by Lars Teeney
“Ravine, how’s it going, darlin’?” Blaze asked cheerfully.
“Do you know the whereabouts of your patient, Lore?” He asked calmly.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
The 1968 black, Dodge Charger flew down old Route Five at speeds in excess of ninety miles an hour. Most of the Route Five was still in good condition, but the pavement around Mount Shasta was particularly chewed and pocked-marked. The car itself screamed Twentieth-century design but the tires it rode on were of a late Twenty-first century make. The surface of the tires was a reactive smart material that could change its configuration based on the road surface. The nano, smart-material could change from an off-road tire to street racing form within a couple of seconds. Receiving a flat tire was virtually impossible with the tires equipped. The Charger had deep black tinted windows. A bold, white cross was painted on the hood.
The driver skillfully traversed any obstacles in the road. She was in quite a hurry as she had closed the gap from the Washington border to Northern California in a little over three hours. These days there was barely any traffic on old Route Five. She would occasionally pass the odd cargo rig or Regime patrol. Normally the Regime patrol would stop anyone speeding like she was, but she had a Church of Megiddo transponder on her vehicle. This let the Regime forces know she was an operative of the Church.
The driver was Prelate Ayane Inoguchi. She had been ordained by the Church of New Megiddo to dispose of the Apostates before L.O.V.E. could because the Reverend had wanted to take no chances of a terrorist attack before the Second Coming. She had never failed a mission in its service and the Church spared no expense keeping her on retainer. Prelate Inoguchi had access to the best pre-war technology available. The Prelate Inoguchi was somewhat of a religious zealot. Her family had descended from the line of Christians that had been persecuted by the Shoguns of medieval Japan. Ever since, the Inoguchi clan had worn this as a mark of pride, and each generation had been raised in a fundamentalist setting. Her family had traveled far and wide for hundreds of years to take up the Christian cause throughout the world. Ayane was determined to uphold this rich, family tradition.
Prelate Inoguchi wore the mark of fundamentalism on her face. Her head was scarified with sign of a cross, with the front half of her hair shaved to the skin. The cross started on the top of her head and occupied her forehead, with the base terminating between her eyes. The hair on the back half of her head was long and worn in a bun. She was clad in light-weight ballistic armor with black with white cross markings on the chest and both shoulders. Inoguchi despised most people, preferring to live a hermetic life of studying scripture and perfecting the deadly art of dispatching Apostates.
These long periods of time between missions gave her plenty of time for traiing and contemplation, but the isolation also meant that she could not cope with people in a social capacity. Church officials preferred to correspond with her digitally because she was unpredictable in person. The Church had retrofitted an old pre-war bunker that was located in the city of Portland, Oregon. The bunker, under what was Kelly Butte nature area was built in a dormant volcano and served in centuries past as a fallout shelter, a prison, a quarantine facility, and an emergency services dispatch center. Now it was Inoguchi’s hermitage.
She had been toiling away at her studies when she received the message from the Church that she had been ordained for a contract. Inoguchi deeply treasured solitude and religious contemplation, and nothing enraged her more than being interrupted and forced to interact with the world. This instilled a burning fury inside her that she harnessed to make herself more brutally effective in her missions. Inoguchi had been following the Reverend’s messages about the Second Coming, to occur at that year’s B.A.G. To Inoguchi this was the truth and so she knew that this would be her last mission on Earth, therefore she would hold nothing back. It would be a suicide mission.
The Charger tore over a bridge that spanned the dried out remains of Shasta Lake, now just a barren depression in the landscape. She had poured over scenarios in her head. Inoguchi activated her retinal H.U.D. and queried old, pre-war aerial photographs of the California Great Lake and the surrounding area. She narrowed the image field to around the Mothball Fleet and examined the approaches. She also studied the Church files on L.O.V.E. and its Rangers, their equipment, tactics and command structure. Inoguchi always did her homework.
Prelate Inoguchi was being hailed by an encrypted Church communication. She audibly cursed, swallowed her pride, and had answered.
“Cardinal Zhukov—holiness, what can I do for you? I am in route to the Apostate’s position—you know—driving?” she announced hostilely.
“Prelate Inoguchi, I wanted to let you know that there are some internal politics here at the Church that could complicate your mission. The Reverend and I have a suspicion that the Apostate’s mole is within the Church leadership. If this is true we think that the mole is manipulating the Ministry of State Security to deflect attention away from them, and may be using L.O.V.E. to hamper your mission. You can consider Lovers hostile.” Cardinal Zhukov sounded nerve-wracked. His voice trembled. Prelate Inoguchi thought him as a weak-willed man.
“Very well, Cardinal. I will take your information into consideration. I do not understand why the Regime and Church are in such disarray. All this mistrust will surely spell disaster.” Inoguchi struck a contemptuous tone.
“Prelate, you are compensated well for your services, but policy matters are above your pay grade. Do your job and keep your place in the Lord’s paradise. Out.” Zhukov cut the communication short.
Prelate Inoguchi had the urge to fire up her plasma knife and carve a chalice from Zhukov’s bald skull, but she thought his toxic body would foul any liquid contained within. When a Church official was disrespectful to her it was almost enough for her to resign her faith and go on a clerical murder spree. She checked herself—she needed to keep her reservoir of fury intact for the coming engagement. There was a three-way battle brewing and she was going to need that white-hot, tempered focus if she was going to prevail. Inoguchi had no doubts, after all, she had the divine favor a vengeful God in her corner. With this detail, how could she fail in her quest?
Inoguchi pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor and picked up speed on a straightaway section of Route Five. Her Charger passed abandoned Central Valley towns that shriveled up long ago. With every mile marker she passed she came closer to converging with her single purpose.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Gale-Whirlwind staggered now. She hadn’t eaten in a day. She had been periodically jogging to avoid L.O.V.E. patrols. Gale had taken a roundabout route through thick growth forest and rough terrain in order to reach the Mothball Fleet undetected. She was sore and her stomach groaned for sustenance. She pulled some dried meat and mango slices from her pack and gnawed on the edges. She then took a swig from a steel canteen. The Apostates had developed discreet trading with local farmsteads for supplies and food, so they were usually well provisioned. Though most meat that they could procure was salted, or cured.
Gale-Whirlwind fretted over the safety of Hades-Perdition. They had been separated the day before. He drew Lover forces away so that she could escape. His fate was unknown to her, but she dare not break [Apostate-net] silence. Gale could not help but feel guilt. He had potentially sacrificed himself for someone he didn’t even know. She could not stop thinking about Hades, and yet there was Ravine who invaded her thoughts. She put both of them out of her mind. She now only thought of surviving like a soldier.
Gale climbed a shallow hill and reached the crest. When she surveyed the view she found she was gazing upon the Great Lake, and in the distance she could make out the superstructure profile of battleships. Gale picked up the pace and descended from the hilltop. She needed to warn the Apostates that L.O.V.E was hot on her trail and that Hades-Perdition might still be alive.
Gale ran toward the defensive perimeter of the pier leading to the Mothball Fleet. It was a ramshackle const
ruction of steel plate, wooden planks, palisades, chain link, razor wire and encircled by a wide ditch lined with sharpened stakes. In the center was a gate defended by several sentries armed with automatic weapons. As she approached the sentries stiffened into a defensive posture.
“Halt or we will shoot!” A sentry yelled, aiming his weapon at Gale. She did not have time for conversation so she opened a channel of communication—the hailing message encoded with her credentials as a member of the Apostates. Without resistance, they opened the gate for Gale and she rushed passed. Gale instructed an awaiting tug pilot to ferry her out to the flagship of the Mothball Fleet. The skipper initiated the aging engine and the rusty, old vessel struggled out to the flagship. After the tug moored up to the flagship, she climbed the rope ladder to the weather deck.
Gale opened a hailing channel and pinged what Apostates were present. Ravine-Gulch responded to the hail and answered, “Gale, glad to see you’re okay. We’re on the bridge and have important news, join us,” Ravine requested.
Gale agreed and rushed to the bridge in the conn tower of the ship. When she entered through the access hatch she had seen that the usual players had assembled there: Blaze-Scorch, Ravine-Gulch, and Aqua-Deluge were gathered over a body laid out on a table. Gale took a closer look and realized it was Lore-Fiction. She could see that both eyes were now gone, and she could only imagine the horror that he had experienced.
“What happened? Were you all attacked?” Gale asked with concern.
“Not exactly,” Ravine replied.
“First, tell us what happened to you out there. We haven’t had word from Hades-Perdition—but it’s great to see you alive and well, sister,” Blaze-Scorch exclaimed, as she embraced Gale.
“Well, he brought me out on a scout mission. I really had no idea what to expect. Hades didn’t really give me a briefing. It was just kinda ‘sink or swim’, you know?” She continued, “Anyway, we proceeded for some time on the old tracks to the north until we came upon a rail depot. Hades surveyed the buildings with his scope and found that L.O.V.E. forces had set up shop in the structures. He thought it would be a good idea to test my capabilities, so he sent me to infiltrate the site to find intelligence.” Gale took a breath and glanced at each face, which waited for her to continue.
“Hades covered my approach, and I gained access to the building. I found this but was almost killed in the process.” She emphasized the swollen side of her face and the black eye, then she pulled domino-sized black object from her pouch.
“What is that?” Aqua-Deluge inquired.
“It looks to be an encryption key. It’s a device that contains the ciphers for encryption systems of communications across a network—probably for some sub-network of the [Virtue-net]. If you got this from a L.O.V.E. operating base then this could be the key to intercepting their communications!” Ravine was familiar with similar physical encryption keys.
“What happened to Hades-Perdition?” Blaze-Scorch asked with immediacy.
“Hades saw that I was in a tight spot. As I was exiting the rail depot offices L.O.V.E forces returned. Hades fired shots to draw their attention. He told me to return here. That was the last time I saw him. I think he’s maintaining network silence,” Gale reported remorsefully. She took a seat at a nearby workstation, exhausted from her ordeal.
“Damn. I mean, I know he can take care of himself, but we have a huge problem, and if he doesn’t get back here soon we’re gonna have to leave without him,” Aqua-Deluge said.
“You see, Lore-Fiction here is our mole,” Blaze gestured to Lore’s corpse.
“Yep, and when I found him he had just finished giving up our position—to who I don’t know. But then he tried to kill me, but I turned it around on him.” Ravine grimaced in pain at the wounds he received in the fight. Blaze had patched him up with gauze and stitches.
“I can go back out to look for him. Is anyone willing to come with me?” Gale pleaded.
“No way. We don’t have time. We’ll have to leave him a trail,” Ravine said.
“Well, then I’ll stay and wait for him,” Gale was adamant.
“You can’t. We’re all moving out,” Ravine insisted.
“I’m not going to abandon him,” Gale was getting mad.
“No one, is going to abandon anyone. Oh, and I don’t need saving—thank you very much.” Hades-Perdition stood in the frame of the hatch. He was looking worse for wear: multiple wounds and scratches, covered in mud and blood, and wincing in pain. Hades hobbled over to the tactical situation table and dropped a handful of Lover patches that he had removed from uniforms on the surface.
“It’s a hobby of mine, collecting these,” Hades alluded to violence, but judging by his state they didn’t need to guess what had happened.
“Holy hell, doll, you’ve seen better days. Let me take a look at those wounds,” Blaze teased while giving him a once over.
“Aqua, can you grab my medical supplies, honey?” Blaze requested while wiping some blood from Hades face.
“What the hell happened to Lore?” Hades was shocked to see the corpse of Lore, while peering over Blaze’s shoulder, and flinching at the sting of disinfectant on wounds.
“He’s our mole,” Ravine was curt.
“What? The Rangers tried to kill him. Why would they kill their own man?” Hades inquired.
“I don’t know. Case of mistaken identity. I think he had to maintain anonymity to keep his secret from us. At any rate I caught him cold—he gave away our position away,” Ravine said.
“Goddamnit. Okay, well, we should get the ships under way and get the hell out of here. We should make course for the port of Long Beach. ‘Sam’ told me that would be our next move,” Hades instructed.
“What is down there?” Aqua-Deluge asked.
“More ships, and some allies we rendezvous with,” Hades said.
“Why were you the only one that was told about this?” Ravine asked suspiciously.
“Because we didn’t know who the mole was. Now we know,” Hades responded. Blaze had finished patching him up as best she could.
“Alright people, we should probably get these heaps underway,” Blaze suggested.
“Sounds good—let’s do it,” Aqua-Deluge agreed.
“So, check with all the ship captains and see if they’re ready to go,” Hades recommended.
The ship captains, crew and soldiers that worked with the core group of Apostates had been recruited from populations that thrived on the black market and lived off the grid. ‘Sam’ had deep pockets and a long arm of influence to find talented recruits for his cause. Many good men and women served with them, of all vocations: cooks, farmers, mechanics, and other support staff. It was a veritable private army.
Most of the members filed out of the bridge to coordinate efforts. Ravine and Hades remained. The two stood over Lore-Fictions body in silence for a moment. They both contemplated the grave situation in their own respective ways.
“So, Hades—about when I was drunk. Sorry for calling you a fa—that word. It was out of line,” Ravine apologized while gripping his shoulder wound.
“People have tried to kill me because of what I am, your word was nothing,” Hades dismissed it.
“Well, glad we can put that behind us,” Ravine offered.
“She’ll come around. Just give her time and space,” Hades said.
“Excuse me?” Ravine said with a furrowed eyebrow.
“You heard me. If you love her, give her space. She may forgive you...or not. But there’s not much you can do about it. Besides we have a mission,” Hades suggested, putting a hand on Ravine shoulder.”
“It just ain’t right. I was a burden in life, that’s why I committed suicide to make it easier for her. I had no idea we’d both end up here. I don’t know what sort of sick man ‘Sam’ is but...” Ravine trailed off, not really having anything worthy to add.
“Sometimes the best course of action is to do nothing, Ravine,” Hades said.
“Wel
l then, what shall we do about our current situation? Speaking of ‘Sam’, have you heard from him?” Ravine changed the subject.
“No, I tried to raise him through our proxy network, but no response. I am guessing because of everything going on right now with the B.A.G. I’m thinking he’s been keeping a low profile,” Hades speculated.
“At any rate, we should do something about this body,” Hades suggested.
“Throw it overboard. He’s a rat bastard,” Ravine waved a hand dismissively.
“You and I agree on that,” Hades said.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
The country estate was regal. It was modeled in the manner of an English mansion circa the Nineteenth century. A manicured lawn, a long driveway that leads to the stately house set back from the main road, and to the rear the grand promenade for entertaining large parties were prominent features. It was everything a famous and influential industrialist family would want in a home. The Wynham estate had been in the family since the early Twentieth century. In its hay day everybody who was anybody would attend the family’s social functions.
The mansion was located in Annapolis, Maryland. It had been rumored that the family descended from the old money of Britain. Regardless if it were true or not, the family did possess wealth from ages past, and it gave them a leg up in American business; it took money to make money. In the decades before World War One, the family factories had manufactured many different things: bicycles, hand tools, and furniture. At the outbreak of World War One, the family patriarch, Chet “Pappy” Wynham made the decision to convert their factories into munitions producers for the war effort. As it turned out, this was the most profitable decision the Wynham family had ever made. War was the new cash industry, and total war conflicts in the Twentieth century would expand the market. They became one of the great families of the American aristocracy. Sometime between the World Wars, the son of Chet “Pappy” Wynham had befriended the son of Jebidiah Schrubb at a social gathering among Washingtonian elites. John H. P. Schrubb and Warren Wynham would serve in World War Two together and become life long friends, but even closer business associates. Their partnership married business and politics. Industry would influence policy with contributions, and policy-makers would make it easier to do business unburdened by regulation. The military-industrial complex was, for all intents and purposes, established.