by Mike Luoma
"I see," BC says.
“A lot of people here are getting sick,” Cardinal Terpa tells him. There’s desperation flooding into her voice. “What’s going on? Are you sick?”
“No. I haven’t been effected. Others here have been, though. It’s an epidemic. We’ve got the sick ones under quarantine. But some are starting to die. We don’t know what it is or how to stop it.”
“That,” Terpa sighs, “is what Mr. Wentworth told me. Although he told me they’re working on it.”
“You spoke to Wentworth? Mr. Richard Wentworth?” BC asks, curious.
“Yes. Why?” Terpa wonders.
“It surprises me. You’re very resourceful, Cardinal Terpa. You’re to be commended.” BC smiles at her, then frowns in mock anger, “Although, you did go to him before you came to me...”
Terpa starts to apologize, “Father Campion, I’m sorry, please understand, it’s a very hectic and confusing time here right now, with the Pope so sick and all. And so many getting sick everywhere. It’s... it’s scary, Father. All we can do is pray,” she says, solemnly.
“And make a few calls.” BC laughs.
“Father...” she says, both rebuking and laughing with him.
I think I like this Cardinal. Imagine that, a sense of humor!
She gets serious. “There’s more I need to tell you. We in the College of Cardinals are also becoming sick. Several of our number became ill alongside the Pontiff. I wanted to tell you, after I verified you were healthy and at least sane, that I’m nominating you to the college. I have nominated you, actually, and it’s all done. You’re to be a Cardinal, Father.” She drops the news like a bomb.
“What?” BC can only mange the one word, for the moment.
“You’re an Ambassador for the Vatican already. We, I mean, I figured you were a good replacement candidate,” she explains. “Um... congratulations?”
“Yeah,” BC says, still at a loss for words, “Thanks.”
“When can you come down and be confirmed?” She asks him.
“Huh?”
“We’ll need you down here at the Vatican, first to be anointed in the proper ceremony, then to help us elect a new pope,” she stops herself, “If that becomes necessary.”
“Oh.”
What can I say? With everyone getting sick, I don’t really want to travel to Earth right now…
“I’ve got several matters here which require my immediate attention. I won’t be coming down to the Vatican just yet. But keep me informed!” BC says, trying to sound very concerned.
“We thought you should know what’s going on here, Father,” Terpa says. “We were hoping you would join us. We hope you will soon. In the meantime, we’ll keep you informed of any major changes.”
“Thank you,” BC says. “Please keep me informed of his holiness’s health. I’ll be praying for him,” BC
adds for effect, then thinks again. “I’ll be praying for us all,” he says to her.
“As will I, Father. As will we all. We’ll let you know as soon as anything changes. Good day, Father. Terpa out.”
The Pope and his entourage sick. This is raging out of control. What is the Ayatollah pulling?
It has to be him, doesn’t it? Him or someone from the UIN. One of his people. Biological Warfare. Shit. I thought we were beyond this! Thought we’d put it behind us. Maybe we’re devolving. Wentworth and the UTZ are guessing its UIN.
How long until they launch some sort of biological counter strike? What horrific forms will that take? How far can this escalate?
Well, until we’re all dead, of course.
Happy ending, huh?
I’ve gotta talk to Wentworth; see if I can get a sense of where he’s at. BC’s com alert beeps.
Wentworth?
“Campion? Wentworth,” he says on the com by way of introduction.
Speak of the fuckin’ devil...
“I hear your Pope is dying,” Wentworth offers. “Our man DeMag is already dead.” Wentworth pauses.
“Will the NcC support a counterstrike against the UIN?”
BC is struck by the absurdity. “You’re asking me? I’m pretty much all for it at this point. But I have no authority to authorize such a thing. So why ask me?”
“Do you think I’m asking for your permission? Maybe I merely wanted to get your opinion. But as far as that goes, who else should I ask? That Cardinal Terpa you must have just been speaking with? C’mon, you know more than she does! So tell me. Who should I be asking? Who’s leading your people right now?”
“You’ve got a point. Damned if I know. We’ll find out from the Cardinals when they meet.”
“You should be a Cardinal, BC,” Wentworth says out of nowhere. “We need someone in there with some kind of savvy to keep the NcC from becoming impotent and irrelevant.”
Wait a minute...
“When did you call Cardinal Terpa?” BC asks Wentworth.
“Earlier... but, why, she called me,” Wentworth demurs. BC shakes his head, stops to think. It all starts to make a little more sense. And to think I complimented her on her initiative! I liked her, liked her sense of humor. I should never let that color my judgment!
“Lucky one of yours is still healthy, eh Wentworth?” BC accuses.
“One of Mine? Who? Terpa?” Wentworth plays dumb.
“Right.”
“Cardinal Terpa is but a friend of the Wentworth Foundation. She works closely with my charitable foundation.”
“I see. You provide her with funding.”
“Exactly,” Wentworth says. “It’s all very legal, all on the up and up. Don’t get that look on your face, Campion. Didn’t your mother ever warn you that your face could freeze like that?”
“No. Is that what happened to you?” BC cracks back.
“Why don’t you want to be a Cardinal?” Wentworth asks him.
“It’s not that I don’t,” BC explains. “I just never thought I’d be...”
Wentworth cuts him off. “Look. We need the NcC to be a strong ally to the UTZ. We need the NcC to provide that social glue that it can, that it does, that sense of belonging, that sense of righteousness. The NcC helps hold our population together. We need that to continue, especially with our current epidemic. Let’s make you a Cardinal,” Wentworth says with a flourish, leaning in towards the screen, smiling.
“Sure,” BC says, as deadpan as he can, “but why would they agree to do this?”
“Because a lot of the Cardinals have gotten sick, Campion.” Wentworth is deadly serious. “A lot of them. They’re dying. You aren’t the only one they’re asking to join their ranks, you know,” Wentworth informs him.
Aw gee, and for a second there I was feeling all special and shit. But that’s not what I meant.
“Wentworth, there’s one thing that really bothers me about all this.”
“What, being Cardinal? I thought we got...”
BC interrupts him this time, “No. About the biological attack, if it is a UIN attack. Why would they do this? Why would they infect us with something deadly to humans? Aren’t they susceptible, too? I mean, wouldn’t they be? Or could they have an antidote? Is that what they’re doing, holding us hostage with our health? Wouldn’t they be more selective in their attacks? And wouldn’t they have said, ‘Aha! You’re Sick! You must cooperate with us or die?’ or some sort of thing already?” BC wonders.
“They’re savages, Campion,” Wentworth explains to him, as if he’s ignorant. “It seems as if Islam demands that its followers become quite primitive,” Wentworth explains his prejudice to BC. “There is, of course, a great advantage to keeping your populace docile, malleable and superstitious: It makes them much easier to control.”
“You’d know something about that,” BC can’t help but make the crack.
“Look. I’m a businessman. I look for results. I do what needs to be done to get the results I want. But it’s just business. Those people do anything, and I mean anything for their religion. They use their religion t
o cultivate and control ignorance and fear. Then they use that to focus their people’s hatred, their resentment for their privation, on us, on the UTZ and your church. When you control people like that, you can point them like weapons at whatever other perceived enemies you have. And they respond! And all the while it keeps them from pointing back at you. You know! If anything, that’s what the NcC does for us. For the UTZ. Come to think of it. Full circle, eh Campion?”
“You impress yourself, don’t you, Wentworth?”
“Ha ha. Cut the shit, Campion. You and I are still healthy. Either they haven’t gotten to us or we’re just lucky, or we’re resistant. We’ve survived. I don’t plan on dying, either. Remember when you asked me if I was afraid of dying?”
“Not really...”
“Well I’m not. Not really. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. We’ve been in contact with the sick, but we,” Wentworth points at BC through the screen, back at himself, quickly, “We survive! And we need to stick together!”
“We need? I don’t know that I need...”
Wentworth cuts him off, ‘We need to help each other.”
“You mean you need me. That’s classic! I don’t think so.”
“What, you don’t think we need to help each other? Don’t you want to be Cardinal?”
“Not really. You misread me if you think I do. No, I think you think you need me to be a Cardinal, though. I don’t think so.”
“What? You don’t think you’ll be Cardinal?”
“Yeah, that too... I don’t think I’ll ‘stick together’ with you, I don’t think I’ll be a Cardinal... to be honest, Wentworth, these days, I don’t know what to think. But I do think I’ll end this conversation. Goodbye.”
BC clicks off his com.
“The man is an arrogant pig bastard!” BC says out loud to no one.
If Wentworth is admitting he needs my help, he must be getting pretty desperate. The com goes off again in ten minutes.
“Campion, its Wentworth. I need to speak with you.”
“C’mon Wentworth, I don’t want to go around...”
“Hold off on your shit for a second, Campion. I just got word from my scientists. This epidemic, this sickness everyone has, appears to be from a non-terrestrial virus.”
Fuck, it is the UIN...
Wentworth continues, “It’s not from here. It’s definitely not terrestrial in origin.”
“You mean it didn’t originate on Earth?” BC asks.
Wentworth nods, “It’s not from Earth. Which I think increases the likelihood it’s something they cooked up on Mars.”
“Why? Is Mars so different?”
“It’s not so much Mars itself as it is Mars’s cosmic bombardment. Mars has a great variety of meteor strike points. Something like this virus would have to have come from an external, non-solar source like that, some sort of alien virus they picked up off a meteor.”
“Couldn’t someone on the Moon do the same?”
“Nah, the Moon’s fairly clear of untested strike points, aside from any relatively new ones. We know the surface of the Moon very well.”
That bothers me, for some reason.
“Oh,” BC says. “You don’t sound so sure, Wentworth. If it’s non-terrestrial, it could be from anything: a stray stellar microbe DeMag came in contact with. A stray micro meteor. Anything. It could be an accident. We’ve got to know for sure before we do anything.”
“We?” Wentworth notices, “Does that mean you’re with me now?”
“We’ll see. I’m just giving you my ‘opinion’ at this point, see?” BC throws Wentworth’s own words back at him.
“Right,” Wentworth says, and goes on, ‘But you’d still need a huge coincidence for anything like that to happen.”
“Granted, any of those things happening would be huge in the coincidence department.
“How do you explain it? If its non-terrestrial, do you really think it could have been created by the UIN?”
BC asks.
“Good Question. My scientists don’t seem to think the UIN created it, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility they’re using it. Or adapting it for their use,” Wentworth tells him. “My scientists are proud men and women, Campion. They aren’t willing to admit that UIN scientists might be more advanced than they are,” Wentworth says with a sniff.
“Wait a sec. You mean if it was created, it’s more advanced than what your scientist can cook up? That scares me,” BC admits.
“It raises the hairs on the back of my neck some, I’ll admit it,” Wentworth says. “It does imply that they’re far ahead of us. In a few areas. Not just R & D. To manufacture something like this would require facilities we don’t have. That they shouldn’t have, unless they built them themselves without our knowledge. Somehow. Otherwise, all their equipment, all their tech, is from here! It’s no different than our older equipment. We’ve advanced since then, maybe they have, too, but we built the equipment they’re probably using.
“Unless they made this thing!” Wentworth looks mad enough to spit.
Wow. What if it’s not the UIN? I know I said maybe a cosmic accident, but it does seem far-fetched...
“Campion?” Wentworth barks.
“Sorry. Just thinking. You know, on second thought, it is hard to believe that this was caused by a simple accident, by coincidence,” BC admits.
“Glad to hear you say that. If I could have reached through the screen and slapped you before, I would have. You’re a military man, kind of, Campion. You’re at least trained to think strategically, right?”
Wentworth asks.
“Sure”
“Then you know as well as I do. This feels like a strike against us. So I’m almost hoping it is the UIN. And not somebody new.”
Wentworth pauses to let BC think about the implications of that.
Holy Shit.
Wentworth goes on. “The Pope is dying. According to my reports, half of the Vatican has succumbed to this mystery illness. DeMag and most of his closest circle is dead from this thing now, too. People around the world are getting sick. Who knows how far it’ll spread? Who knows who else is infected? You could be, you know, Campion. You could be a carrier. Or you could be immune. Either way. I feel like we’ve been attacked.”
“Wentworth... we don’t know if any of the UIN delegation got sick. Do you have any reports on that? I don’t think they’d come right out and tell us if they were.”
“They would if they perceived it as a threat, as a strike against them. If they thought it was an attack, they’d come right after us,” Wentworth tells him.
“The same way you’re saying we should go after them?” BC says.
“Exactly,” Wentworth nods.
“So we may not have heard from them if they are sick because they’re holding conversations among themselves just like this one you and I are having right now,” BC observes.
“True,” Wentworth admits.
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” BC prods.
“What kind of question is that?” Wentworth protests.
“What else is there?” BC keeps pushing.
“Nothing else. Yet. I’ll keep my people working on this. I just wanted to let you know what was in this preliminary report. Think about possible counterstrikes.”
“Great,” BC says. “But don’t do anything yet, alright? We need to find out exactly what this thing is first. We need to know what caused it, and if it is an attack, who infected us.”
“Who else could it be?” Wentworth argues. “We’ll give it a little more time. UTZ researchers are doing their damnedest. It’s our only priority right now.”
“Guess it kinda has to be.”
“Keep me informed of any developments on your end, Campion. Anything, and I mean, anything you hear, let me know.”
“Right. Bye Wentworth,” BC clicks off the com.
Arrogant fuck. I still hate him. I’ll use him though, if I can. Work with him to cure this thing, strike bac
k at Mars if we have to. The man’s got power. If he can be focused properly... Sunday morning brings with it a new month. BC is forced to come up with a sermon for Sunday Mass in just a few minutes, as Father Daycomb has suddenly taken ill. The Mass and the day go by quickly for BC. He’s preoccupied with the thoughts running through his head, the Who? Why? And How? of the sickness.
BC paces around his office at day’s end. He looks at the two paintings of Jesus on the wall, salvaged from the wreckage of the old Cardinal’s office after the UIN attacks. BC found the Black Jesus and the Eastern Orthodox Icon in the ruins. There are some singe marks on the frame and the lower edge of the painting of the Black Jesus.
Rising out of the fire. Funny, you almost look like an icon, a black icon. Side by side with the old Greek icon guy there, you bear a resemblance. The dark side of the family. Yet probably a more accurate portrait than the pale, thin guy there.
Funny, my mind wanders. Am I deliberately trying to think of other things? What is it? There’s something here, something to this sickness.
Part of me does want to strike out at the UIN... but part of me still doubts it’s them. I know I don’t want it to be them. But if it is, I want to strike them back and hard. Love your enemies? That’s really your tough one, isn’t it? The Light was big on that, also admitted he was no good at it. It’s tough to maintain any sense of perspective, I suppose, when you’re becoming a messiah figure in your own right.
What do you think?
Great, I’m talking to paintings. Or thinking at them.
I wonder if it really was You, back there on Fortune Station.
Huh. Fortune Station. I haven’t thought of them for a while. I wonder... whatever happened to the cult? Back on Earth, probably getting sick… I certainly did them no favors. Screwed that up and screwed them over hard. Though what did I owe them, anyway? After all they did to me. Well, after what I was going to do to him. ..
It wasn’t intentional. It just happened. I should have seen it coming. Maybe I did on some level and just ignored it. Why should I care? Kim was a real bastard in his own right. I did like his daughter, though. Man.
The chime of the com breaks BC’s reverie.
Wentworth? Already?