by John Ringo
“And now…we wait for an answer.”
“Sharice,” Barb said, looking over her shoulder at the crackle of underbrush. “What are you doing here?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for all the chocolate in Switzerland,” Sharice said. “It down there?”
“Yep,” Barb said. “We were just getting ready to take a peek. You don’t have FLIRs.”
“If the Lady isn’t willing to shield my mind, I guess I’m pretty much over the hill,” Sharice said. “I’ve seen a few things in my time. I think I’ll be okay.”
“That does it,” Janea said, dropping her FLIR to the forest floor. “I can’t be Asatru and fear. And I’m afraid. I will face the test of Fir. I shall overcome it or be blasted. Whichever way it goes, I’m not going to fear.”
“Let’s go, then,” Barb said, pushing aside a screen of privet.
The Gar was moving through the outskirts of the town of Maynardville, leaving its usual wake of destruction.
“Is it me, or is it getting bigger?” Janea asked, her voice a little too firm.
“It’s bigger,” Barb said, calmly. She could feel the horror, but it was washing over her like light rain. “There was a lot of minor cattle ranching in the valley. Lord hope everyone was evacuated safely.”
“That is rather ugly, isn’t it?” Sharice said. If she was bothered it wasn’t apparent.
“Yes, it is,” Barb said, cracking a grin.
“I’m glad you guys think this is funny,” Janea said, her voice shaking.
“Not at all,” Sharice said. “But here in this place, we stand on the precipice of doom with but one roll of the dice between us and the end of all we know. It is laugh or cry, and my choice has always been laughter.”
“I am Asatru,” Janea said, firmly. “I am the high priestess of the goddess of love and war. I will not let this thing defeat me. My goddess defeated it in times past and will aid me to defeat its powers. I. Will. Not. Fear. I am Asatru.”
“There you go, dear,” Sharice said, smiling again. “To each her deity. Anyone got the time?”
“President’s speech should be starting,” Barb said, looking at her watch. “Okay, God, time to count the Lots. Do we make the grade, or should I just go home and give up the land of the free?”
“And the home of the brave, don’t forget,” Janea said. “There’s a reason that the US has the highest number of Asatru in the world. Laz,” Janea continued as the cat walked up and parked by her feet. “I’m not sure you should be seeing this.”
“He seems to be taking it well,” Barb said, looking at the cat. “Maybe it doesn’t affect cats.”
“There is nothing living anywhere near its path,” Sharice said. “Were it not for his connection to you, he would be dead.”
“Alive enough,” Barb said as the cat stood up from its haunches and suddenly assumed a pounce position. His tail swished back and forth and he started to purr. “Very alive,” she added and then stopped.
She’d felt the feeling before, like gathering static before a lightning strike. But never like this. She could feel that it was not just her being filled by the Power of the Lord, but the two priestesses by her side, the cat, the growth around her. It was a massive bell of power gathering and gathering and gathering…
“Oh, good Freya,” Janea said, her eyes wide. “Uhhh…I’m not sure I can channel this much…” she ended on a squeak as her right arm shot outwards, palm upraised.
Barb, not fighting it but not willing it either, found herself following suit, as did Sharice. Lazarus stood up and opened his mouth as if about to wail.
And from the three outstretched arms, and one bellowing mouth, shot a beam of light powerful enough to level a city.
“This is Bob Toland near Knoxville, Tennessee,” the reporter said, then lowered his microphone. “Good?”
“Sound’s good,” the sound man said, raising a thumb.
“Bit to the left,” the cameraman said. “Better view of the mountains.”
“I hope like hell whatever it was got that CNN crew isn’t near here,” the producer said. “President still has the airwaves. And it’s dead air. People are starting to freak. Let’s roll. At this rate, we might even get live.”
“Right,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “This is Bob Toland near Knoxville, Tennessee. As you can see behind me…” he continued turning to the northeast.
As he turned, a beam of white light shot down from the heavens. It was so bright it seemed to override the sun, bright as a magnesium flare in darkness. It blinded him for a moment and he could feel a prickle on his skin. For a moment, he thought the President had dropped a nuke, but it wasn’t that. Just light. The purest, most white light he had ever seen in his life or could even imagine.
“Good God,” the producer whimpered, his hands over his eyes.
“Yeah,” Toland said, blinking and hoping that his vision would return. “I think that might have been exactly what that was. Tell me you got that.”
“I got it,” the cameraman said, lowering the camera. “I’ve got a burned-out CCD chip, but I got most of it. Damn.”
“I think you might want to watch your tongue there,” Toland said, looking up and blinking. “Seriously. Be careful how you speak.”
“Thank you, Lord,” the President said, his hands clenched together and tears streaming down his face. “Thank you for protecting us with Your divine hand. I pledge that this nation stands by Your side through all the trials ahead.
“And to the people of this great nation and all the peoples of other lands who joined us in prayer. Know that we have faced a great test and have shown that this nation stands by the side of the Powers of Good. Great trials face us in the future, but know that if we stand by our deity, whatever name we choose to use, that the power that watches over us will never fail. Thank you for your prayers, and God bless you all.”
EPILOGUE
Master Sergeant Attie wasn’t too sure why he got stuck as point on this particular recon, and he’d just as well have foregone the pleasure. But here he was, driving through downtown Maynardville anyway.
“Damn,” Struletz said, pointing to the left. “I think we’ve found where it was.”
The large building, probably an old factory, was partially demolished. Partially. About half of it was flattened by something, Attie was pretty sure what, but the rest was still standing.
“No real evidence of what got it,” Attie said, trying to make something out through the FLIR. “It’s just…gone.”
“Got a heat source on the right,” Struletz said, pointing. “Across the road. Looks human.”
“Go check it out,” Attie said, stopping the Humvee. He’d seen Struletz drive. “Command,” he continued, thumbing the mike on the long-range radio. “We appear to have survivors. Checking it out.”
“Target?”
“Target appears to have been neutralized,” Attie said. He could see the human figure Struletz had pointed out, and he or she appeared to be waving. Struletz had also stopped.
“What do you got, Jordan?” Attie asked.
“I’ve got one human female,” Struletz said over the squad comm. “She says there’s four more. They don’t know where they are, they don’t know how they got here and they don’t got no clothes, Master Sergeant.”
“Roger,” Attie said. “Wait one. Command. Survivor is human female. Report of four more. Absent clothing, don’t know their location or method of arrival.”
“Roger,” the TOC said. “Wait one. Determine if subjects are currently pregnant, over.”
“Jordan, any of them pregnant?” Attie said.
“Say again, Master Sergeant?”
“Any of them pregnant,” Attie said. “As in carrying the Devil’s spawn.”
“Oh, right. Stand by. Uh, that’s a negative, and they’re pretty pissed at the question. Any chance of getting some clothing up here?”
“Command, negative on the pregnancy query. We need some clothing and a medical team.”
; “All of the girls who were in the sanitarium are totally recovered,” Randell said, shaking his head. “As are the five the recon team found. No bruises, no sores, the ones who were pregnant with skru-gnon aren’t. No psychological effects. Even the systemic effects from long-term malnutrition are gone. Some of them are a little underweight but that’s it. And none of them can remember anything about their experiences. The ones who were apparently kidnapped by the cult remember that, but nothing about the Gar or what happened to them. The doctors are openly using the term miracle.”
“Because it is,” Janea pointed out.
“Then there’s the bad news,” Graham said. “The teams have made it all the way up to the slaughterhouse, and a team has started an analysis of the material there. The actual reports are going to take months, but the hot-wash is bad enough.”
“How bad?” Barb asked. She knew that after channeling that much power, she should be a physical basket case. But instead she felt as if she had been reborn, a tingling throughout her body like a heady, pure wine.
She also knew she wasn’t the only one. Most of the people she’d run into on the way back to headquarters were walking around with grins on their faces. She wasn’t sure if it was just people in the region or across the nation or the world. But people had clearly been touched by God.
“Pretty bad,” Graham said. “The Gar had been growing for nearly three years. The slaughterhouse was bought by a new owner who summoned it and then fed it. He’d replaced most of the workers over time to keep it quiet. But it had been producing Hunters and Children for nearly two years. By a year ago, the company wasn’t actually producing meat. But they kept their trucks. And they were making deliveries.”
“Children,” Janea said.
“Hundreds,” the agent acknowledged. “Scattered all over the country. And then there are the ones in the mountains.”
“That’s a huge operation for one slaughterhouse,” Janea pointed out. “Where’d they get the funding?”
“We’re looking into that,” Graham said. “It wasn’t the owner. The slaughterhouse had been on the ropes until about two years ago when it was bought by an offshore company. That’s a nest of shell corporations. One did stand out, though.”
He pulled up a file on his phone and showed it to Barbara.
“Look familiar?” he asked.
Barbara blanched at the symbol.
“Trilobular?” she asked. “I thought that was shut down, hard, after the Osemi operation.”
“It was,” Graham said. “But it was involved in the purchase of the slaughterhouse. You can rest assured that there is going to be some high-level interest in the rest of these corporations.”
“So the fight isn’t over,” Barb said, shrugging. “No big surprise that there’s some sort of big corporate backing to the Other Side. We’ve got the same. Doesn’t matter. We know, now, that God is with us as we are with Him. His hand will protect and guide us. Compared to the trials that are coming, a few skru-gnon and corporate pirates are nothing. But we will prevail. God is by our side.”
“Amen,” Randell said. “You preach it, Miss Barbara. You go.”
“That sounded sincere,” Janea said, smiling.
“You know what they say,” Randell said, shrugging. “Comes a point when you just gotta give in. I’ve seen hell. Maybe there really is a heaven. Figure I’ll get me some of that Old Time religion.”
“Good enough for me,” Barb said.
Lazarus looked between the two of them and, for just a moment, appeared to shake his head.
“Mark?” Barbara asked as she came into the house. It was midafternoon and Mark’s car was in the garage. Unusual, to say the least.
She set her bags by the door and walked into the living room. No Mark. Kitchen. No Mark. No surprise.
She was halfway down the hallway when she knew, distinctly, where Mark was from the sounds from the bedroom. Just to make sure, she opened the door. And paused at the surprised expressions. Then quietly shut the door, walked to the dining room and sat down at the head of the table. Normally Mark’s spot. She steepled her fingers and waited. It took about three minutes for Mark to arrive.
“Barbara…” he said, in a choked voice. “You’re…home.”
“Yes,” Barbara replied, in a voice so totally mild it was slightly terrifying.
“Barb,” Mark said, carefully. “I…I just want to point out I have never cheated on you…with a woman.”
Author’s Afterword
Not a eulogy.
This novel has been a work in progress for a looong time. And during its writing real-life stuff has changed. Most of that relates to Dragon*Con which is, I assure my gentle readers, the most fun you can have with your clothes on. (And in some of the room parties, that’s optional.) During the day the con is aggressively PG-13 and I’ve been bringing my daughters since they were quite young. They’ve always loved the swirl of color and fantasy that goes on day and night. At this point the con has attracted so much attention that Disney World sends cast, mostly the various “Princesses” and the Dragon*Con Parade Sunday morning has become a feature of Atlanta’s Labor Day Weekend.
However, as the sun goes down the con’s tone slowly changes to become more Mardi Gras and less Disney. This is, in fact, specifically recognized with the event that has slowly been gaining notoriety, the Dragon*Con After Dark Costume Contest of which the author has had the privilege of being the co-master of ceremonies several times. For persons interested in being contestants, I will remind you that “no costume means no costume.” And Dragon*Con After Dark complies with relevant Atlanta and Georgia laws regarding nudity.
Barely.
(On a further note, my good friends Rogue and Jessica DuPont of Cruxshadows are usually among the judges.)
This has been my only attempt to describe Dragon*Con and I really could not do it justice. It is one of those things in life that truly has to be experienced to be believed.
However, it was not until I was doing research for “fiddly bits” of this story that I realized (or even in fact noted) the amazing architecture especially of the Hyatt Regency Hotel. I’m not an architecture fan. It’s the sort of thing you throw into a book to lend authenticity. So when this novel was in its final draft I desperately asked my lovely and talented (and much more architecturally oriented) fiance Miriam to look up the architectural details and explain them to me. In small words.
Although Miriam had been involved with the design of the new walking bridge between the Hyatt and the Marriott (one detail that was left out since the Dragon*Con of Janea’s spiritual journey was from an earlier period) she had, surprisingly, never really paid much attention to the architecture of the Hyatt itself.
Prepare to be enlightened.
Built in 1967, the Hyatt Regency Atlanta is generally described as “the first contemporary hotel.” Designed by “visionary” (and I agree) architect John Portman, it incorporated several novel design features that remain subjects of study and use to this day. The “bubble” (glass open) elevators that Janea so casually dismissed were in fact the first of their kind in the world. All subsequent glass elevators simply drew on the Hyatt design. The “modern art sculpture” in the middle is anything but. The Flora Paris is, in fact, one of the most brilliant examples, ever, of a critical structural necessity being turned into pure art. The gold and silver plated steel tubes run in parallel from the foundation up to the lobby level then spread out into hundreds of separate tubes, twenty-two stories high, in the architect’s own words, “arms in praise of the sky and the sun.”
However, their purpose is purely structural. The top of the Hyatt is a (now closed) rotating restaurant. The basic structure of the building could not support its weight. The Flora Paris is what supports the entire weight of that massive and essentially separate building. It floats on beauty.
Brilliant.
There was no place to include those details in the story but the author thought that some people (including long-time attendees of
Dragon*Con such as the author) might be interested.
See you in Atlanta at Labor Day.
John Ringo
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-c8da31-0546-5249-25b7-8dd3-c02f-712b85
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 11.05.2012
Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.3 software
Document authors :
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/