by David Bruns
“All quiet on the western front, soldier?” he asked a young woman with eyes red from lack of sleep.
She had no idea what he was talking about, so she settled for, “All quiet, sir.”
Graves chuckled to himself as he made his way into the camp. A tall recruit who looked like his waistline was the same diameter as his rifle barrel fell into step beside him. “You can wait here,” Graves said. “I’ll handle this on my own.”
“Standing orders, sir. We use the buddy system in the camp.”
“Standing orders from whom, soldier?”
“The CO, sir.”
“You mean me.”
The young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he realized his situation. “Yes, sir.”
Graves leaned toward him and pointed to a pair of teenagers watching them from the shadow of the nearest tent. “They know I’m coming, I think. I’m going to take this one alone, son.”
He walked through the arrow-straight streets of the refugee camp toward the Temple of Cassandra. Around him he heard the sounds of people sleeping. The deeper snores of adults, the quick breaths of children, a baby crying somewhere. A heat exchanger kicked on with a low hum.
As always, the temple was lit from the outside, the mark of Cassandra glowing brightly against the night sky. An acolyte met him at the entrance, a young woman with raven-black hair and fair skin. “The Corazon is waiting for you, General.”
Graves nodded. “I expected nothing less.” His remark earned a quizzical reply from the young woman.
Cora was kneeling before the altar of the Child when Graves entered the chamber. She stood immediately and came toward him with her hands outstretched. “William, what a pleasant surprise.”
She wore a simple dark gray dress belted at the waist, which Graves had come to see as her everyday wear. Her silver hair hung loose around her shoulders and her brown skin had the vibrant glowing undertone that he found so appealing. To his surprise, she kissed him on the cheek. The thrill of it stopped his breath for a moment.
“Well, when do we leave?” she asked.
Cora arched an eyebrow at the surprised look on his face. “A man only visits a woman at this hour of the morning for one of two things. I think I know you well enough to guess which one it is.”
Graves blushed. “I thought maybe you had another vision,” he replied.
Cora’s expression grew thoughtful. “I’m afraid my visions have ended, William. I haven’t had one since…” She looked him in the eye. “Since you saved my life at the United Nations.”
Graves pretended to study the altar. “Well, you’re about to revisit the scene of the crime then. Teller wants us in New York this morning. There’s a meeting with Anthony Taulke at the UN.”
Cora frowned.
“I don’t know why or what he wants with us,” Graves said.
“It has begun,” Cora whispered to herself. Graves felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
“What has?” he said.
Cora stared at him for long enough that Graves thought she might not have heard him.
“The heart of man will be changed and the Child be brought into a new world.”
“Another vision?” Graves said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Her words. Cassandra’s words.”
“The words of a computer-generated religion.”
Cora smiled at him gently. “I’m surprised at you, William. You are a man of science, no?”
“Of course.”
“Then you, of all people, should agree that if a computer is given the right data, it will generate the right answer.” She put her hand on Graves’s elbow and steered him toward the door.
“Shall we go?”
Chapter 23
Corazon Santos • Fort Hood, Texas
Cora watched the sun rise from the back seat of the government aircar. From this height, the Texas horizon was a shallow curve against a crimson summer sun.
Red sky in morning, sailors take warning…
A lifetime ago, her husband used to say that before he took off on another job. He was a roughneck on an oil-drilling platform and she’d married him when she was barely twenty years old. In those days, she worked as nurse for a doctor who served in the slums of Rio de Janeiro. Her lips twisted at the irony of their life together: her husband drilled for oil to make the planet sicker, while she tried to save people one at a time.
In her work beside the doctor, she saw every sort of ailment imaginable, from broken bones to babesiosis. Like an army medic, practical experience gave her all the knowledge of medicine, but not the degree.
No matter. She was young, idealistic, and most of all, in love.
Baby Pamela was born when Cora was forty-three. She had all but given up on getting pregnant until it happened. She couldn’t believe it. In her mind, the long-awaited baby was all due to Cassandra. Cora had thrown off her Roman Catholic upbringing in favor of the New Earth Order and its message of healing the planet.
At that time in her life—before Baby Pamela was born—religion was just a label for people to see who was on their team. Having a baby changed all that. Rodrigo, her husband, quit his job as an oil worker, and the three of them moved to a commune to dedicate their family to the teachings of the Neos.
It was there in the deep green of the Amazon rain forest that she found Cassandra. Many converts described the feeling of being “switched on” by Cassandra, but for Cora it wasn’t like that. She saw the Mother of Earth in her dreams. She spoke to Her in conversation. Corazon Santos was there for a higher purpose, Cassandra told her. She was not some pawn in a political game, she was part of the next generation of Neos. Cora would become the heart of a reborn religion.
Pamela was two when Cora first started teaching the gospel of Cassandra to the indigenous people who came in for treatment. When she had enough converts, she convinced them to build a temple for their village in the valley below her hilltop clinic. They were happy in their little village, and Cora began to think about life after Cassandra. She stopped preaching and she stopped having visions.
That spring, a flash flood wiped the village away as if it had never existed. A wall of water rushed down the valley from someplace north of them which had received torrential rains. It wasn’t even raining where they lived. Cora remembered standing in the doorway of her clinic above the valley filled with rushing water. Then she looked up at the red sun rising over the scene of destruction.
Red sky in morning…
Cora shook the memories away. She drew a wrap around her shoulders against the chill of the air conditioning in the aircar—and the chill of the memories. Her own child was gone, her husband was gone, her past was gone. She had forsaken Cassandra once at the cost of everything she loved in this world. But that was behind her. The only thing left for Corazon Santos now was her mission to serve the Child of Cassandra.
Across from her, General Graves dozed, his head dipping to one side. He was a strange man. A confirmed bachelor, she suspected, but not a hard man. A man with compassion in his heart for the world around him. Not a bachelor by choice, but a bachelor by trade.
She nodded to herself. He was a man with a past as well. They shared that in common.
And yet Cassandra had chosen him for the coming trial.
As his head nodded, a Saint Christopher medal slipped out of his collar. Odd. Cora leaned across the space between them and fingered the medallion. Graves woke up.
He did not startle, but instead watched her touch the silver medal. Cora blushed and sat back again. “I didn’t take you for a religious man, William.”
He slipped the necklace back inside his uniform shirt. “Patron saint of bachelors and pestilence,” he said. “Given to me by an old friend a long time ago.”
“A woman,” Cora replied without thinking. “A lover.”
Graves nodded slowly. “I guess my bachelorhood was obvious even then.”
“You were a man with a purpose. You still are.”
Grave shielded his eyes against the red glare flooding the cab. He could have dimmed the window, but he didn’t. He seemed to enjoy the unfiltered sunshine. “I grew up near the ocean,” he said. “There’s a saying that sailors have. It goes: red sky in morning—”
“Sailors take warning,” Cora finished for him.
Graves gave her a colorless smile. “Not a great omen for a meeting with the president and the most powerful man in the known universe. I don’t suppose your visions show what’s going to happen, do they?”
Cora squinted into the red sun. “My visions say you will go on to do great things, William.”
Graves chuffed. “I’d be happy with someone telling me what Anthony Taulke wants.”
• • •
As the military aircar flew over downtown New York City, Graves told the pilot to circle the UN building.
The site of the Neo terrorist strike was still an active crime scene, so it looked pretty much the way Cora remembered it from the night of the attack. From a distance, the blown-out windows, ringed with irregular charring, looked remarkably like a bullet wound.
The ballroom was near the top of the building and Graves directed the pilot to make a close-in, slow pass. The morning sun glinted off the millions of shards of glass that still littered the scene. Where the drone had blasted through the structure, twists of tortured steel poked out, wet in the moist morning air.
Graves pointed at the gaping hole in the building. “The drone crash was devastating from the perspective of loss of life and shock value,” he said. “But from the perspective of structural damage, it was minimal.” He pointed to the floor above. “The UN moved people out of the floors directly above and below the ballroom, but even that wasn’t truly necessary. The rest of the structure was able to compensate for the damage.”
“Is that unusual?” Cora asked. “Why would a terrorist care about a building?”
Graves shook his head, still studying the building. He signaled the pilot and the aircar rose vertically to the VIP dock on the roof. A dark-haired woman with elfin ears was waiting for them.
“General,” she said with a curt nod as Graves exited the car. He ignored her, turning instead to offer a hand to Cora as she got out. Graves’s face was like stone, but Cora could see the flash of anger in his eyes.
“Helena,” Graves replied. “I might have known the president would make an appearance.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Try to find someone who isn’t here. We’ve got both Taulkes, Adriana Rabh, Teller, and that reporter, Nancy Watson.”
Cora waited until she had finished, then said, “What about Elise Kisaan?” She had hoped to catch a glimpse of the woman carrying Cassandra’s Child.
Helena smirked, an expression that seemed permanent on her. “Nope, no weather witches allowed.”
Cora’s anger flared at her disrespect, but she tamped it down. This woman was a nonbeliever, she had no concept of what she was saying.
Graves took Cora’s elbow. “Well, let’s get this over with—whatever Anthony Taulke has planned, I’m sure we’ll just be pawns in his game.”
After a short elevator ride, the doors opened onto a scene of destruction bathed in the glow of soft morning light. Anthony Taulke was walking on the far side of the ballroom, near the open windows and the stage he’d been standing on the night of the attack. Nancy Watson, her trademark pink curls aflame in the drab scene, was walking with him, a pair of camera drones floating around them. Anthony, outlined in blue sky, steepled his fingers in front of his chest and was making a point to the reporter who was nodding back at him, her brow furrowed in concentration.
The rest of the group stood in a knot a few meters from the elevator, watching Anthony and the reporter talk. President Teller, Adriana Rabh, and Tony Taulke broke off a whispered conversation as Graves and Cora approached.
Graves nodded at Teller and shook hands with the three of them. Cora did the same.
“What’s our timeline, sir?” H asked Teller.
Teller blew out an exasperated breath. “Damned if I know,” he said.
Tony, still watching his father and the reporter, answered. “Pop wants to finish his interview with Nancy Watson, then use her platform to make a live announcement. He wants to show people that he still alive and fighting.”
“I wish he wouldn’t keep us in the dark like this,” Adriana said. “We’re council members. We deserve to know what he’s saying before he says it.”
“Don’t worry about Pop,” Tony said. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“Your father has suffered a near-death experience,” Cora found herself saying. “That changes a person.”
She hadn’t meant to say anything. It just slipped out. She didn’t even know what she was doing here and certainly had no business commenting on the mental health of the most powerful man in the universe.
The rest of the group stared at her.
Adriana spoke first. “You’ve seen a lot of death, Ms. Santos.” It was not a question.
Cora lifted her chin. “I have. It has changed me … made me who I am.”
“And who are you exactly?” Tony Taulke asked. His dark eyes glittered in a way that made her skin crawl. “My father asked for you to be here with General Graves. Why?”
Why was she here? She felt Graves tense up beside her as if to protect her, but from what? She was here because she was brought here.
“They’re coming back,” Adriana hissed, then turned to where Anthony and Nancy Watson were walking toward them. She flashed a bright smile at the elder Taulke. “Ready, Anthony?”
Even with makeup, the older man’s face still showed the effects of the accident. His jawline was soft with residual swelling and a bruise crept up from his neckline. Anthony ignored his peers and walked straight to Graves and Cora.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, taking her hand in both of his. Cora recoiled slightly at the sign of intimacy, but then relaxed. Anthony’s gaze was intense but friendly. He released her hand and turned to the rest of the group. “Nancy and I had a nice chat already, which I’ve given her permission to use as background for the announcement—”
“Pop,” Tony interrupted his father, “what announcement are we talking about? We should discuss this first—”
Anthony returned the interruption. “Son, I came here a few weeks ago to make an announcement and I plan to finish the job. I’m going back on that stage and I’m going to finish what I started.” He pointed toward what was left of the stage and the gaping hole in the glass. Cora noticed his finger trembled.
“So you’re going through with it then?” Teller spoke now. His face was tight with anger. “The Taulke Renewal business? I would have thought we’d stay with the Marshall Plan. It is polling well.” Helena nodded her agreement from Teller’s side.
Cora noticed Graves silently following the conversation, his gaze flicking from person to person. Seeking information, processing. He saw it too, Cora realized. The change in Anthony Taulke’s demeanor rattled his closest advisers.
“Pop,” Tony tried again, his tone softer this time. “I hardly think this is the time to be making big announcements. Let’s take a day or so and talk through the whole plan—”
Anthony ignored his son. He turned to Nancy and smiled brightly. “Ready?”
To Cora’s surprise, Anthony took her hand and slid it into the crook of his elbow. “I’d like to have you close by, Ms. Santos,” he murmured. He looked over his shoulder at Graves and called out, “Coming, General?”
There was a rough path cleared through the debris in the room, but Cora could still feel the grit of broken glass and pulverized plastic shards under her shoes. She cast a quick glance behind her and saw the rest of the group strung out along the path as if the sheer force of Anthony’s will was dragging them along.
One of Watson’s camera drones flashed by, reminding Cora that she was being recorded. Nancy Watson herself ranged a few paces ahead, muttering into her comms about came
ra angles and her own commentary on the scene.
Anthony reached the stage and climbed to the space where the podium had been, then turned to face them. It was an incongruous, compelling scene. Shattered glass and chunks of debris lay all around him, yet behind him was clear blue sky and a cityscape bathed in morning light. The present and the future, Cora realized, seeing the scenic metaphor.
Anthony’s eyes were bright and quick as he waited for the group to line up at the base of the stage. Because they had gotten there first, Cora and Graves were directly in front of Anthony. No one asked them to move and it felt right to her somehow.
With a quick nod at Nancy, Anthony began to speak.
“A few weeks ago, I nearly died on this very spot.” His voice was low and husky, intense with emotion. He spread his hands to encompass the destruction on the floor.
Cora saw Tony Taulke straighten up, then he leaned toward Nancy Watson and said in a fierce whisper, “This is going out live?”
Watson nodded.
“Why? Who gave you permission?”
Watson pointed at Anthony, who resumed speaking.
“I came here to announce what I thought—no, what I believed—was the best possible thing for this planet. I called it the Taulke Renewal Initiative, and I truly believed it was what this world needed.” He paused for so long that Cora wondered if Anthony had forgotten what he was going to say. He looked directly into the camera.
“I was wrong.” Another pause, just as lengthy. “Not just wrong. Arrogant. Filled with conviction that I was the only person who could heal this planet.” Anthony’s gaze found Cora’s, then slipped away to find the camera again. “To the young man who tried to kill me—and to all the members of the New Earth Order out there—I have a message for you.”
Tony’s voice rose above a stage whisper as he ordered Nancy Watson to stop the broadcast. “My father has been in a terrible accident. He does not know what he’s saying…” Tony realized his father had stopped speaking and was staring at him like a schoolteacher waiting for an unruly member of the class to quiet down.
Anthony slowly lowered his body until he was kneeling, the knees of his uber-expensive suit in the white dust. “You have opened my eyes. The Earth is not mine to control. To every man and woman on this planet, I beg you to forgive me for my sin of hubris. Whatever race or gender or creed you might be, you have all suffered at my hand. I ask for your forgiveness.” He bowed his head. “And your support.”