Descendant

by Sean Ellis

  “Atta girl,” Mira said, patting her on the shoulder and hastening forward before the tide could close in on them again.

  They slipped through the worst of it and soon were inside the secure area, which was patrolled by soldiers, capital police in full riot gear, and secret service agents in their customary black suits. Dozens of white tents had been erected in concentric circles around the base of the monument, though a large area of lawn remained open, presumably to allow helicopters to land. The people she found moving about inside the secure area were not the desperate masses seeking to glimpse the miracle, but rather those with an engraved invitation—old men in clerical robes and garments of every faith—Catholic cardinals and Orthodox patriarchs, Muslim imams and Jewish rabbis walked together, speaking animatedly about what was happening. Buddhist monks and Native American shamans consulted with less garishly attired men in suits—presumably pastors of various Protestant denominations. There were Voudon mambos in brightly colored dresses, turbaned Sikh gurus, Shinto kannushi wearing white kariginu robes and the distinctive eboshi caps. Mira gave up trying to identify what tradition the various practitioners belonged to amid the collage of faith arrayed before her, but the sight of so many hopeful believers planted a seed of doubt in her heart.

  What if I’m wrong?

  The rise of human civilization was inextricably linked to the emergence of belief in something greater. Mira was familiar with the theories of anthropologists regarding the evolution of faith, and she knew that woven into every belief system was an echo of the history she had experienced in a vision supplied by the Trinity—the Wise Father, the Great Flood, resurrection and other miracles—but what if there was more to it than that? Was it really possible that so many people—billions of humans all over the world and all across history—had been so thoroughly deceived?

  It was just as likely that she had been lied to, fooled by the Trinity into thinking that she had all the answers. That had certainly happened to Collier, who had somehow folded his own Christian beliefs into the Trinity’s lore. She recalled what Atlas had told her in the tunnels beneath Shambala, how they were all being manipulated and deceived.

  There was simply no way to know for sure if she was doing the right thing, and regardless, there would be consequences—for her, and perhaps for all humanity.

  A squeal of electronic noise interrupted her musings, and an amplified voice began speaking, uttering a brief message of welcome and repeating it in different languages. The summit was about to start. Throughout the secure area, attendees left off their conversations and began heading toward the circular pavement at the base of the monument. There, inside the ring of flagpoles—one for each state in the Union—hundreds of folding chairs had been set up in a semi-circle facing the west side of the obelisk, where a dais had been erected.

  “That’s where it’s going to happen. When Collier comes out, we’ll make our move. Grab the Trinity and run like hell. Sound like a good plan to you?”

  Kiong nodded.

  “You don’t have any idea what I’m saying, do you?”

  Kiong nodded again.

  It was a desperate plan, but if Kiong could keep them hidden from Collier’s eyes long enough to get close, she could make up the rest on the fly. She supposed she might even be able to use the Trinity against Collier, though she was determined to do that only as a last resort given its unpredictable nature.

  She edged closer to the seating area. There was no sign of Collier but she expected him to make a grand entrance. Sure enough, as the multi-lingual welcome message wrapped up, a phalanx of helicopters, all painted in the distinctive green and white of the Marine Helicopter Squadron One—the Presidential helicopter fleet—hove into view from the north. The helicopters fanned out around the monument, breaking ranks and then reorganizing several times in order to fool any potential would-be assassins, and then one of the aircraft settled onto the designated landing zone.

  As the rotors began to spin down, a pair of marines in full dress uniform approached the doors, opened them, and then stood back, saluting. In what was either a major breach of protocol, or a display of utmost respect, the first person to emerge from Marine One was not the president, but Eric Collier.

  Mira’s throat tightened with unexpected anger. Collier’s appearance in Lemuria had been so sudden, the attack so abrupt, there hadn’t been time to fully personalize it. Now, rage flooded through her, and she realized that merely stopping Collier and wresting the Trinity from his control would not be enough to balance the cosmic scales.

  He had to die.

  As the focus of her rage began walking, side-by-side with the President of the United States, across the lawn toward the monument and the waiting audience of religious leaders, Mira started forward as well.

  An unseen hand closed around her right arm. Mira froze when a familiar voice whispered in her ear, “What are you doing here?”

  66.

  Mira spun around, unable to believe her ears. “Booker?”

  It was unquestionably Booker’s voice, but there was no sign of him. No sign of anyone at all. And yet, the sensation of someone gripping her arm was very real, and it wasn’t Kiong, who in fact seemed as confused as she.

  What the hell?

  “Come on.” She felt the invisible hand pulling at her now, drawing her along. She could faintly see something now, the outline of man but blending in with the background so perfectly that he was almost indistinguishable.

  It had to be Booker; who else could it be? But invisible?

  Why not? Is it any different than what Kiong is doing? It wasn’t of course, but the realization filled her with apprehension. Collier was doing this with the Trinity.

  She wrenched her arm free and took a step back, looking around frantically for more invisible soldiers. Why hadn’t her intuition warned her of this danger?

  “Mira,” he hissed. “Damn it, you’ve got to trust me.”

  Part of her wanted to. She had not forgotten how he had tried to reason with Collier in Lemuria…for all the good it did. Now he was here. With Collier.

  “Mira, listen to him.” Another disembodied voice, Atlas this time. The exhortation did not inspire her to confidence, even though she sensed no immediate danger from either man. Maybe I should trust them.

  Collier was almost at the dais.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she hissed. “Stay out of my way.”

  “Mira, you were right,” Booker said, his voice taut with urgency. “We’ve got a plan to stop him. I’m not going to tell you to stay out of it. I know you better than that, but if we work together, we might be able to pull this off.”

  Collier and the president reached the dais, and the audience rose to their feet, filling the air with thunderous applause that seemed to go on forever.

  Mira located the distortion that she thought was Booker. “How did you become the invisible man?”

  “Long story—”

  “Wrong answer.” She started forward again, but was restrained almost immediately.

  “It’s some kind of fancy camouflage Atlas developed,” Booker explained impatiently. “Is that good enough for you?”

  “Nothing to do with the Trinity?”

  “No. Strictly high-tech. I told you, we’re trying to stop Collier.” He paused a beat. “What about you? You’re walking around like you own the place.”

  “Long story,” Mira replied, dodging the question. Kiong could hide them from people who might actually be looking at them, but the blind woman wouldn’t have even known that Booker and Atlas were lurking nearby.

  The president moved to the podium and was greeted with another ovation. They would probably have a few minutes before Collier was introduced; the president, like any politician, wouldn’t squander an opportunity like this with brevity. As her voice began droning from the public address system, Mira reached a decision. “I’m listening. What’s your plan?”

  Booker told her. It was pretty simple really, relying on tried and true t
actics of stealth and diversion, augmented by the high-tech advantage of the adaptive camouflage suits. The plan was missing something though.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay out of the way. Maybe you can help with the diversion.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t work for me.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” replied Booker with a sigh. “Well we don’t have any extra camo suits, so if you’re going in with us, you’ll have to keep doing your little magic trick.”

  Mira looked over at Kiong. “I’m not sure how I’m going to explain all of this to her.”

  As if from out of the ether, Atlas began rattling off words in Mandarin. Mira saw Kiong’s face brighten at hearing her own language.

  Atlas speaks Chinese, Mira thought absently. Well, I guess if you live for ten thousand years, you pick up a few things.

  Before he could reply, the audience broke into applause and Mira realized that the president was wrapping up. “We are all here because of something we all share, albeit in very different ways. Our faith in something greater than ourselves. All of us have spent our lives looking to the heavens, praying for true knowledge and understanding of what our purpose is in this world. This week, our prayers were answered.

  “It has been a frightening, terrible week. We came face to face with the monster of nuclear annihilation, but our faith brought us through. Our faith brought us here.”

  There was another round of applause. Mira searched out Booker again. “Let’s do this.”

  “Right behind you.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Our faith,” the president went on, “and this man.” She pointed to Collier. “You have probably heard quite a lot about him in the media. All I can say is that what you’ve heard is only the tip of the iceberg. I believe that he is a messenger sent by God with the answer to our prayers, and I know that many of you believe it as well. To the rest of you, I say only this. Listen to what he has to say.

  “And now, without further ado, I am pleased to introduce the Emissary.”

  The audience got to their feet, clapping harder, and Eric Collier stepped forward. He waited patiently for the applause to subside, but if anything, it seemed to grow in intensity. A full minute passed with no sign of let-up

  Mira moved forward like an automaton, tuning out the noise, no longer aware of Booker and Atlas or even Kiong. Her gaze focused solely on Collier, but her mind was listening intently for the precognitive warning that would alert her to potential trouble. She entered an aisle between two sections of seats and kept moving as the cheering at last began to wane.

  Collier raised his hands as if offering a benediction. “Thank you. There is much I would tell you; about myself, about what I have seen and been told, and most important of all, about the Great Work the Wise Father has for us to do. With his guidance, we will transform this world.”

  Mira was just twenty feet away. If it was within Collier’s ability to sense her, then she was as good as dead, but one look at him told her that he was now completely in his own reality. There was another burst of applause, but this time he waved his hands for silence and the crowd obeyed.

  “But before we begin, it seems only appropriate that we ask His blessing upon this endeavor. I will not guide you in this prayer, for we all approach the Wise Father in our own ways. Instead, for the next minute, I would ask all of you here, and all of those around the world who are here in spirit and watching us on live television, to join your own silent prayers to mine.”

  Mira felt the tingle of alarm, not a warning of imminent discovery, but something much, much worse. The prayer!

  When the focused mental energy of more than a billion souls around the world combined with the power released by the joining of the Trinity, it would produce the psychic equivalent of a doomsday weapon.

  A hush settled over the group and for the next few seconds, the only sound in Mira’s ears was a faint whine from the PA system. Collier, his head still tilted up as if gazing into the heavens, lowered his hands for a moment. When he raised them again, he held the Trinity—the joined pieces in his right hand, the newly created segment in his left.

  Suddenly, the quiet was shattered by a brilliant discharge of light and a stunningly loud boom. Right on cue, one of Atlas’ men had tossed a flash-bang grenade behind the seating area. There was a bloated instant in which no one had any idea what had happened, and then, through the ringing in her ears, Mira heard the first cries of panic.

  She broke into a run, sprinting to clear the aisle before the stampede began. Collier was only ten feet away…five. She bounded onto the dais. One more step and she would have him. Something was moving behind Collier, a strange rippling in the air like heat rising off asphalt on a summer day. Booker, or Atlas maybe, moving in from another direction, just as planned. One of them would make it to Collier, overpower him and take the Trinity.

  Collier’s eyes found her.

  Impossible. Kiong is hiding me.

  The premonition screaming in her head said otherwise.

  She reached out for the Trinity. If she could just grab it, his power would be broken.

  But her hand refused to close. Her body would not move. She was frozen in place, statue still.

  Not just me.

  The entire world had ground to a halt. In her peripheral vision, Mira could see the president in the midst of a huddle of secret service agents, caught in mid-step at the far edge of the dais. Off to her right, the orderly rows of chairs had become a snap-shot of absolute mayhem. And directly ahead of her, completely immobilized, was the faint silhouette of a man—Booker.

  Collier’s eyes flashed hotly, his teeth drawn back in a feral snarl, his face showing more emotion than she had ever seen him display. “You…ruined…everything!”

  Mira could only hope he was right. She knew that she was as good as dead, and Collier still had the Trinity. But maybe by interrupting his moment of prayer, she had bought the rest of the world a little more time.

  Maybe he doesn’t know that Booker is right behind him. When he starts the clock running again….

  She didn’t want to dwell on that because if she did, her last thoughts would be of all the ways Booker might also fail, and she preferred not to think about that.

  Go on, she wanted to say. Finish it. Her lips would not move.

  Collier, nonetheless, complied. He raised his hands again, and as he did, the Trinity crystals began to shine.

  67.

  Collier mastered his rage as the pieces of the Trinity began to blaze with holy fire. “You have given your life for nothing. The Great Work will be done.”

  “But not by you,” declared another voice from behind him.

  Indignation became confusion on Collier’s face. That voice? So familiar, but he had frozen time. Who could possibly be speaking?

  He started to turn and glimpsed a folding chair, hovering in the air above his head. “How…?”

  The chair swung down onto his skull and Collier’s world went dark.

  

  Father?

  The darkness was absolute, a suppression not just of light, but of all sensation. He could not even feel the ground beneath him.

  Father, I have done your will.

  A Bible verse echoed in his head like an answer from the heavens. “Cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

  No! Do not forsake me. I have only ever striven to do your will. To purge the world of the wickedness of the Fallen Ones. To accomplish the Great Work.

  His protests and pleas were silent, never leaving his lips, and seemed to vanish like everything else in the darkness, but then he heard the voice that had once guided him out of such darkness and shown him a world of light.

  “And so you have. You have accomplished the task that was set before you. Your part in the Great Work is done.”

  Accomplished? He had bare
ly begun, and now Mira Raiden’s interference had dealt a serious setback to the plan. No. There’s so much more to do.

  “Yes. But not by you.” From out of the darkness, the Wise Father’s voice had the gravity of a death sentence. “I release you.”

  68.

  Mira saw Collier stagger under the blow, and then she was moving again. Her fingers closed on empty air where the Trinity had been just a moment before and her momentum carried her forward. She tripped over Collier’s inert form and went sprawling, only to collide an instant later with a not-quite-completely invisible form.

  As surprised as she was to still be alive, Mira felt no sense of relief. The premonition of immediate danger was even stronger than before. She heard a grunted curse—Booker—beneath her, and felt movement as he tried to disentangle himself.

  Even as she pushed away from him, rolling over and scrambling back to her feet, she processed that bit of information. It wasn’t Booker that smacked Collier with the chair, so who?

  The answer came to her, even as she saw the pieces of the Trinity, the crystals still blazing with the build-up of energy, hovering above Collier motionless body. Now she understood the frantic psychic alarm sounding in her head.

  Atlas!

  It had to be Atlas. If what he had told her was true, he was made of the same stuff as the Trinity, immune to its power.

  Or was this something else?

  She could see his outline, like a living shadow. The brilliance of the Trinity’s light was confounding the cameras and computer processors of the adaptive camouflage suit, but his features remained obscure, an enigmatic emptiness in the fabric of reality.