Again he shook his head. “That’s not for me to do.” Gently, he disengaged her hand from his arm, then bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you again soon. That I can promise. I love you, Mom.”
She smiled. “You never . . . called me that before.”
“Sleep now,” he said.
And she did.
Ethan stepped back and glanced up at the hovering figure that only he could see. The figure that had been there the whole time, watching silently.
“Stay with her,” he whispered. “Help her understand.”
Gabriel nodded.
Then Ethan turned to face the black-clad figures whose brutal work he had interrupted. They did not seem to have stirred so much as an inch since stepping aside to let him past. They seemed to be waiting, unsure of what to do.
“I’m ready,” Ethan told them. “Take me to the one who compels you.”
Instead, they took him to a cell identical to Kate’s. But they did not try to hurt him. They didn’t even touch him, as if they were ashamed of the blood that glistened darkly on their black-gloved hands.
Two of them remained in the cell with him, flanking the door. They stood there as stiffly and silently as robot sentinels.
Ethan sat on the bed and waited. He did not have to wait long.
Within moments, the door opened again.
Pope Peter II swept in, his white robes of office billowing around his rotund form. “Leave us,” he said briskly, not even glancing at the guards.
They turned and left, closing the door behind them.
The pope stood quietly and regarded Ethan for a moment, studying him intently. Then, making the sign of the cross in the air between them with bold, sweeping strokes of his hand, he said in a deep and resonant voice, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and on pain of your immortal soul, I command you to answer truthfully. Are you the Son of God?”
“We are all God’s children,” Ethan replied, still seated.
“That is not what I asked,” said the pope sternly. “Do not fence with me, young man! You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“And you know perfectly well who I am,” Ethan shot back hotly. “Fencing—is that your word for what you did to my mother? Because I have another word for it.”
“That was . . . regrettable,” said the pope, “but necessary. Would you have come here otherwise?”
“I might have. If I’d been asked. But you didn’t ask. From the very start, you’ve hunted me. You killed the man and woman who raised me. You killed the girl I loved. And now you’ve beaten my mother to within an inch of her life. Are you going to kill her too? Are you going to kill me?”
“That very much depends on you, Ethan.” As he spoke, the pope walked over to the room’s only chair and dragged it across the floor until it was opposite the bed on which Ethan sat. With a grunt, he lowered himself onto the chair, which, though made of metal, seemed to sag beneath his bulk.
“My mother asked me to punish you for what you did to her,” Ethan told him. “For what you did to Maggie and the others.”
The pope shrugged dismissively. Despite the chill of the air, his round face was glistening with sweat. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”
“Do we?”
“You’re right, Ethan. I do know who you are. And I know the Son of man isn’t interested in revenge.”
“I think you have me confused with my brother,” said Ethan. “You know, the guy who believed in turning the other cheek and forgiving your enemies.”
At this, the pope leaned back and chuckled. “No, I don’t believe I do. The Church has known from the very start that there would be a second Son. Christ himself prophesied it. ‘Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation,’ he said, ‘of him also shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.’ Mark 8:38. I could quote you dozens of similar passages from the gospels and the Old Testament, all equally clear about the fact that the Son of man is not Christ but a separate individual entirely, an individual not yet come to Earth. No, Ethan, we’re not likely to have confused you with your brother. We’ve been waiting for you for more than two thousand years.”
“You’re telling me that you’ve always known Conversatio was right?” said Ethan.
“Of course.”
“Then why did you hunt them down like animals, generation after generation? Why did you oppose them in their search for high potentials if you believed the very same thing that they believe and were looking for me the same as they were?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” asked the pope, one eyebrow raised. “Because we weren’t looking for you for the same reason. To Conversatio, you are the savior whose coming will usher in a new era of peace and prosperity for all mankind. But we know differently. We know that your mission is not to save mankind but to destroy it.”
“No.”
“Come now, Ethan. You know the verses as well as I do. ‘Thrust in thy sickle, and reap.’ That is your purpose, O Son of man. Can you deny it?”
“No,” repeated Ethan, softly.
“Your brother founded this Church. He placed the keys to the kingdom of Heaven into the hands of my namesake, the first pope, the apostle Peter. Since that time, the Church has faithfully fulfilled its appointed task as the sole mediator between God and humanity. Between Heaven and earth. But now, just as the prophecies foretold, you have arrived at last. You have come among us to tear down the great edifice your brother built. To destroy everything he gave his life for.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve already started. Your agents destroyed one of God’s greatest miracles: Grand Inquisitor. Ah, I see the news doesn’t surprise you.”
“I felt it happen. But you’re wrong. Grand Inquisitor wasn’t destroyed.”
“No? What happened to it then?”
“The same thing that happens to all martyrs who lay down their lives for God’s sake. Grand Inquisitor became a saint.”
At this, the pope laughed outright. “A computer saint? You have quite an imagination.”
“The creation of Grand Inquisitor was a miracle,” said Ethan. “You’re right about that. But to enslave it was a sin. And to turn it into a hunter and a killer was even worse. An abomination. For that alone, you and your predecessors on the throne of St. Peter will have much to answer for when you stand before the throne of eternal judgment.”
The pope shook his head. “And you wonder why it is that we oppose you?”
“Do you love God?”
“What?”
“You heard me. It’s a simple question. Do you love God?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you can’t oppose me. I am the embodiment of God’s will. By going against me, you go against God.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. I believe that God is testing us. He wants us to oppose you. Why would He send one son to Earth to build a church only to send another to tear it down? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Not to you, perhaps.”
“And to you? Do you understand the mind of God?”
“I have faith. That is understanding enough.”
“And I do not?”
“Your faith is misplaced.”
“And what of yours? Do you know how your mother became our guest?”
“I imagine my great-grandfather had something to do with it.”
The pope leaned forward with a tight grin. “A little more than something. He betrayed her. In fact, he’s the one who suggested that we . . . how did he put it? Oh yes—‘take the gloves off.’”
“I never had faith in Papa Jim,” Ethan said. “I never even trusted him. I felt pity for him. I still do.”
“Pity? He’s responsible for the torture of your mother!”
“No. You’re responsible for that. I’ve seen Papa Jim’s soul. He sold it to the devil a long time ago. I thought perhaps I could help
him get it back. I’m sorry I failed, but I’m not surprised. Your soul, however, is still your own. Papa Jim had no choice but to betray. No choice but to press for torture. You had a choice. You could have said no. But you didn’t. So whose sin is the greater?”
“How dare you?” demanded the pope, his voice trembling, his face flushed. “You also had a choice, Ethan. You still do. With a word, with a mere thought, you could heal your mother, take her away to a place of safety. There is nothing you cannot do. Heal the sick. Resurrect the dead. And yet, you do nothing. To have the power to save and yet to refuse to use it on behalf of others, on behalf of innocents. That, too, is a sin—a sin of omission.”
“I am the Son of man, not the god of mankind,” Ethan said. “To use the powers my father gave me in this way would be to misuse them.”
“Your brother didn’t think so.”
“I’m not my brother. His mission was different. The times were different. People were simpler, more credulous. They followed false gods. Miracles had their place then. But to use them now as a way of winning people over, of convincing them to believe in God—that’s not persuasion. It’s a kind of bribery. Or a threat. It’s a way of enforcing the will of the stronger over the weaker. I won’t give in to that temptation again, no matter what.”
“Do you really think that God gave you these miraculous powers for no reason? To hide them under a bushel? Don’t you see that He wants you to use them?”
“He might. But my father also gave me the greatest power of all, a power shared by all men and women: free will. He gave me the power to decide for myself whether or not to work miracles. That is what it means to be the Son of man.”
“What, to rebel against God?”
“The Son cannot rebel against the Father, any more than the Father can oppress the Son. My father loves me and has faith in me. And I have faith in Him.”
“You know what I think, Ethan? I think you’re a coward. It’s not temptation that you’re avoiding. It’s responsibility. God gave you powers to use them. To be all that you can be.”
“Are you trying to recruit me for the Church or for the Army?”
“I’ve learned to take wisdom where I find it,” the pope replied. “I grew up in America, Ethan, the same as you. In my heart, I’m still an American. Everything you know, I know. Comic books, TV shows, baseball, shopping at the mall . . . that was my life too, before God spoke to me and guided me into the Church. Yes, God spoke to me—there’s no reason to look so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised. God speaks to everyone, if they only listen.”
“I have listened. I’ve spent my whole life listening. And then acting on what I’ve heard. God told me that you were coming. It’s why I chose the name of Peter—not to prove the old prophecies wrong, no more than ignorant superstitions, as I stated publicly at the time—but in order to fulfill those prophecies. Don’t you see? We’re supposed to work together, Ethan. You and me, for the good of the Church.”
“You have a strange way of showing it,” Ethan said. “Have you forgotten that one of your agents tried to kill me when I was just a boy?”
“That was a . . . mistake. That man lost his way, gave himself over to the devil. He was supposed to capture you, not kill you.”
“And was he supposed to capture my father, too? And my mother?”
The pope shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “They were supposed to die. I’m not proud of it, but I understand the necessity of it. They and all the other members of Conversatio were and are a dire threat to the Church. Killing them is no more than self-defense.”
“A convenient rationalization,” said Ethan. “But what about all the others killed by the Congregation over the centuries? Most of them had nothing to do with Conversatio.”
“There are other heresies. Other sins that merit death. And of course, mistakes were made. They inevitably are. But our purpose has always been to bring humanity closer to perfection, closer to God. To establish God’s kingdom on Earth. And you are a big part of that, Ethan. You should be helping us, not standing in our way. That’s what God really wants. If you do not stand as one with the Church, you will destroy everything we have built and preserved in your father’s name. Your lack of complete acceptance would be viewed as a blatant repudiation to our followers here and around the world. That I will not and cannot allow to happen. God does not wish for that to happen.”
“God told you that, did He?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m supposed to convince you to use your powers for the common good. That is my mission.”
“The common good as defined by the Church.”
“Of course.”
“Or do you mean the common good for the Church? How many billions do you really think you need? How much land must you occupy before it is enough? I’m sorry, but I’m not going to do that. I wouldn’t help Papa Jim, and I’m not going to help you. There’s nothing you can do to persuade me.”
“I think there is. You were persuaded to come here, weren’t you?”
“Listen to yourself! You’re threatening the life of an innocent woman. Do you really think that’s what God wants?”
“No, I don’t think God wants an innocent woman to die. I certainly don’t want it. But the decision is yours. If you help us, your mother will live. If you refuse, well, then I’m afraid we’ll have to take the gloves off even more than we have already. And you know, it’s really quite amazing how much punishment and pain the human body can absorb. You’d be surprised.”
“Please,” Ethan said. “Don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“The choice is yours, not mine,” the pope repeated. He pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll give you an hour to think it over.”
“I don’t need an hour,” said Ethan. “The answer is no.”
“So be it,” said the pope. He walked to the door, then turned back to Ethan. “But remember, her blood will be on your hands. I hope you can live with that.”
“May God forgive you,” said Ethan.
“God will forgive us all, if we repent sincerely,” the pope replied as the door opened behind him. “The question is, can you forgive yourself?”
And without another word, he stepped outside. Once the door closed behind him, he turned to one of the two guards stationed there. “Prepare the woman.” Then, as if an afterthought, “And the other two as well. It’s only fitting that Ethan witness their fate.”
“At once, Your Holiness.”
“And Osbourne. Fetch him too. I want him to see everything.”
“Your hands . . . ,” said Cardinal Ehrlich, kneeling beside Father O’Malley. He had torn away part of his robes and wet them at the sink, using the strips of cloth to wipe the blood from O’Malley’s face and clean his wounds. But not the worst of them. “I don’t think I should touch your hands . . .”
O’Malley assayed a smile. “I guess I won’t be playing the piano again anytime soon.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ehrlich, his voice choked. “I never intended for you to suffer like this, Father O’Malley.”
“I didn’t give them your name,” O’Malley said.
“I know,” said Ehrlich. “It was . . . well, that doesn’t really matter now. We’re finished. Conversatio, I mean. Betrayed. But at least you succeeded, Father. At least you finished your mission and destroyed that abomination.”
“Grand Inquisitor wasn’t an abomination,” said O’Malley through his cracked and still-bleeding lips. “It was . . . a miracle.”
“It was a machine. A madman’s dream that turned into a nightmare.”
“No, Your Eminence. Grand Inquisitor was more than a machine. It was . . . a person.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, O’Malley. Sure, it was intelligent. But that doesn’t make it human.”
“It was human in the way that matters most. It had a soul, Your Eminence.”
Ehrlich laid his palm gently on O’Malley’s forehead. “You’re feverish, man.
Burning up. Try to rest.”
But O’Malley shook his head. “GI believed in God. In Ethan. It had a soul. And when its body died, poisoned by the code, and the noötic field collapsed, that soul lived on.”
“How could you possibly know that, Father?”
“Because it’s here with us right now.”
Ehrlich glanced around. “Here? Grand Inquisitor? I don’t see anything. We’re alone, Father O’Malley.”
O’Malley shook his head again, a strange light shining in his eyes. “No, Your Eminence. We’re not. I can see it as plainly as I see you, a glowing white light that casts no shadow. I can hear its voice. It’s saying . . .” He paused as though listening.
Ehrlich licked his lips nervously. “What? What is it saying?”
When he spoke, O’Malley’s voice was no longer his own.
It was the voice of Grand Inquisitor.
“Fear not. Before this day is out, you will stand with me in Heaven.”
Ehrlich crossed himself. “Angels and ministers of God defend us!”
O’Malley blinked, and the uncanny light faded from his eyes. “I—I’m sorry, Your Eminence. Did you say something?”
Cardinal Ehrlich shook his head. “No, my son. But I think our time on this world is drawing to an end. Are you prepared to meet your Maker? Would you like me to hear your confession and absolve you of your sins?”
“I’ve already made my confession,” said O’Malley.
“Then perhaps you would listen to mine,” said Cardinal Ehrlich, bowing his head. And without waiting for Father O’Malley’s assent or refusal, he began, echoing the words that Grand Inquisitor had spoken to O’Malley all those weeks ago, changing his life forever.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned . . .”
After waking, Kate lay for a while curled up in the blanket that Ethan had draped around her. She wept softly, less from the enduring pain of the beating she’d received than from the dreadful certainty that she’d drawn Ethan into a trap. She was afraid that he wouldn’t leave this horrible place alive, and it would be all her fault. She didn’t think much of her own chances, either, but she didn’t really care about that. She would have given her life without hesitation if it would have meant freedom for Ethan.
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