System Seven

by Parks, Michael

  As if stored in the darkest of holes, shaded to blend with the space between all other memories, the knot had been crafted to defy recognition. Detail lay just under the stealthy non-ness of the memory cluster. Latching onto any aspect of it was like picking up a lively worm with wet fingers. Somewhere in the knot, Maria kept a very personal sense of self. He tried continuously but could only manage strong impressions.

  They emerged from the deep scan and relaxed in the shared space again. Johan played through the samplings of Maria, building a profile of vibration to use as their guide. He included Steffan’s memories and his own latest sensation of Maria being trapped.

  Is this really enough?

  Agreement came. It would have to do.

  We’re ready then.

  Together, they pushed forward into the wash of Saoghal.

  Finding a match for the profile didn’t take long. Centering on the vague, trapped feeling of Maria, he approached slowly, trying to understand what surrounded her. A dizzying array of expressions washed over in the natural chaos of Saoghal. Some part of it, some reflection, might be a trap. He worked with Clare to understand scope and scale, to track position and intention. Emotions and imagery lathered and mixed until slowly clarity emerged.

  Maria was held alright, bound and muted in a frightening state of existence. Seen and felt as through a looking glass, she seemed to want to communicate. Suddenly their proximity was too much, as if they’d entered a tunnel without knowing it. The feeling was all the warning he had before a piercing jab shattered reality. Like the moment you kick yourself awake, the next moment saw a new dream world forming around him.

  His last willful act was to set Anki and Clare free.

  • • •

  Anki slammed her elbow against the door frame and stifled a cry. She pulled on Johan’s arm, helping Sean drag his body from the room. Sean’s meta flow coursed to keep the heart and lungs pumping. Cathbad stood in the front doorway as they came down the hall.

  “The driver’s here. Be careful, Sean.”

  “Teicheadh ort! Go already!” He handed Anki the keys. “The blue Renault. Open the rear door and start the car. Remember, stay completely to yourself, do nothing in Raon.”

  Whatever had taken Johan sliced through the covering bràthair and retreated without being felt or seen. No wall of korjé descended, no hunters popped in the grid. It didn’t make sense.

  Outside on the stairs, Anki helped Cathbad down. “What happened?”

  “I can’t be sure. G2 are deploying to find his body, which means it must have been a strike from Saoghal. Bràthair are doing their best to protect us.”

  “You’ve sent for Austin?”

  “Not yet. If Johan can’t break free then it’s too dangerous for Austin. If they swarm, the bràthair won’t be able to shield him.”

  She wanted to ask, “Then what about us?” The past pummeled like a hammer, amplified now and ringing in her ears. She’d known joining with Johan would mean danger. It was happening now far worse than she could have ever imagined.

  The stairs shook as Sean descended with Johan hefted over his shoulder.

  “Hurry!” he called down.

  They reached the driveway. The old druid said to Anki, “Clare is key to helping the Change. Stay safe, listen to the family, work with them.” He softened, easing back from urgency. “No regrets.”

  He was right, of course. She nodded. “No regrets.”

  The driver came forward and guided Cathbad to a darkened sedan while Sean dumped Johan in the back seat of a blue compact and climbed in after him.

  “Drive, Anki!”

  • • •

  The two cars left in separate directions under the scrutiny of the pub’s bartender and his three patrons. They each shook their heads at the Mafioso.

  Some things would never change.

  • • •

  “I’d hoped you’d screw up at some point but wasn’t really sure you would,” Jesus said. “Seeking Maria again was reckless.”

  Blue skies shimmered with depth around him. Sand flowed above the desert, carried by a wind that tossed the man’s robe. It was Bastion-as-Jesus, a suitably perverse avatar selection. His presence burned as intense as the sun overhead. Johan cast out to the horizon in all directions. It was bone dry and nothing – no exit, no seam.

  “The Empty Quarter,” Bastion said, following his thoughts. “They call it that for a good reason. Nothing lives here. Nothing wants to. No one remembers anything out here, just as no one will remember you. They convinced you that you were a druid’s son, yet here you are, abandoned to fend for yourself. Do you feel it now? The truth? You were used, Gerrit, made so dangerous that we have no choice but to send you on. They gambled with your life, knowing the odds.”

  The words cut deep when they shouldn’t have. Mind games were to be expected, but here, in this space, it felt games were impossible, that only truth could exist. It was a mind fuck of a tweak employed to put him at a disadvantage. But why? The framework had to require an army of skill-adapted korjé working together to form and hold it. He remembered then. Maria had mentioned combining. It had to be that.

  The wind gusted and sand stung his face. Cracked lips burned. Thirst pressed in. Leather armor pressed the sweaty robe to his chest. A sand-infested linen loincloth etched his inner thighs. Definitely all distraction, meant to keep him from processing anything other than pain and discomfort.

  “What did you do with Maria?” he asked Bastion.

  “Nothing you’d approve of. Oh I know, I know. From your point of view, I understand why you wouldn’t. You, the poster child for a new beginning in humanity’s evolution. You, burning holes in the structures made sacred by the Creator, stepping through them like you know a better way.”

  “It’s okay for you but not for me?”

  “I am the leader of an ancient race given the responsibility of mankind’s survival. You are not. Without the Comannda, humanity would have imploded and destroyed itself countless times over by now. Your problem is that you lack the history and the context of Comannda rule. Without it, you have no vision and no regard for the structures we’ve created. You’re a sharpened tool, nothing more. An instrument of power wielded by the priests. They would use you and Austin to break down the system until it collapses under the weight of what keeps it together. You’d bring that kind of change if we let you. Rest assured, we will not.”

  He spoke to an unseen audience, his confidence high, much like the general in the clearing in Epping Forest. Unlike the clearing, this stage had been properly prepared: it lacked possibility. Change was an abstract and unactionable concept. Johan was a child again, helpless – the stuff of nightmares.

  But he wasn’t eight. He still had his core, most of his memory, and the ability to think. Pacing Bastion and paying attention to detail was the best strategy, even if the only strategy.

  Bastion continued to rant. “You must know, Gerrit, of the incredible insights you’ve provided our most skilled rangers. Our units gained more effectiveness this past week than they have in decades prior. Thank you for calling us out to a higher game. I hadn’t considered we could become this powerful or that we would ever need to.”

  Johan fueled the interaction, drawing it out for a chance to understand the framework. “What I really want to know is, what took you so long? With centuries to practice, I expected better. Hell, I just used a bit of creativity and intelligence and overpowered you all. Obviously you and your twit of an army didn’t have much of either. How long before others come along and overthrow you altogether?”

  It was the right mark to keep him talking. Refusing the bait to anger, the Comannda’s leader calmly started defending his korjé. Such was Bastion’s confidence that he offered Johan the time to pry and plot, knowing full well the design of his remarks. That was troubling in itself: he was sure Johan was stuck and stuck good.

  Forming such a strong framework would require combining, which was a group effort. That meant there would
be seams – one of the korjé represented the weakest link. He had only to find and overcome that one in order to tear an exit in the fabric. But pressing, shifting – all manners of flux and reorientation – yielded nothing, not so much as a ripple in the continuity of the dream.

  Bastion paused. “I see you’re realizing you’ve come to the end of your game, Gerrit. That’s your ‘bit of intelligence’ working for you, isn’t it? It tells you your ‘bit of creativity’ is no longer enough. It tells you that you’re screwed, if you listen to it. There is no weakest link. That’s not how it works.”

  The wind whipped sand in his face, shunting any reply.

  Bastion chuckled. “Well, enough. I’m off to watch the capture of Austin and your girl and Cathbad and all the rest of the priests. So for now...” He nodded a goodbye.

  Then Johan was alone, a stick figure in the sands of an endless desert, squinting against the sun.

  Chapter 28

  He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.

  - John Dryden, 1631-1700, British Poet, Dramatist

  Cathbad cursed traffic, careful to keep to himself.

  Tourists crossing the boulevard straggled well after the green light. His driver appeared bored despite a pair of municipal police officers on the corner just meters away. He knew only they might be stopped for questioning.

  “Definitely looking for someone,” Andre said casually. The number of police increased the closer they traveled towards St. Peter’s Square. Tour busses edged the sidewalks to take on passengers with arms full of shopping bags. “Some kind of special event in the square, I’m guessing. News crews up there. Two of them, looks like.”

  Cathbad didn’t like chattiness, especially when it implored a response.

  “I’ve no idea.” In fact he knew it was a prayer flash mob, aimed at soliciting God’s intervention on behalf of the world. Ahead, the dome of the Basilica loomed in the hazy mid-afternoon sun.

  The driver cracked his window. “Mm. Smell the coffee. What I wouldn’t do for a cup right now.” He looked in the side mirror. “Uh, rolling inspection. Motorbike.” He glanced in the other mirror. “Two.”

  “Nice day for a ride.” Do nothing different.

  Traffic pulled ahead, allowing them to cross the intersection before the light changed red again. The two riders stopped while side traffic flowed across the boulevard. Some cars made the turn and tucked in behind them at odd angles, adding to the congestion.

  “Should I plan to evade?”

  “God no. Please relax, Andre.” Bràthair would have to handle it, provided they were still covering. He didn’t dare extend. His was a purely physical experience for the time being, the best cover.

  “Of course, sir.”

  The light turned green and the riders maneuvered into the lanes again. Cathbad felt it nearby, the stealthy extension by bràthair as each rider neared.

  They passed, scanning vehicles as they went.

  The driver exhaled. “Nice day for a ride, yes.”

  Cathbad watched the motorcycles. “Change lanes when you have the opportunity. We’ll go left at the square.”

  The crosswalks ahead cleared, allowing the flow to advance. The driver passed on two chances to move to the left because of police standing along the sidewalk. Cathbad approved. The druid glanced down a side street and spotted a police rider circling around for another pass. Traffic picked up again and then they saw the reason for the slowing – blue police cars lined the safety lanes leading to the square. Police stood in the street, now waving cars on, not allowing anyone to disembark. The news crews were being hassled by dark-suited officials.

  The driver signaled and merged to the left lane, accelerating to follow the curve past the massive pillars guarding St. Peter’s Square. Pigeons scattered when a gang of youths ran across the street and up the stone steps. The road led to an ornate four story building and veered left. Broad pedestrian stripes demarked an area to the right where gray steel gates blocked off a parking lot. The cathedral rose just beyond.

  “Slow. Now go right, towards the gates,” Cathbad advised. “Don’t startle anyone. Good.”

  They cleared a river of pedestrians and approached the gate. Colorful uniformed guards paid every attention to their arrival. One approached the car. Cathbad rolled his window down and presented a card.

  “Passaggio protetto, per favore. Comunica Padre Septimus. E ‘di grande importanza.”

  The Swiss guard produced a pen and ran it over the card. The pen flashed green. He returned the card and waved them forward. “Procedere direttamente al Palazzo del Tribunale!”

  “Oh mio,” the driver said as they rolled through the gates and onto the grounds of Vatican City. Another guard halted them. Cathbad noted a dark blue armored van with viewports just inside the gates. Dogs were used to sniff the car while guards checked every part of it. They were finally waved on.

  “Keep straight, towards the arch.”

  A guard there worked a radio and waved them through, as did a guard at the next arch. The Basilica’s walls towered over them. Ahead, a bloom of color spilled from a building as papal guards formed a U-shape under an expansive red canopy.

  “Park there, within their ranks.”

  Alongside their ceremonial sabers these guards also wore compact machine guns. As soon as the car stopped the doors flew open and Cathbad was whisked inside.

  “Signore Esposito. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  The guards wheeled Cathbad into the offices of Danilo Moreno, the Cardinal Secretary of State. The narrow-faced official sat at a cherry wood desk, as passive as the Zuccari portrait of Pope Sixtus V on the wall behind him. His spectacles hung low on a pointed nose to accentuate eyes sharp as blades. The second most powerful man in the Vatican presented as civilized but otherwise unreadable. The druid stood and moved to a chair.

  “I am not sure why you thought that, Cardinal, but I am no less pleased to see you. You look well.”

  Danilo nodded, also a dismissal to the guards. “You are aging gracefully, signore.”

  “Grazie.” Waiting for the guards to leave, Cathbad looked to the painting of Sixtus V. “Ah, the great Sixtus, rebuilder of a church in shambles. Cleared Rome of brigands, rebuilt the city, refilled empty coffers through taxation, and restored the church’s authority abroad.” The office doors closed. He exhaled. “May I speak candidly?”

  “Please do. Start by telling me what you have begun.”

  “Not I, Dani. The Change has come.”

  The cardinal pursed his lips. “Legend? You’re acting on legend?”

  “Prophecy, not legend. You must have heard what’s happened.”

  Danilo laced his fingers and rested them on the desk. “I heard the unlikely rumor that the Korda were threatening to reveal secrets. Then the nuclear bombs went off. Then the terrorist campaign began. Now the world is in chaos. Moments ago, I learned the army launched helicopters from Viterbo and are scouring Rome for a terrorist cell targeting Vatican City. I’m told evacuation is necessary and that forces will need to search the Holy See end to end. That is what I’ve heard.” He stared quietly. “Make this worth it, Cathbad. Tell me more about the Change.”

  Cathbad frowned. “I cannot accept you don’t know of what’s happened. Allegiance to the Comandanti brings more in the way of information than that.”

  Danilo did not ripple. Instead, he turned and gestured to the painting behind him.

  “Sixtus helped the church survive. Against the designs of those you mention. He leveraged what he could to help preserve the integrity of the church and the spirit of God in man despite the occupation.” He turned back. “Those efforts continue today. I need say nothing more. Trust or do not. Now, why have you come?”

  “You agree that without our solidarity in those days things would have become much worse. But that was then, Danilo. The church has weakened and become complicit in the transgressions of the Comandanti. Inaction can be as much a stroke of approval as deeds. I questi
on if you could even manage a coherent message of revelation, now.”

  “The authority of the church–”

  “–is nothing if its people are in fear for their lives. As it is, a declaration describing the Comandanti would be an admission of centuries-long guilt of that inaction. You would only remove the last restraints from their plans and throw the world into chaos.”

  Danilo shook his head. “And what are you doing? Have you not noticed the world coming apart at the seams?”

  Cathbad grunted. “The world had precious little in the way of seams before this began and you know it. I’m following the path to restore what ought to be. To sew new seams in stronger material.”

  Danilo nodded. “Yes yes, of course. The trackways. You’re following the trackways, dragging everyone with you. Damn them if they don’t like it. Who cares if the trackways lead to the end of what little remains?”

  “The time has come, Dani. I cannot choose to ignore it any more than you can choose to abandon your beliefs. I need to know that I can count on you to help the Change.”

  The cardinal removed his glasses and set them down to rub his eyes. He withdrew, once again passive but Cathbad suspected holding back a storm beneath. “What is it you want from me? What can I do for them that you cannot?”

  Cathbad hesitated. “‘Them’, Danilo?”

  Their eyes caught. The cardinal looked away and slowly replaced his spectacles. When he looked back, it was with sadness.

  “You had to know, Cathbad. Why did you come?”

  The doors opened and meta-strong Swiss guards entered, followed by half a dozen priests of greater power. Cathbad made a last push to reach Johan but it ended in an arcing call of distress. The violent backlash of meta by those subduing him nearly knocked him free.

  “Don’t,” Cardinal Moreno warned. “Don’t do that again. Not if you ever want a chance at reaching heaven. The rules have changed, my friend. They have well and truly changed.”