She eyed Carlos, still pouting across the table. “I would be honored.”
“The Ellies marry within their caste. Interludes between classes is common, but commitments between them are rare.” He paused. “Anyone would do well to be mindful and cautious, if only because almost everyone is out to take what they can.”
Jasmine wanted nothing more than to sit with Rashid the rest of the night. She’d been told that his history was tainted, and he was as probably as dangerous as any of the other Ellies, but she felt he was the one she could learn from. He was the one who most obviously belonged with her family’s big-top ministry.
Rashid patted her hand twice and gave her a wink.
I’ve been dismissed, she realized, finding herself childishly staring into his wizened brown eyes. Composing herself, she gave Rashid’s hand a gentle squeeze, stood up, and made her way back to Carlos, who immediately snapped out of his funk and appeared genuinely happy to have her back. She led Carlos by the hand again through the crowd, to the transportation tube, and back to her suite.
Chapter 11: Hangover
(Alias Goodwell)
Alias Goodwell shuffled into the mess hall tent adjoining the big top, where the ministry usually held mass. He was desperate for sleep after the long trip, but he needed something to soothe his stomach. Between the alcohol, bumpy flight and bumpier landing, and the nerves of the coming meeting, his stomach was tying itself in knots.
“How was the trip,” said Ethan Johnson, one of the ministry’s road hands, coolly. Ethan kept his focus exclusively on the drought oat gruel he served up to Alias, the first indication that the ministry was less than happy about their secret excursion to meet the Ellies.
“I’m sure my father’ll convene a meeting later today to discuss it with everyone,” Alias replied apologetically, hoping to avoid a confrontation. It was an unsatisfying response to Ethan, though, who now glared at Alias before carrying on with his duties in the mess hall.
Alias could only shrug it off and sit down alone to eat his meal. It was well past the breakfast hour in the camp, so the gruel was tepid. As he reluctantly stirred it with his spoon, he found himself thinking back to his breakfast earlier that morning at the Nautilus. The best breakfast he had ever had in his life.
Alias had forced himself out bed just before dawn that morning, having gone without a wink of sleep. The “comfort guest”—one of the urchins that the Ellies dolled up to serve as consorts at parties—readied herself for a discrete departure from Alias’ room. She paced quickly ahead of him without a word, visibly uncomfortable with Alias trailing behind her.
They passed by Colonel Yuan Shikai asleep on a couch in a hallway lined with the trophy heads of animals that had long since vanished from the earth. The morning sun would not be denied forever, and though most of the partygoers were still asleep, the servants who hadn’t been swept away for escapades with the Ellies were already bustling. They hurriedly set up breakfast in the dining hall, now lined with tables draped in fresh linens and adorned with flowers and silver place settings. The comfort guests were starting to mill quietly into the lobby, Consortium vehicles waiting outside to take them away. His own consort disappeared into the crowd and out the door without so much as a goodbye.
Alias made his way into the dining hall, unsure what the etiquette was for a now semi-glorified urchin to be fed. He half hoped a servant would escort him to an obscure back room, where he might get quiet bite to eat. He stood awkwardly at the entrance until a servant finally hurried up to him, effusive with apologies for making him wait. Alias stammered, not knowing how to react. The people he had met on the road over the years, for the most part, were deferential and polite because of his family’s religious affiliation. But the idea that someone would be apologetic for giving him inadequate service didn’t jibe with anything he had ever experienced. The man was also twice his age, making Alias even more uncomfortable.
“Right this way, Sir.”
Sir? Alias wanted to correct the man with a more informal salutation. I’m still one of you, he thought, half knowing it was already a lie. So, he said nothing, and followed the servant down an aisle of tables.
“As you can see, Sir, you have your pick of nearly any table. …The early bird, as they used to say.”
Alias looked around the room to find Saanvi Raman at the far corner of a large dining table with Ali Ibn al-Rashid. He desperately wanted to join them, seeing there were plenty of seats, but he hesitated and started for another small table.
“Oh, Sir,” his escort said, pointing. “You’re being hailed.”
Alias turned to find Rashid waving him over and pulling out the chair beside him.
Thrilled to be recognized and welcomed, Alias made his way over and took the open seat beside Rashid. He looked eagerly at Saanvi, hoping to rekindle the spark he had perceived the day before, but Saanvi just offered him a formal “hello” and returned her attention to Rashid. Alias let go of the sting, hoping to catch up on their conversation, though he remained distracted by Saanvi sitting across the table.
The conversation was less interesting than Alias had hoped, but he tried to stay engaged. Any tid-bit of information, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, might help him piece together the mosaic of this strange new world he had fallen into.
The Gang of Seven and all its support personnel would be leaving within hours, as would Alias’ family. Saanvi would catch an evening flight to the Vancouver Township to visit her family for the new year’s holiday before starting a whirlwind business trip through Asia for the Consortium. As a young executive, she had no permanent station, though she tried to stay near Rashid whenever she could. Alias suspected he might only see her occasionally, but their paths would cross again, and that was better than nothing.
Tatiana Trapinksi was leaving that day with Senator Templeton for the fracking and shale fields in the north, followed by a jaunt through the arctic energy region and finally on to the hydro and wind stations in Oregonia. Rashid made a sidebar comment that, although Tatiana was among the most energized about the Church during the negotiations, she was unlikely to play much more of a role until the Gang of Seven made a decision about international expansion.
International expansion? That sounded farfetched, which is probably why it hadn’t come up in the negotiations, but the idea made Alias realize the Ellies had given this church experiment more thought than he had figured. He thought it better not to ask for more information, at least not yet.
Josephina Thomson, the Minister of Information, was headed back the capital. She promised to stay engaged with the church, but when Alias learned that the association between the church and the petroleros was to be kept “discreet,” he found it hard to image how she the would have much of a role. Except maybe to tell them what his family could and couldn’t say. Rashid noted that the Ministry of Information may provide help from time to time with advertising and marketing—all on the down-low, of course. The idea of advertising the church wasn’t new for Alias—they did small scale promotions with small advance teams whenever the moved to a new region. But he had trouble imagining what a national-level advertising campaign would look like—and how it wouldn’t arouse a backlash from the Big Five churches.
Alias assumed that was where Francesca Carroll would come in. As Minister of Religion, she was his family’s first line of defense against the Big Five snuffing them out. Up to now, his family had only ever had small scrapes with the Big Five, typically when the local parishes had caught on that the big-top ministry was siphoning their donations and decided to move them along. There had been a couple shows of force—the beating of a minister or the burning of tent—but nothing that would have reached the senior levels of the main church hierarchies. That was about to change, and it would likely be up to Francesca to keep the Big Five in line. How she would do that without revealing the invisible hands behind the church Alias could only guess.
Xavier Mosino would return to Kansas City, the seat of government
of the Desert Plains Territory. Mosino scared Alias more than any of the others, if only because of the widespread rumors of Mosino’s brutality in trying to maintain order in Kansas City and the more lawless areas of the Territory. Alias’ family had almost certainly benefitted from the casualties of Mosino’s peace-through-terror tactics as they crisscrossed the region. Mosino had said little throughout the negotiations, and Alias frequently caught him distracted by his wrist-plat or couriers coming and going with fearful secrets to whisper in his ears. As important, Alias had the faintest sense that Rashid didn’t trust Mosino, though Alias couldn’t resolve whether that was actually true.
Colonel Yuan Shikai would be a key player in providing security for his family and anyone associated with the church. He had some kind of arrangement with the mercenary and warlord Farid Sherman, though the two had quibbled on the margins of the meetings, leaving Alias less than optimistic that Shikai would be effective. Minister Joshua’s dossier on Shikai also left Alias concerned that Shikai would cut corners on protection to pocket as much as money as he could to enrich himself. The idea of having a pedophile—even just a suspected one—was anathema to everything his family stood for, and being in any way dependent on this man made Alias profoundly uncomfortable.
Ali Ibn al-Rashid would stay in Park City a few more weeks to oversee the founding of the church, at least until other duties demanded his attention. Rashid struck Alias as a thoughtful—and possibly even pious—man, though his dossier didn’t bolster that impression. Alias wondered how Rashid could reconcile the mingling of any sincere faith with the duties of the Consortium—and how he could reconcile being a Muslim with launching a non-Islamic faith initiative. Nevertheless, Alias already craved Rashid's counsel and attention, and he was glad to hear the old man was staying.
Alias was less enthused about the continued involvement of Gilbert Calden, who was described as the administrative lead and primary liaison between the Big Five and the church. The recognized finder of the Consortium's new minister, Calden would ride this horse as long as he could. Maybe even climb a rung or two on the Ellies’ ladder along the way. It could be months, or years, before Alias would be free of this obsequious, sycophantic little man.
The Calden annoyance, Alias learned from Saanvi, would be very close at hand over the coming weeks, starting with chaperoning Alias and his family back to their Ogallala encampment to start the process of moving the ministry to Park City.
Alias listened attentively to the background stories of key Ellies and Consortium officials, hoping to sort through who had to be appeased and who could be ignored. There couldn’t possibly be time to kiss everyone’s ass equally. The descriptions naturally became more guarded as other Ellies began arriving at the dining room in greater numbers. Soon, Saanvi had excused herself from the table, and Rashid had become absorbed in some urgent matter with one of the Ellies. Alias then noticed his parents finishing their breakfast at a table with Ashley Templeton and Tatiana Trapinksi, while Carlos and Jasmine tried to discreetly shovel-in their food after arriving inappropriately late.
Before he knew it, Alias was trailing Gilbert Calden on their way to the tarmac, where two bull-shark jump-jets rumbled in wait to ferry them back to Ogallala. Calden told him, somewhat condescendingly, that he need not worry about packing any of his old belongings.
“Whatever is suitable for Park City has already been packed for you and is being taken to the domicile.”
Whatever is suitable? Fuck you. And does that mean people are digging into my shit without my permission? Prick.
There was nothing to be done—or said—though. So, Alias just boarded the ship and tried to take a seat as far from Calden as he could.
Alias watched the tarmac shrink as his airship lifted swiftly into the air. Ali Ibn al-Rashid, who had unexpectedly showed up to their departure, shrank with it as they rose, still waving goodbye when Alias’ ship finally turned and rocketed out of sight.
What a curious man, Alias thought to himself as he reclined his chair, closed the window shade, and rubbed his eyes, hoping to catch a little sleep on the flight from bizarro-land. They were here because of Rashid, but Alias couldn’t put his finger on where that was, or who Rashid really was either.
For all the shit that’s prob’ly coming our way with this—this PetrolChurch—I’m not sure how we come out unscathed. Whatever happens, I’m sure that strange little man will have an outsized role in it.
Unfortunately, Alias’ escape from Calden was short lived. The deal wasn’t actually done, turns out, and Calden feigned enthusiasm in convening the family to a booth at the rear of the ship’s cabin. With the subtlest air of annoyance, Calden pushed document after document in front of Alias for him to read, sign, and pass along to Jasmine, Camila, and Minister Goodwell to do likewise. Disclaimers, disavowals, non-disclosure agreements, dismissal terms, dissolution clauses. Alias dutifully read every word, though his eyes burned from exhaustion. Camila glanced them over, but not as carefully, which annoyed him, even though he knew it was a reflection of her trust. Jasmine and his father barely looked at the documents, which was somehow more irritating.
As the paperwork lightened, Alias tried to listen as attentively as he could to Calden, who had begun yammering on about the Consortium officials they had just met. Their families, alliances, and animosities. Though Calden’s intended audience was Minister Goodwell, Calden clearly appreciated Alias’ attention—or any attention. So, the stories and anecdotes really flowed.
One day some tidbit in this prattle will be useful, Alias reassured himself as Calden droned on, and his family’s attention drifted between signatures and messages on their new wrist-plats. Alias was nearly begging for it to end so he might sleep just a little when their ship began its descent and touched down with an alarming crunch. For a moment, Alias thought he might enjoy vomiting in Calden’s lap.
Calden then announced he would return the next week, once they had had time to put the big-top ministry’s affairs in order.
What, is this a funeral? Alias immediately suspected it might be. Nevertheless, Calden shook Minister Goodwell’s hand with the same exuberance he’d showed when they first met.
He sure is smitten with my father. Not the first. Many people were smitten with Minister Goodwell. Alias had even Ellies taken-in by his father’s charisma—his calm and disarming demeanor. They were mostly fringe Ellies, members of the lower houses, whose fortunes had soured and anxiety heightened as they fell in wealth, stature, or power. Calden fits that mold, Alias figured. But as annoying as he is, he hasn’t fallen that far. The Chief Regent’s bolstering him, and he may well have just written a good ticket for himself—if this church thing works out.
That’s when Alias realized that Calden was actually their closest ally. All of his incentives were aligned to the success of his family—or at least his father. Calden had presented Minister Goodwell as the answer to the Ellies’ search, at least in part, because he recognized something Alias’ father—presumably the same qualities that resonated with the vast numbers of urchins and desert rats, who handed over their hard-earned Kroners and meager possessions so the big-top ministry could live and continue to spread the Word of God. True to his form and character, Alias’ father didn’t seem the least bit annoyed by Calden—or at least he concealed it well.
Calden’s affection for Alias Goodwell Sr. seemed to extend to Jasmine as well, which was unsurprising to Alias, considering his sister’s likeness to their father in disposition and likeability. Calden was less smitten, however, with Alias and Camila. Alias couldn’t put his finger on it, but he detected a veiled resentment—a jealousy or competitiveness—in Calden’s demeanor when he interacted with them. When Calden was done shaking Minister Goodwell’s hand and giving his sister a warm hug, he offered a phony, limp-wristed handshake to Camila and simply passed Alias a small, wheeled suitcase and a dismissive smile.
“Communication equipment and some documents to study,” Calden said flatly before pressing a button
on his wrist-plat to open the rear door of the bull-shark.
A cold, dry wind slapped Alias in the face as the door squeaked open. A small off-road bubble cart was already whirring at the base of the gangplank. Alias and his family descended the ramp, climbed in, and were zipped toward their small camper beside the big top. In moments they were back at the doorstep of their dilapidated and sad-looking camper. Alias had never looked down his nose at their home, for they were so much better off than the thousands of people to whom they ministered. He felt ashamed to be looking askance at their home now and turned away to watch the Consortium bull-sharks roar into their vertical ascent.
Alias then noticed two of Sherman’s mercenaries, who had followed them in a second bubble-cart, taking up positions at their doorstep.
Ben-something and Felipe-something, Alias recalled, having met them briefly in the waning hours of the gala. Armed guards struck him as unnecessary, and one almost guaranteed to put off everyone in the ministry.
Alias entered their camper, deposited Calden’s wheeled suitcase, and immediately turned to leave for a few minutes alone to think. The guards shot him a commanding look to stay with the group, but worn out and tired of feeling constrained, Alias ignored them, making his way instead to the mess hall for a bite to eat. The curmudgeonly one, Burger-something or something-Burger, let out an exasperated sigh and trailed behind him.
Now, as Alias stirred his gruel, Ethan stomped out of sight, and Burger-something stood grumpily at the mess hall’s entrance, Alias felt completely alone in the place that had been his home his entire life. It was as if emptiness had enveloped him, inside and out.
How will we ever convince them this is a good idea?
Chapter 12: Guard Duty
Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga) Page 13