by David Beers
What do you want? the traitor asked.
We’ve captured one of your followers. We have them here, with us.
The traitor read the words, unease growing rapidly.
Who? they asked.
It’s not important. We have them and they’ve given us your location.
Then why do you need me?
We want confirmation, the screen read.
They were lying. How could they know? David’s location was hidden from all of his followers, only those invited to the compound were granted that knowledge. It was hidden for this exact reason, so that he couldn’t be given up.
That was theory. Did it actually work like that in reality?
The traitor knew it probably didn’t, not completely anyway. People talked, even when they knew it was wrong. David’s identity and whereabouts could be kept secret from most, but not all. Maybe the PD did know.
I’m not giving you confirmation, the traitor said. You can’t come here. You have to take him when he’s alone.
Why? Do you think we’re going to let the rest of your group go free? Because that won’t happen, regardless of where we collect him.
If you come for him here, it will be harder for you. Much harder.
Why? the screen read.
The traitor wasn’t lying. They wanted David away from this place for other reasons too—because if the PD tried taking him at the compound, they might not survive.
His power will be amplified here.
How?
His blood is in all of us, the traitor said, though I imagine you know that. Our blood will amplify his. He’ll use us in ways you don’t understand. You’ll be massacred.
There was silence on the other side for a minute. The traitor waited, hoping they believed.
The death toll will be catastrophic, the traitor said.
We don’t care, the answer came back. Give us confirmation or you can die amongst the rest of them. If you give it to us, we’ll make sure you survive.
The traitor laughed, alone in their apartment. There was no survival, certainly no guarantee of it.
You might not survive, that’s what I’m trying to fucking tell you.
We like our chances. Will you give us confirmation of the coordinates? If not, then we’re ending the connection. The next time you hear from us will be in the form of fire.
The traitor didn’t respond. Long minutes passed as they thought.
Why had they begun this in the first place?
Veritros. That’s why. Because I know the truth.
And what was the end goal? What was the purpose of doing all this?
To stop David. To stop the Unformed.
And what would the traitor give up in order to do that?
I’d give up everything, my life included.
The traitor was trying to protect people who didn’t want protection. The traitor was trying to save their own life. They were putting too many things in front of what actually mattered.
Do you have anything to say? the screen asked.
If I tell you, will you give me warning before you arrive? I’d like to try and save some, if I can.
No, the screen read back. If you want to save them, get out now. We will guarantee your survival, but no others.
The traitor shook their head, knowing that it was all a lie. If the PD wouldn’t tell their arrival time, how could they possibly save the traitor?
So be it, they thought. Let the end come, then.
The coordinates are 38.9517 south, 68.0592 west. If you come, and he’s here, we’ll probably all die—all of us but him.
Manor was waiting on Raylyn when she arrived home. She’d called him when they finished with the informant, needing someone to talk to—someone that wasn’t involved with all of this.
They were taking a six hour break, presumably to sleep, but Raylyn knew that wasn’t possible. Not for her at least.
Her apartment was on the 17th story of the building. Her transport stopped at the floor’s overhang, and she stepped off. Her hands were shaking and had been since the very moment she was alone. She’d stared at them the whole flight home, cursing them, wishing they would stop, but unable to make them do so.
“Raylyn,” Manor said, ignoring the customary greeting. He rushed forward and put his arm around her. He helped drape hers over his shoulder and Raylyn felt her body almost give out. Her knees bent and her body sagged, her arm holding Manor tighter.
“Come on. Inside,” he said.
Raylyn nodded and the two made their way to the front door. Manor hadn’t been there before, and none of the security protocols recognized him. Raylyn still had the mental acuity to get them inside, though.
He laid her down on her couch. “I’m getting you some water,” he said, then left and went to the kitchen.
Raylyn listened to the sound of a cupboard closing and then water pouring. Her mind was more or less blank as she stared up at the ceiling—as if it couldn’t believe everything that had happened in the past 12 hours. It was too much for her to process.
Manor moved a chair across the room, sitting on it as the nanotech in his eyes faded.
“Here,” he said, handing her the water and putting his hand behind her head, helping lift her up. Raylyn sipped for a few moments and then pulled away. “What happened? Do we need to call a hospital?”
She shook her head, then collapsed back to the couch and stared upwards again. After a few seconds she said, “No.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’m worried, Raylyn. What’s going on?”
She knew how much she could say—absolutely nothing. Her job required security clearances that Manor didn’t have, and this … Well, the First Council was listening right now.
I can’t do this alone, she thought. I can’t see what I did today and not tell someone.
She turned her head and met his eyes.
“Is it work?” he asked.
She nodded.
“And you can’t talk about it?”
“I’m not supposed to. No. I ….” Her hands started shaking again as she thought of the body on the floor. Billmore’s body.
“Hey, hey. Come here,” Manor said, kneeling down on the floor and wrapping his arms around her. “You don’t have to talk about it. Just sleep. You want to go to your bed?”
She nodded, her eyes full of tears.
“Okay,” he said and then helped her stand and walk to the back bedroom. He took off her shoes for her, then placed her under the covers, still fully clothed.
“Will you lay here with me?” she asked.
“Of course.” Manor got into the bed and pulled her close.
Raylyn fell asleep smelling his scent and thinking about the skin ripping from Billmore’s body.
Manor lay awake for a long time. He kept his arm around Raylyn. He liked the way she felt next to him. She twitched sometimes as she slept, either from dreams or errant electrical currents. He didn’t mind; he wasn’t trying to sleep.
He was thinking.
He’d been thinking quite a lot since meeting Raylyn, but perhaps the most tonight.
Manor was falling in love with her, of that he had no doubt. She was beautiful, smart, tough. All attributes Manor had once thought he wanted in a woman. There had been a time, years ago, when he’d looked forward to the ritual courtship. He had wanted a wife, a child. The whole thing. He’d wanted to serve Corinth just like everyone else inside the True Faith.
He often looked back at that time and wished life could still be so simple. It would have been a grand thing.
Manor didn’t know if he was blessed or cursed as he lay next to this woman. He’d never felt something like this, and had begun wondering exactly what he should do. He knew there were others like him who ended up married with children, but he hadn’t been sure he could do it. Living a lie his entire life.
Courtship would have continued, but that was fine. Manor
could deal with it. Eventually, he might have had to settle down but it wouldn’t have been for a long time.
Yet, Raylyn Brinson had been matched with him.
Then things had changed.
And now he felt sure they were changing again. Not for the better, though.
At first, when he understood the organization Raylyn worked for, he’d been a bit frightened, but also slightly curious. It was a quirk of his personality, probably a major reason why his life had ended up like this.
He tried to stay away from the Prevention Division for obvious reasons. Yet, when he was matched with a woman from it, he thought he could find out more.
And then he began liking her.
And then loving her.
And now?
Now there was a problem, and maybe Manor was over analyzing things, but he didn’t think so. Because his blood had been itching for a while.
And Raylyn came home unable to talk, unable to stop shaking.
Manor couldn’t be sure, not yet, but he was beginning to think the woman he loved was chasing the man he served.
His blood had never itched like this.
Not in the seven years the Blood of the Touched had flowed through his own body.
Nineteen
The Old World Ministry
Pope Pius XX, who still thought of himself as Yule, sat at his desk. Cardinal Wen Nitson sat in front of him, looking like he might have swallowed a bug moments earlier. He appeared sick, as if he might vomit, and was holding it in only out of politeness.
The Pope understood he was the reason for the other man’s discomfort.
The Pope had been staring at him for 30 seconds, despite Nitson’s greeting when he entered. Yule had remained silent, wanting to measure the man’s mettle. He could see Nitson growing more uncomfortable with each second.
You, my friend, would not like the High Priest even a little bit.
“Have we found her yet?” Yule finally asked.
“No, your Most Holy, but it is only a matter of time.”
“A matter of time,” Yule said, letting the words roll across his tongue as if he could taste them. “When people say that, I often wonder what they mean. Isn’t everything a matter of time? When I think about it, I wonder what isn’t a matter of time, and I come up with nothing. After all, time answers all questions, just as I’m sure it will this one. Cardinal Wen, I need more than time right now.”
Nitson nodded. “Yes, Most Holy Father.” A folder sat on his lap and he put it on the Pope’s desk. He didn’t flip it open, but looked up at Yule. “In here you’ll see everything we’re doing, but if you’ll allow me to update you now, I’d be more than happy to do so.”
“Please, proceed, Father.”
“We are utilizing every resource we can employ in capturing the woman. We have taken extraordinary steps. Her hometown was locked down for the past two days, each house and business individually searched for their whereabouts. We believe they have family in the northern province, and we’re watching them 24 hours a day right now, though they aren’t aware of it. Any devices they might use for communication, phones, computers, anything, are being monitored. We have unmanned drones flying the roads from her hometown to her family. If they’re on those roads, we’ll spot them soon. Their bank accounts are open, but that’s so we can track any transactions.”
Nitson stopped talking. He still looked like he might vomit. There wasn’t pride here, but a knowledge that he wasn’t doing enough, because the girl was still free.
Yule leaned back in his chair and cast his eyes to the far wall as he thought about what he’d heard. It wasn’t necessarily his purity that allowed him to rise this high, nor his ambition, but rather his ability to think through problems.
He started contrasting the program that spawned this woman with the High Priest, and the Black.
He had asked Nitson to bring the girl to him, though usually he understood these people with sight were eradicated. The program was an abomination, an affront to God, but Yule thought he might have to use the girl. Perhaps that was God’s will. Perhaps that’s why she was given the sight at this exact time.
The High Priest didn’t know Yule’s plans, nor did the other two Ministries. Yule didn’t care. They held secrets as well, no doubt.
Nitson moved uncomfortably in his seat. Yule didn’t look over to him.
The woman must be used, and the Pope wondered if that had been God’s intention all along. An abomination of a program, but still something that worked toward His will. Because the Black had returned, but humanity might now hold a weapon that could stop it. A weapon created by human hands.
Yes, he had decided what must be done, even if two weeks ago he would have thought it horrible.
He looked back to the Cardinal.
“Cardinal Wen, you are in charge of eliminating those with the sight, correct?”
“Yes, Most Holy Father,” Nitson answered.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who is the most knowledgeable person on the entire enterprise, do you? Say, if we were to want to use those with the sight for our purposes, who would I turn to for that information?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Nitson replied, and Yule nearly chuckled at how pale the man’s face had become. As if each word passing from his lips drained a quart of blood.
He held the laugh in and only nodded. He reached up to his desk and pressed a built in button.
“Yes, Most Holy Father?” a voice spoke from the intercom next to the button.
“Sister Clark, can you find the top two experts we have on the former sight program? Will you have them here by the end of the afternoon?”
“Of course, Most Holy Father,” Sister Clark said.
“Thank you.”
Yule looked back to Nitson. “Go and find this woman. Sister Clark will coordinate with you when to return this evening.”
Nitson nodded. “Yes, Most Holy Father. I look forward to it.”
The man left Yule’s office, clearly wishing to never return again.
“You three are going to help us save Earth,” the Pope said from behind his desk. He’d spent the remainder of the day behind it, and found himself growing restless. He liked to move about for at least an hour a day, in some form of exercise. Yule doubted he would have that luxury any time soon.
Nitson had returned first, followed by two people who weren’t of the Priesthood but apparently knew more about the sight than anyone else under the Church’s purview. Their names were Franklin Lane and Laura Griffith. Yule had been briefed on their backgrounds prior to their arrival, though he wasn’t really concerned. One a historian, one a scientist. It didn’t matter to him as long as they were the best the Church had.
Nitson was still Nitson. He had once been a promising Priest from what Yule understood of the man, but if he didn’t find this woman quickly, he was finished. Yule thought the Cardinal knew that as well.
“Cardinal Wen, may I introduce Franklin Lane and Laura Griffith? If you don’t mind, I’ll let you do more in depth introductions later, but for now let’s get to the business at hand. Dr. Lane, you’re a scientist, correct?”
“I am, sir,” Lane said.
Yule realized the man lived under the Church’s reign, but apparently didn’t take it all that seriously. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been addressed as ‘sir’. It wasn’t important right now, though. The Pope had come to believe that he might not be the only one chasing Nicki Sesam.
Perhaps the High Priest was as well.
“Thank you. You’re our historian?” he asked, looking at Griffith.
She nodded.
“First, I want to know how we lost so many of these people. We created them, then they began to have children? Then we lost complete control over all of them?”
“Not exactly, Father,” Griffith said. “May I explain?”
“Yes, please.”
“We did create the original 50. That’s true. The Church records are actually very detailed
, including where we made mistakes. The Church, at first, wanted to keep these 50, running checks on them periodically and testing their abilities. What they didn’t understand was that the engineered abnormality would transfer genetically. They didn’t think the increased brain activity would pass from parent to child. Those 50 had children, and their children had children. By the time the Church decided to end the program, the original 50 were old, grandparents and great grandparents.”
The Pope nodded, understanding the rest. “So, they didn’t understand that the abnormality had spread, and by the time they did, there were too many to simply go pick them up?”
“Well, yes and no,” the woman said. “The genetic abnormality doesn’t always pass. In fact, it doesn’t appear to take place at birth at all. Rather, the increased brain activity comes later in life, and happens extremely rapidly, though I imagine Mr. Lane can explain this part better than I can.”
Yule waved away the suggestion. He’d wondered how they had gotten here, with these people wandering the Earth without any way of knowing who they actually were. He had the gist, and that’s all he needed.
He turned to the scientist.
“What I need to know, Dr. Lane, is what this woman’s brain can do? She has the sight. We’re relatively sure of that. I need to know what’s possible.”
Lane opened his mouth, but it took a second for the first word to come out, as if trying to figure out exactly what was being asked of him. “ … In what way?”
Yule didn’t want to tell these people the truth, but in order to understand what this woman was capable of, he’d have to.
“What you hear in the next few moments isn’t to be repeated outside of these walls. To anyone. If it comes back to my office that you have disregarded my directive, there will be swift and severe punishment. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” Lane said, the woman nodding at his side. Nitson nodded, still looking half dead.