‘But it is already too late, General. The rebels made it through. You allowed the Will to be weakened. Your incompetence borders on treason.’
‘We must launch a counterattack immediately.’
‘To what end?’ the Prime asked.
‘This is war, Prime. We must strike back.’
The Prime sat still, considering.
‘Very well. Prepare your retaliation plans for consideration. For now triple the defence line. Do not allow anyone else in or out of the Cape.’
‘Yes, Prime. It won’t happen again.’
The Prime signed off. ‘You won’t be given the chance.’
~ * ~
The clouds didn’t so much roll in, as were poured out from above and spread to block the light from the sky. The priest looked up and thought that today the rain would come. That was good. It had been dry for so long. Today it would flood.
His monastery sat at the base of the mountains, where many large and small temples took shelter. Deep inside the wilderness zone, many of the old belief systems waited humbly for their time to come again or their time to run out forever. A wide common path snaked between and around the gardens, buildings and cemeteries of the religions, a philosopher’s walk that led through wafts of incense and echoes of chant and prayer.
There was so much grace and beauty and love in this one small area, and though the priest didn’t agree with the practices of those around him, he enjoyed their earnest and quiet appreciation of goodness. Unlike them, he had no god. His was a non-theistic religion, a décroissance, or slow life, dedicated to existence at its most simple and human.
He had a small shrine of white walls and red uprights. He wore robes he had spun himself from wool he had shorn from a llama he had raised since birth. That was the way of his belief and he was the only human he knew who still followed it. Listen. Think. Accept. Practise. Believe. He sat on his heels and rocked back and forth, humming deeply in his throat.
Thunder knocked on the roof of the world and he looked up to see if rain was about to fall. A boy sat on his altar looking down at him.
‘Who are you?’ the priest asked.
‘I am your god.’
‘I do not believe in gods.’
‘I am here to save you.’
‘I do not need saving.’
‘Of course you do. You all do.’
‘Please leave me to my prayers. May you live a blessed life, my child.’
The priest closed his eyes and breathed himself into a deep-throated chant. He built the vibration up and pushed it deeper into his chest. His chest erupted in pain, ribs cracking outward like cage doors, and he collapsed to the ground and looked up to the sky.
The pain disappeared and he saw the boy still seated on the altar, watching him roll on the stones. The visions were terrifying, unlike anything he’d experienced before.
The priest pushed himself back up and rested again on his legs, composing himself. ‘You should go, my child. It is rude to disrespect another’s beliefs.’
Again the priest began his prayers. This time with a constant hum to drown out anything the boy might say. He bowed backward and forward, then his stomach burst open and entrails began oozing out and running away like panicked snakes. The priest choked on the pain and tried to grab handfuls of his guts and pull them back inside him. He looked up in desperation and saw the boy, calmly watching him, and the pain was gone again. His body was whole.
‘Believe in me,’ the boy said.
‘You are not human.’
‘Pray to me.’
‘No,’ the priest said. He prayed the boy would go away. In his head he begged him to go.
I am your god.
No.
I am inside you. You cannot hide from me.
No.
Submit to me and you will be free.
I reject you.
You have no choice.
‘No!’ the priest screamed.
A drop of rain hit his face, large and cold. It turned to acid and bore through his flesh, into his brain. He screamed as more drops fell, tearing him to shreds.
Neighbouring monks and priestesses from the other shrines rushed over to find out what was wrong, only to find the priest rolling on the ground and shouting at himself. He was obviously hallucinating.
~ * ~
The sharp tinktink of a spoon on a cup greeted her as she demersed. Charlotte had been under a long time. The Primacy was almost constantly in session now and this was just a quick recess before Zim put forward his next strategies to combat the psi problem.
The window said it was daytime. She didn’t want to get up from the couch, but someone was luring her with tea and something freshly baked. Her nose began waking up.
‘Muffins?’ she mumbled.
‘Peach and blueberry,’ Max said.
Amy Watson sat at the window table with everything laid out. There were even doilies under the breakfast plates and the yellowest slices of butter arranged in a dish.
‘What’s all this for?’ She sat up.
‘Do we need a reason?’ Max grinned. She in turn squinted at him. She had expected Max to leave her now that his influence had risen, but he was still here, happy to remain her advisor.
‘I wouldn’t need a reason. Amy wouldn’t need a reason, but you, sir, do nothing unless you have a reason,’ she said.
‘Let’s call it a celebration then.’
‘Oh yes, what are we celebrating?’ she asked.
‘Please, come sit with us, Representative. There is something we need to discuss with you,’ Amy said. Charlotte rose, pulled her lounging robe into decency and grumbled.
‘There’s no reason to be mysterious. I don’t need big news delivered with sweet things and tea.’ She sat and broke open a muffin and covered its steam with a knife-load of butter. Max joined them, but sat back for Amy to do the talking. ‘Alright, you two. What is happening?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Well, first of all, you’ve gained position,’ Amy said.
‘That’s good.’
‘Yes. You’ve gained a lot of support since your mother’s centenary and then again with the mess-up in the Cape.’
‘Yes ... why is Amy talking and not you?’ she asked Max.
‘This is more Amy’s area of expertise, Charlie. I’ve taken you as far as I can.’
‘There’s further to go?’
‘Yes, to Prime.’
Charlotte choked on muffin crumbs. ‘You’re deluded.’
‘No. Charlie, listen to what Amy has to say.’
‘Representative. I believe a convocation of the Will is coming.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Do you know what asabiyya is?’ Amy asked.
‘No.’
‘Group subconscious?’
‘Not really. I’ve heard of it.’
‘Group think?’
‘That is an easy one.’
‘Well, in technical terms it means that the majority of the Citizenry are either abstaining or deferring their vote. But what it really means is that the Will is undecided.’
‘I don’t understand. The Will can’t be undecided. How could the world operate like that?’ she asked.
‘In the same way,’ Amy answered. ‘It just means that less people are contributing to the decision tree.’
‘It means most people have become maybes, Charlie,’ Max butted in. He was excited, she could tell from how red his face was going. ‘They don’t know what to believe.’
‘That doesn’t make me as happy as you might think, Max,’ Charlotte said sweetly.
‘Okay,’ Amy pushed on. ‘Technically, we are always in convocation, but we don’t name it unless it is on a mass scale. It hasn’t happened since the first formation of the Will.’
‘Never?’
Amy shook her head.
‘How do you know what will happen then?’
‘I don’t, but there is much t
heory on it.’
Charlotte quietly ate her muffin. Breaking off small chunks and nibbling on them.
‘So what do you want me to do exactly?’ she asked.
‘I suggest we try a complete change of strategy. Instead of remaining as the voice of dissent, we start proposing alternative plans. That will give people options.’
‘Charlie, we think now is the time to do another big push,’ Max said. ‘We can turn the tide of opinion. You could be Prime.’
The word made her head spin. It wasn’t right. She, Charlotte Betts, at the top of the hierarchy?
‘I don’t know ... That sounds awfully risky.’
‘Charlie, you can change the course of events. You can stop this war before it begins.’
Then the bell rang and their conversation halted suddenly. ‘I wonder who that could be.’
Amy tapped the door cameras to a handscreen and passed it around.
‘That’s the woman you met the other night. Colonel Pinter’s new lady friend,’ Max said.
The colour drained from Charlotte’s face. ‘What does she want?’
‘Well, I don’t know. You’re the one who invited her.’
‘I forgot. I said she should come.’
‘What’s wrong, Charlie? She’s just a supporter.’
‘Do you want us to get rid of her? We can say you are busy,’ Amy said.
‘No. No, let her in. Just let me get changed.’ Charlotte dashed to the bedroom.
From behind the door she listened to the pleasantries of Amy and Max greeting Gretel. She didn’t know what to do. She just stood listening to the sounds outside her door.
It’s okay, Representative. I come in peace. Please don’t fear me.
Charlotte grabbed a clean dress from the cupboard and quickly made herself presentable. She re-entered the sunroom with a broad smile on her face and took both of Gretel’s hands in hers.
‘Gretel, you came. I’m sorry to have kept you. I just came out of a deep session and looked a total mess.’
‘You look lovely. I know how busy you are. Is now a bad time?’ I’m sure that isn’t true.
‘I am always here for friends and supporters. Now, come, sit. Amy, could you make some more tea?’ She wasn’t sure how to proceed, but then Gretel’s voice entered her head again.
Just think as if you were speaking to me, and I’ll listen. Just as if you were talking to yourself.
Well, that I am very used to doing.
‘These are lovely rooms, Representative. Very ... humble.’ You really have no reason to be nervous.
‘I haven’t had the time to find anything bigger. Max and Amy would like me to find offices for my staff and boosters. I hope you don’t mind.’ You’re the first telepath I’ve ever met.
And yet you are such a defender of our cause. ‘Oh, think nothing of it. I’m sharing a Services capsule at the moment. This is lavish in comparison.’
Talking like this is hard to maintain. How can I help you? ‘So you and Colonel Pinter are together?’
‘Yes. Amazing, isn’t it? Who would have thought? Certainly not me, I’ve never gone in for the military types.’ You already are helping us.
I’m trying to. While I have many supporters, it isn’t enough to turn over the existing policies.
But that is about to change, isn’t it? With the convocation.
Charlotte looked into the eyes of the young woman — the seemingly young woman, she reminded herself.
Amy brought a fresh pot of tea to the table and a small tray of biscuits. Charlotte looked at Miz Lang as she took the cup in her perfect fingers.
‘So, Gretel. You said you wanted to help us. May I ask what you had in mind?’ What will happen?
‘I am happy to pitch in where I can, but I’d really like to be doing something amongst the people.’ The Will will change.
‘Are you not keen on immersion?’ Amy asked.
‘Not since rejuvenation. I just feel like connecting with people one on one.’ What is it you need help with, Charlotte? Why don’t you tell me what you need done?
‘And why do you support me in particular?’ Charlotte asked. It would help if you could control your people. These attacks are undermining our cause. ‘Take your time.’
They are their own people. I do not control every psi in the world who is feeling threatened by the World Union.
But the rebellion? Why did you have to attack the embassies in Atlantic?
What else could we have done? We have been ignored too long.
‘The psis are people too,’ Gretel eventually said. ‘They should have the same rights as any Citizen.’
‘But some of these people can listen to your very thoughts, or control your actions. Is not the removal of another person’s agency the greatest of crimes?’
‘I don’t believe there is any evidence of such actions.’
‘But they could do it,’ Charlotte said.
‘Possibility is not the same thing. Nor can you segment a whole group of people based on the actions of a few.’
‘So what can we do?’ Charlotte asked. Well? This is where I am stuck. How do we cohabitate?
‘I have resources that I’d like to put towards your cause. The situation in the Cape must be abominable by now. They have never been self-sufficient and we must petition to open the barricade, if just to send relief.’
‘Yes, the people on the other side must be suffering terribly.’ The Will won’t support it. The rebellion has frightened them.
We had no choice. We want peace and we are willing to fight for it. Please help us avoid that.
‘Excuse me, Representative,’ Max spoke up. He had been delving into Gretel’s first life and found that most of her influence came from supplying Atlantic with pharma crops — not from her short time as a chanteuse. He flicked the dossier to Charlotte and Amy. ‘Am I to understand that this is a trading concern?’
‘Well, there is that side of it — but there is also the humanitarian cause,’ she said.
‘That you would benefit from?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but —’
‘But say no more. This is inappropriate. Representative, you cannot be seen to be part of this vested collaboration.’
‘Representative, please?’ Gretel begged. All we ask is a chance.
I don’t know what I can do to help.
Put the motion forward. Let the Will decide.
Will having your own ... country be enough?
Yes. And to have our brothers and sisters released from restriction.
We could never be sure that you weren’t controlling us ...
You aren’t sure now.
And what about Pierre Jnr?
Gretel looked directly into Charlotte’s eyes. I don’t know.
‘I’m afraid my aide is right, Gretel. While I appreciate the humanitarian argument, we must find a resolution to the greater problem.’ Does he exist?
I believe so. Tamsin Grey has met him. ‘I wish you would reconsider. My suggestion wasn’t a purely selfish notion. Atlantic can’t survive on its own. And who knows what will happen when they start to starve.’
‘Well, then, I will think about it. Miz Lang, I thank you for your time. Please give my regards to Colonel Pinter.’
Thank you, Charlotte. ‘Thank you, Representative. Whatever you make of my motives, I still support what you are doing.’
~ * ~
The Prime and Charlotte Betts had been firing shots at each other through their press releases. Criticising the other’s stance against the psis and creating motion after motion trying to gain support from the Will.
He hadn’t slept a full night in some time. He took programmed naps of half an hour or fifteen minutes and then raised his energy with a stim patch before he had to hold a meeting.
Since the infiltration of Shima Palace by Tamsin Grey, he had had to make efforts to separate himself from the family and any suspicion that he had been comprom
ised by telepathic control.
He wasn’t the only one worried about that perception. Senator Demos was wearing one of those helmets that looked like he had tubes of water-filled piping wrapped around his head. There were now thriving businesses offering a variety of mental security. Around the globe companies had begun offering psi protection and detection services and products. Head shields to block out telepaths. Dampening fields to prevent telekinesis.
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