When Lauren hesitantly accepted the satchel, the blood in every capillary pulled him inexorably away—back to his real family. To the garbage truck. To sanctuary. Paul turned away from her, fixed his gaze away from the children, and could barely contain the surge of energy compelling him to get as far away from this misery as he could.
Chapter 14: Founding of the PetrolChurch
(Alias Goodwell)
Alias Goodwell sat on an old rusted folding chair in the middle of the big-top auditorium, where his family had made its living his entire life. Although the vaulted space was empty and eerily quiet, Alias rubbed his forehead and eyes in an effort to block out the cacophony of noise in his head. He leaned back and gazed upwards at the faint swirls of dust drifting on the air at the top of the giant tent. It made him think of God—something he generally tried not to do, since his days were otherwise consumed by Him . . . It . . . whatever. Bewitched by the luminous columns of dust, Alias made a mental note to design a light show to replicate the ethereal, otherworldly patterns it made as it danced in the tent’s diffused sunlight. He rubbed his eyes again and wondered what God—if there was a God—wanted from him in all this.
The all-hands meeting with the ministers of the big top ministry hadn’t gone well, delivering Alias another near-sleepless night. The new direction for the church—the direction Minister Goodwell had set in a back-room deal with Ellies from the International Energy Consortium—failed to impress most of their clergy. Most of the ministers had been with the Goodwells for as long as Alias could remember. Seeing the eruption of emotion in the meeting—the implosion of his extended family—had been too much to bear, leaving him feeling hollow and uncertain about the future that lay before him.
He anxiously nudged the small duffle bag beside him with his foot and sighed at the thought of another trip. They had only just arrived home. Home had only just come undone. He was desperate for a little time to process it all. He wished for one more day—a day like the ones before their trip to the Nautilus. One more day to savor the life he had always known, but never fully appreciated until it had disintegrated before his eyes.
I should’ve known, he admonished himself, fiddling again with his duffle bag. But he hadn’t seen it coming, even after the Consortium’s jump-jet touched down on the outskirts of their camp, and his father summoned the Council of Ministers. Even when the Ministers and their families filed into the conference tent, Alias didn’t really expect the upheaval that would follow—though it seemed perfectly clear to him now that the rupture was inevitable.
It only took a few minutes before the acrimony started, and that’s when Alias realized the discussion would be the new venture’s first setback. He would never forget the looks on the ministers’ faces. Even Minister Joshua—who had cautioned them against making the deal—came out against it over the V-plat.
“Greetings, beloved souls,” Alias Sr. had begun cheerfully.
“We had to cancel two revival services, while you were away, Brother Goodwell,” grumbled George Anderson. “Including the Christmas jubilee. That’s thousands of Kroners and barter-stocks that we need to make up if we’re gonna get to the next stop.”
“I understand, Brother Anderson,” Minister Goodwell said in his typical warm and reasonable tone. “I’ll explain—”
“And while you were gone, officials from the township came to give us our eviction notice,” interrupted Minister Li, the Ministry’s newest member and its main conduit to the ever-expanding ethnic Chinese population. Kim Li knew her value too well, so her interruptions had become more frequent and abrasive in recent months. Her snark here was clearly intended to set a hostile tone for the meeting.
“Sister Li,” Alias Goodwell Sr. appeased, “that order is being stayed at this very moment. If I could continue—”
“Being stayed by our new Ellie masters in the Consortium, I assume?” interjected Joshua. Normally a soft-spoken and agreeable man—a man Alias always considered to be the closest to true holiness—Joshua’s interruption came as a shock. Joshua was deeply knowledgeable of history and psychology, so in addition to being his teacher, Joshua worked closely with Alias in developing the atmospherics for the ministry’s services. He was steady and calm, so Alias cringed at the implications of him weighing in so early.
Alias wondered if it wasn’t Joshua’s uncharacteristic interruption that set his father off. But being greeted with recriminations, and then interrupted twice, was more than his father would tolerate.
“Is this how we speak to each other now?” Minister Goodwell countered in a more stern and paternal tone. “I have twice now offered to explain, and I will do so if this Council can find the grace to allow me to share my thoughts uninterrupted.” The ministers shrunk into their seats like cowed children.
Minister Goodwell’s explanation quickly roused them back to spoiling. Meeting secretly with the Ellies. Disappearing for two days—at Christmas. Rumors of debauchery had already circulated through the camp before their jet even landed. Agreeing to terms that bound the ministry—and by extension its Ministers—without consultation from anyone in the clergy? Some nebulous deal for a network of churches, serving not only the Ellies, but also the Energy Consortium? It was too much for them.
“How could we hope to maintain a shred of credibility, once we are associated with the Consortium. And it will leak eventually,” Joshua pined.
Sister Li questioned the wisdom of putting so much physical distance between their tight-knit group. “Everyone has a role in our ecosystem,” she insisted. They weren’t rich as they operated today, she posited, but they were family.
Then Brother Pablo Castillo lamented the immeasurable spiritual distance it would put between them—and God—who would surely frown upon an alliance that made them an instrument of inequity, exploitation, repression, and even cruelty.
“You agreed to push their soul-binding pharmas and cerebral-adjustments on the followers of Christ?” Li chided. “In the name of God, it’s a deal with the Devil.”
For every point, Minister Goodwell calmly offered counterpoint. Protection from road raiders, exploitative politicians, and trouble with the Big Five churches. More resources to spread the word of Christ. Greater capability to bring His light to people in desperate need. Was that not their true mission? They would only dispense pharmas that have been scientifically proven to help people. Surely they could downplay this part of the agreement, and their association with the IEC.
“Consider our opportunity to soothe the terrible wounds we see all around us,” Minister Goodwell implored. “Tectonic tensions are rumbling across the Commonwealth—and beyond. Millions of migrants hit the borders every year. People starving for work, water, fertile soil. For relief. For sanctuary and salvation.
“This year alone, we have seen another locust infestation in the Meso-American Republic, so fast on the heels of Hurricane Zachary. Another crop of maize wiped off the face of the earth. Every city convulses—all over the world. Repression. Pogroms. Cartel justice. The tyranny of war lords. Disease. Exposure. There is so little comfort. So little hope.
“And we have a message that can help. But we cannot reach them with a circus tent and a ramshackle caravan of vehicles that barely run.”
Alias was rarely swayed by his father’s religious admonitions, but he found this one persuasive, though he also knew he wasn’t completely objective. He exchanged an impressed look with his mother.
The discussion went back and forth for over two hours, at points pushing Alias to impatience.
The decision’s been made, he thought. The deal is done.
His frustration with the ministers soon shifted to his father. There are no concessions left to be made. Just do whatever you are going to do, for fuck’s sake.
He knew, though, that his father was doing what he did best—and it was a skill Alias had not mastered. He lacked the patience of his father, who had undeniable gifts in listening and empathizing with others. Alias had missed out on his father’s ab
ility to bring people around to his way of thinking, despite his father’s continuing efforts to cultivate this character in him. On some level, they all knew—even Alias— that his father’s humanistic qualities weren’t teachable. The entire ministry tacitly recognized that Alias’ path would be different from his father’s.
What Alias did have, he reminded himself, was an ability to discern peoples’ malfunctions, as he called them. Their base instincts. Their susceptibility to raw incentives. Unfortunately, his predisposition to drive toward the bottom line was often off-putting—especially for people in pain. So, he did his best to overcome his tendencies and watch and learn. If it couldn’t be innate, perhaps he could marshal some technique.
Although Alias had seen his father’s magic a thousand times, in this case he could only watch helplessly as his father struggled to prevent a rift that Alias came to see as inevitable. The ministry as they knew it was lost. The only thing left to do was identify the Ministers who could be convinced to stay, incentivize them to do so, and move on. Nevertheless, Alias had a duty to appear like his father. So he sat quietly, applying his well-practiced expression of active listening, while he shouted inside at the interminable blathering.
Finally, to Alias’ guilty relief, the dam broke. Li got to her feet and shouted that she’d heard enough. She then composed herself, wished them all well, and tendered her resignation. Alias had never been the biggest fan of Li, and no minister had ever quit, but he was grateful she had brought them to the inevitable tipping point.
Pablo Castillo was next. Then Hersh Tomlinson and Amy Roberts. And finally, the moment he dreaded most. Minister Joshua Goldbloom tendered his resignation.
“I love you all,” Joshua said softly and sadly. “May God grant you health, safety, and success. I regret that I cannot follow you on this path.” With that—and without waiting for a reply or answer—Joshua’s holographic image scrambled and vanished from the V-plat.
Minister Goodwell deflated. Jasmine started to cry. His mother put her arm around Jasmine and offered a sympathetic look to Alias as his Adam’s apple swelled and ached in his throat.
By the time Alias snapped out of the catatonic daze that Joshua’s farewell had triggered, the council tent was almost empty. Five of their eight Ministers had left. Only George Anderson, Dawnita Jackson, Levy Chi, and Olivia Sanchez stayed. Alias willed his attention back to the remainder of the discussion.
Before leaving the room in a funk, Minister Goodwell told him to help George Anderson oversee the departure of “the defectors,” as Anderson had termed them. Despite Alias’ misgivings about the fairness of it, he and Anderson agreed to limit each defector to a day pack of basic provisions and 5,500 Kroners—just enough to make it to wherever they wanted to go. But the defectors would surrender their ministerial robes and any religious material produced by the ministry. Alias disabled their access codes to the ministry’s records, storage units, V-plats, and vehicles. Meanwhile, Anderson marched to each one’s quarters to commandeer their wrist-plats, despite the equipment being so old and unreliable as to be near worthless.
“If you leave,” Anderson barked, “we won’t wanna find you later using our work to compete with us. You may hope we don’t find you at all.”
Feeling cheated, a few of the departing ministers tried to see Minister Goodwell to plead for more compensation—their own sermons at least—so they could survive. But he’d locked his quarters, and he had made himself scarce for some “reflection,” leaving the dirty business to Anderson and Alias.
It took several hours to complete the wrenching task of escorting the defectors from the tent compound, and Alias was physically and emotionally spent. He had only just finished when they were summoned to a follow-up meeting with the remaining members of the church, and some Ellies who had dialed in over the V-plat.
“Junior,” Anderson grumbled from the doorway flap, “the new masters are here.”
Alias wasn’t sure how to take the “masters” quip from a man who had just pledged to stand behind the church of the petroleros—the “PetrolChurch.” Anderson had always been an old curmudgeon, but in a holy-dogma kind of way. He was shrewd, always counting Kroners with Camila to keep the outfit afloat. But now Alias wondered if Anderson’s commitment was real, or it was mere opportunism. With that single word, Alias wasn’t sure he could ever be completely sure of George Anderson.
Alias took a deep breath before following Anderson into the vestry, trying to rally himself for whatever would come next. Inside waited his father, mother, and sister, as well as Levy Chi, and Olivia Sanchez. The busts of Gilbert Calden and Ali Ibn al-Rashid floated above the small V-plat at the center of the room.
“OK then,” Minister Goodwell began, bringing the group to order as if the disaster from earlier had never happened. “We have a church to build. Lots to do.” Alias Goodwell Sr. quickly updated their Ellie overlords of the defection with a nonchalance that unnerved Alias
Nevertheless, within an hour, the group refined the roll-out plan and assigned responsibilities. Most notably, at Rashid’s behest, they designated account reps to serve as the personal liaisons to each member of the Gang of Seven, which would be the real center of decision making in the PetrolChurch.
Minister Goodwell would, of course, be the figure head and spokesperson for the new Church of Salvation and Heavenly Peace. He would focus on doctrine, deliver sermons, and hire new ministers. As important, he would manage Colonel Yuan Shikai and minister to any Ellie who actually joined the church. He and Anderson would handle Francesca Carroll, the Minister of Religion, together. They would also handle Josephina Thomson, Minister of Information, the same way.
Alias’ mother Camila was the natural choice to run business operations—budget and finance, security, logistics, etc. It is what she had always done, along with Anderson during the big-tent days, and she was a natural with numbers and details. Rashid discreetly volunteered her to handle Xavier Mosino, acting governor of Desert Plains Territory and nephew of the Chief Regent. Mosino was ambitious and money-conscious. “All business,” Rashid noted. The assignment struck Alias as more dangerous than he cared for, given Mosino’s reputation for ruthlessness and bursts of anger, but his mother had a disarming demeanor in her business dealings.
“We’ll need to address the roll-out, city by city,” Calden said to Camila. “How we’ll staff up, how we’ll address communications, travel, security, and compensation.” Camila just nodded graciously in agreement, knowing what went into the business and that this would all be worked out in turn.
Jasmine was the obvious choice to deal with the Templetons. It went without saying that she would leverage her relationship with the Senator’s son, Carlos, who had already—uncharacteristically—reached out to her just hours after they’d left the Nautilus. Carlos’ father, Senator Ashley Templeton, a seemingly enthusiastic supporter of the church wouldn’t need much coaxing. Oregonia Province was as close to a garden spot as there was. Alias instinctively wanted his little sister to have the best arrangement possible.
In addition to tag teaming the government Ministers with his father, George Anderson would make himself useful supporting Alias’ mother in business operations, minding the ministry’s assets. His expertise in religious jurisprudence and religious law made him perfect for dealing with Francesca Carroll—and by extension the Big Five churches of the Commonwealth. If there was hatred in his heart—apart from his generally cantankerous nature—it was for the Big Five, and Anderson would relish sticking it to them.
Alias would take the Baumgartens—Patrick and his father Thomas, the Senator from the Mid-Atlantic Province. Senator Baumgarten had outsized importance to the success of the church, and he struck them all as less than fully supportive. Cultivating the relationship with both the father and son—the presumed heir to the Baumgarten empire—was the prudent thing to do. Alias genuinely liked Patrick, despite his trust issues, and he had never been as far as the eastern coast, so the assignment gave him a glimmer of ad
venture.
Rashid then made the unexpected request that Alias be his personal liaison to the church. Given the extensive role Rashid would have, he further asked that Alias be co-located with Rashid at the nearby Nautilus complex. It made perfect sense to Alias, and he was excited at the idea of spending so much time with Rashid. He even felt flattered that someone of Rashid’s stature would ask. But the others—especially his mother and father—looked perplexed and a little hostile to the idea at first. Alias figured it was because he was so young, inexperienced, and relatively skeptical of religion itself. The look of chagrin on his mother’s face made him realize it was more than that.
Why would she be against this? There can’t possibly be a better way for us to get in good with the Ellies. We’d have an insider with the Gang of Seven. …Oh, but then they’d have an insider too—and more leverage over my family, he realized at last. I’ll be a hostage.
Alias was still processing the implications of being sent to stay with Rashid when he realized with surprise that no argument had ensued over the arrangement, and the group moved on to planning their first moves.
“We will want a church in Minneapolis as soon as possible,” Rashid posited. That too struck Alias as odd, since most of the people needing spiritual pacification, at least by his reckoning, were in the Desert Plains Territory, the Southeast Coastal Province, the Rocky Mountain Territories, and California-Sur.
“There is a bacteria processing center there, and it has had more than its share of work disruptions. It is a joint venture between Agricultural Consortium, Senator Templeton, Senator Baumgarten, and the Chief regent. If the Church can add some stability there, it would go a long way toward showing the potential value of the church. That will make everything else easier.”
Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga) Page 17