, and the other half was afraid. Weir was neither. When Meyer said stupid things, Mo threw them back. If the fabled emperor had employed a right hand like Mo Weir, he’d never have embarrassed himself by parading naked in his new clothes.
“It’s hard to say. Nobody’s really talking to me.”
“I’m talking to you, Meyer.”
“In my head. It’s all just confusion. I’m not hearing anything direct from Divinity. It’s like trying to listen in on a cocktail party.”
“This is fascinating. But until you give me something I can use, I’m at a loss as to—”
“Someone’s outside. Someone at the gate.”
“Okay. Do you want them let in?”
“No. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s … he has something.”
“Jesus, Meyer. This is like playing charades.”
“They’re pissed off. Just hang on. I’m … I’m trying to sort it out.”
“Maybe they sent you instructions. Have you checked your computer or your phone?”
“They’re in my office.”
“Well, let’s go there then.”
Meyer turned forward. Heather fell back and rammed Trevor.
“Wait,” she heard Meyer say.
“What?”
“There’s a few things happening. That’s why it’s confusing. Something in the desert. Did we launch an attack?”
“We? Nothing I know about, but they don’t ask my permission.”
“It has to do with the person at the gate. From Utah? He’s here to … shit, I can’t tell.”
“Go check your messages.”
“Fuck that. Hang on. I can get it if I focus.”
Heather had caught this particular tone a time or two from Meyer and recognized it plain as day. If there was one thing Meyer Dempsey hated, it was being excluded as if he were an idiot incapable of making his own decisions. Meyer was no one’s toady. Heather could hear his irritation at being kept from the loop, and his natural defiance to subvert the authority keeping him out.
“Meyer …” said Weir.
“Shh!”
Silence. Heather looked carefully around the corner and saw Meyer with his hands on his head, eyes closed. Mo Weir was beside him, arms crossed in obedient annoyance.
“Okay. There are a few things.”
“The thing with Piper …”
“No. They don’t care about that. At least not right now. It’s … the man outside, he has something. He’s … being watched.”
“If he’s a problem, they’ll kill him.”
Meyer shook his head. “They can’t. Something to do with … dammit, I can’t tell. They … sent a message? Something. But they don’t want to kill him. Just stop him. Where did you say Christopher was?”
“I didn’t.”
“Get him.”
“Okay, let’s go to your office.”
“They’ve sent peacekeepers to the gates,” Meyer said. “They know right where he is.”
“And you want to send the guards? Christopher?”
“No, there’s something else. Shit. This is impossible.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if you’re just making these things up to fuck with me,” said Weir.
“Dammit.” Heather watched Meyer open his eyes and shake his head. “Wait. My office.”
“Your office,” Weir repeated.
“Did I get a package today?”
“Like FedEx? They’re out of business, I think.”
“A data dump, I mean. About the Apex. There’s something about the Apex.” A look of recognition crossed his eyes. He seemed almost frightened.
“What, Meyer?” Weir sounded tired.
“Shit. I wonder if that’s what Piper saw.”
“What? Hell.”
“I missed something. The archive. Under the Apex.”
“What archive, Meyer?”
“Did anyone tell you that they’re digging under all of the capitals?”
“No, but why do I care?”
“It’s not just here, Mo. Hell. That’s what I’m feeling. That’s what I’m hearing; they’re not just searching here in Heaven’s Veil. They’ve lost it. They can’t find it, and now they’re looking all over.”
“What can’t they find?”
Meyer pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, but it’s a problem. Is it related to the guy outside? I don’t know.”
“Meyer …”
“Come on, Mo. We have to leave.”
“Where? Aren’t you still in the banquet?”
“Not anymore.” Meyer bit his lip. “Come on.”
“I could help you more if I knew what you were planning,” said Weir’s voice.
Heather flinched back, preparing to slide into an alcove.
“Whoever’s outside is a problem, but they’re not telling me why,” Meyer said.
“So?”
They turned to head away, toward Meyer’s office. “So we’re going to find out for ourselves,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Piper ran.
She’d been in low he
els when leaving the house, but she’d discarded them a while back, content to walk the streets in bare feet like a kid. Now running, bare feet were painful. Enough that Thelonius (Franklin, she felt compelled to call him in her mind now that they were sharing the same peril) had doffed his sneakers and handed them over during their flight.
Piper didn’t know what was funnier: that a monk would wear sneakers under his robe or that this particular monk’s shoes didn’t fit her all that badly. They were far from perfect, but stayed on as the group traversed the underground tunnel, accessible by the hidden doorway and staircase in the church.
Piper ran, her questions mounting.
How had this tunnel been built? Heaven’s Veil was an alien city. It had grown from a collection of hippies in tents, before the trees had been razed and the ground leveled. Work had been shared equally. The Astrals had used their energy beams to ease the burden, but human dignity seemed to require that they not all sit around and be waited on. Even so, it was hard to believe anyone had missed the tunnel’s creation.
But there were other questions, too. Like: How had the Reptars found her? And really: Had the Reptars found her, or had she merely had the horrible misfortune of being in the building when the Reptars just so happened to find the dissident church instead?
What about the monks in the chapel’s large main room? Piper, Gloria, Thelonius, and the others in the back had run without hesitation, moving with the smooth precision of a practiced drill. She’d heard the rattling, purring Reptars. She’d heard the screams. So were the others dead? And if so, why didn’t any of those running in the tunnel seem to care? They’d turned tail and sprinted, yanking removable drives from computers, grabbing samples. There would be no mistaking the church’s true purpose once peacekeepers breached the back room; there hadn’t been time to right the room or silence the artificial choir. They couldn’t return, and they’d left the others to die. Like cowards.