Kingdom's Swords

by David Sherman

  "Enjoy being scared shitless, which is what I am right now? It'll be full dark long before we get back to Interstellar City," Carlisle added.

  "I know, Prentiss, I know. Well, we've seen enough. Let us make like the shepherd, Prentiss, and get the flock outta here."

  Since the Sea of Gerizim was well within the boundaries of the territory occupied by the City of God, moving the Faithful there posed no problem of real estate acquisition. The hills above the Achor Marshes were riddled with deep limestone caverns, and they had been prepared as an alternate capital many years before, during one of the many factional wars that had marred the history of human relations of Kingdom. All the Ministers had to do was plan the logistics of the move, and that had been done long before the five terrorists were dispatched to Siluria.

  "Reminds me of the catacombs of ancient Rome, Increase," Eliashub Williams remarked, standing deep underground in one of the caverns.

  "That is fitting, Brother Williams," Increase Harmony responded. "The power system will be operating by tomorrow at the latest. Dry this place out a bit. The stores are in order?"

  "Yes and no. Some of the more perishable goods have deteriorated since they were placed in here many years ago, but the construction is still solid and the water supply is excellent."

  Someone approached them out of the darkness. "Ah, Brother Jones! What is the word from above?"

  "The Lord is with us. The campsites in the oak groves are prepared, and if we are here until the next growing season, we can plant the land on the mesa. The soil up there is perfect, and above 200,000 hectares are available. I would say all is on schedule, brothers," Elnathan Jones replied. He flicked his own light off as he came within the circle illuminated by the other two. "The last families have already moved into the camps. The temporary shelters are up and we should get through the winter very comfortably."

  "As soon as word comes that Brother Epher and his men have been successful, we shall move our people down here. The Cambria should be entering Earth's solar system within the next forty-eight hours. Say two months from now the news will reach us? I'm leaving for Haven tomorrow, to attend to our affairs among the Ecumenical Leaders. I guess I'll be in the center of the storm when it breaks." Harmony smiled.

  "We met in council, Brother Jones, and selected you for that grave duty, but I know the Hand of the Lord guided us," Harmony said. "Are we ready, brothers?" The other two nodded. "Then let us go above, join the other Ministers and repair to our respective congregations, to tell them what is about to happen."

  Each congregation moved into its reserved spot in the vast oak forest in the hills above the sea and waited for its respective religious leader to join them. For the villagers of New Salem, that was the Reverend Mr. Resolution Bolton. Bolton was a small man with a powerful voice whose preaching, whether at regular meetings or days of thanksgiving or public fasting, funerals or baptisms, was enjoyed by all. As a man of great scriptural learning who spoke plainly, lived plainly, and loved his congregation, he was greatly respected by the people of New Salem.

  "Can everyone hear me?" Bolton inquired. The people of New Salem were crowded under a vast temporary shelter but the acoustics were perfect. Assured that his words would be heard, the Reverend Mr. Bolton asked for God's blessing on their meeting. Then he stood on the dais for a long moment, staring pensively at his feet, as if—wonder of wonders!—he was at a loss for words. When he spoke, his voice was husky with emotion. At his first words, the entire gathering went completely silent, except for the occasional cry of a baby or a child's exclamation, which were quickly silenced by anxious parents.

  "I have just come from a meeting with the Ministers of the City of God. I have momentous and terrible news to reveal. Friends, our community of spirits is in danger from several quarters, and it is right that we have taken this refuge, but the worst danger is that which we are about to bring upon ourselves." He told them about the impending destruction of the cargo ship, the SS Cambria, and how the Ministers hoped that would focus public attention on what they believed was the Confederation's covert attack against the people of Kingdom.

  The congregants of New Salem remained silent for a brief moment after they'd taken in the news. Zechariah Brattle was the first to come to his feet, the time-honored signal that he had something to say to the congregation. "I am a peaceable man," he began in a voice almost as powerful as that of the Reverend Mr. Bolton. "But this—this scheme is murder!" His voice thundered on the word. "I will have no part of it!"

  "It is the decision of the Ministers," another man said, "and it is too late to stop it. We must hold together, no matter what comes!"

  "I disagree!" a woman in the far back of the crowd shouted. "We are under no authority but that of our own community and our individual consciences! Under the covenant of our church, I request we vote to withdraw our congregation from the City of God."

  Pandemonium broke loose. The Reverend Mr. Bolton called for order and after a time it was restored. "Friends, the Ministers conceived this plan under the inspiration of a particular faith, and they believe it was revealed to them by God. You know that our God is a harsh taskmaster at times. However, I remind you that as we are all human beings, we can be deceived, by Satan, by other men, and by ourselves. I happen to agree with Brother Brattle, and since Sister Hannah Flood has moved—as it is her right to move—that we vote on accepting this decision, I second it. Since there are so many of us here, we will dispense with the secret ballot. Those in favor of the plan, remain seated, everyone else step outside, please. I will have the deacons count those inside first, and then those outside will be numbered one by one as they return."

  The shuffling and moving about took some time. The Brattles, along with numerous other families, stood in the trees outside and waited for the count to be finished. Zechariah looked about. From where he stood he could see that the congregation was going to vote to support the Ministers. "If that happens," he told Consort, "we leave. Do you support me?"

  "Yes, Zechariah, I do."

  He turned to his children. "We also, Father."

  Zechariah nodded. "‘Particular faiths,’" he snorted. "Lately there've been far too many of them, and they all seem to support whatever bullshit the Ministers want to put over on us."

  "Including the one you had about this move, Father?" Comfort asked.

  "That was different—" He laughed. "Well, as the Reverend Mr. Bolton said, daughter, we sometimes fool ourselves."

  "Zechariah is right," a woman said in the shadows next to where they were standing. It was Hannah Flood. In the dim light she stood there like a vast mountain, surrounded by her five children. Some years before, her husband had fallen into a cultivating machine during harvest. Since then, with the help of her neighbors and her own determination, she had carried on. "If you leave, Zechariah, we will go with you."

  "They're calling us back in, Father. The count inside must be over," Samuel reported. The Brattles, along with the other families that had been standing outside, filed slowly back into the meeting hall. Each person over the age of twenty-one was counted by men standing at the doors. Then the votes were tallied.

  "Friends," the Reverend Bolton announced at last, "the count is decisive. One thousand nine hundred and fifty-three adults have voted to confirm the decision of the Ministers, against 872 who did not. Those who voted against are free to leave if they wish. I want it known for the record that I voted against the plan, but I am staying, because that is my duty. This meeting is adjourned."

  The Brattles trooped outside. "Consort, Sam, Comfort, get the car and get packed. We're leaving tonight. I'm going to find Reverend Bolton and turn the town records over to him. I guess I'm finished being mayor of New Salem too. Oh, Comfort, find Hannah and her family and tell them and anybody else you can find who wants to go that we're leaving soon."

  The Reverend Mr. Bolton lay prostrate in his tent, seeking divine guidance. Zechariah waited patiently until he was finished. Bolton's face was flushed and his cheek
s tearstained as he at last got to his feet. "Zach, this thing the Ministers have done is evil and the Lord shall punish us for it."

  "Here are the town records, Reverend." Zechariah handed over the crystals. The two men were of the same age and had known each other all their lives. "I admire you for staying behind. Maybe you'll be the one righteous man for whom the Lord will spare this Sodom."

  "Zach, I admire you for your principles. I'll join you when the crisis is over." The two men embraced warmly.

  The Brattles and the several other families that had decided to leave the congregation were only a few kilometers down the road back to New Salem when the Skinks struck the encampment.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ollie Buskerud shook hands diffidently with Colonel Ramadan, "At your service, Colonel," he squeaked. He nodded at Chief Vest and Inspector Hamnes. "I will be your guide," he added.

  Ramadan looked carefully at Buskerud. The man was short and weather-beaten. He sported a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard and wore thick spectacles. Genetic engineering hadn't yet become a standard procedure on Thorsfinni's World, so most of the people had to go through life with birth defects like astigmatism. Buskerud's handshake was too limp for Ramadan's liking and his voice had the effect on him of fingernails scraping down a blackboard. The Marine officer hoped his expression did not reveal what he was thinking just now.

  "Mr. Buskerud knows the Thorvalds better than anybody else, Colonel," Chief Vest said. "He will identify the most likely locations for a camp and we will visit them all. Inspector Hamnes will coordinate the operation, and I hope you will assist him."

  "Delighted, Mr. Buskerud," Ramadan said without conviction.

  "As am I, Colonel." The little man bowed. Ramadan also noted, with some dismay, that he had very bad teeth. Mentally he shook his head. He'd just been around Marines too long.

  "We have set up a temporary operations center in the basement, gentlemen," Hamnes said. "We will coordinate the operation from there. If you would come this way, we'll get started." He nodded at his superior and ushered the men out the door.

  The operations center was in an overheated and brightly lighted but too small room beside the building's basement power plant. The plant was a fossil-fuel affair that required constant attendance and reeked. A man in dirty overalls cursed and muttered about the furnace, with its incessant clanking and banging.

  "This is the best we can do," Hamnes said as they entered the makeshift operations center. Several police officers who had been sitting there got out of their chairs, and Hamnes introduced Ramadan and Buskerud to them. "These officers will head the special action teams we will send to the campsites Mr. Buskerud will identify for us. Gentlemen," he said, turning to address the officers, "this will be a long and difficult operation. Please be seated and let's get organized."

  The plan Hamnes had come up with was very simple and involved a hundred officers in ten teams. The ten men in the operations center were the team leaders. All the officers selected were trained in special weapons and tactics. They would reach the camps by air or by ground transport—depending on the weather and terrain conditions—secure their respective areas, and search them. If nothing was found, they would deploy to the next site on the list until all the possible sites had been covered. Buskerud's knowledge of the mountains would be vital to the operation because he knew all the most likely refuge spots, as well as permanent sites, which included a few private homes, all of which would be closed up during the winter.

  "Time is against us," Hamnes told the officers. "As soon as the weather breaks, the kidnappers will try for the coast, I am sure, and when they are safely away, Mrs. Conorado will be of no more use to them. Before they can do that, we must find her, gentlemen."

  "Now, Mr. Buskerud, Colonel Ramadan, and I will coordinate your deployments from here. Remember who you are dealing with, gentlemen, and use whatever force is necessary to subdue them without causing harm to Mrs. Conorado. You all know that the general orders of this department call for negotiations in every hostage situation. That will not work here, gentlemen. Neutralize the bad guys and rescue the hostage, it's that simple. If you can't stop the bad guys, rescue the hostage; we'll get them later. The weather service will be giving us fifteen minute updates. We'll be in touch with all of you constantly. Mr. Buskerud?"

  Ollie Buskerud came to the front of the room. He nodded at the technician in his booth at the rear, and a huge map of the Thorvalds appeared on one wall. "All the permanent and temporary campsites in the range are marked," he told the policemen. "All the private homes are marked." As he spoke, the sites appeared on the map in different colors. "I suggest you hit the permanent sites first because in this weather I don't think your fugitives would be dumb enough to camp in the open with nothing but sleeping bags, or pitch a tent, for that matter. But remember, this map is not complete. Any structure put up within the last year or so would not appear here. We have asked the Confederation Navy," he nodded at Ramadan, "to assist with their geosynchronous surveillance satellites. If the weather clears for only an instant, their infrared capability might be of great help to us. But remember to keep us always apprised of your exact location. We don't want to get you mixed up with potential targets."

  "What kind of ground transportation will you be using?" Ramadan asked Hamnes.

  The inspector shrugged. "We have snow cats—heavy duty commercial vehicles used to haul cargo like timber. They are powerful but slow, but they will do the job good enough."

  "Could you use a Dragon?" Ramadan asked.

  "Dragon?"

  "Armored All-Surface Assault Landing Craft, Air Cushioned. The Marines basic ground vehicle."

  "Ah! Can you get us one?"

  "Maybe. We had several deadlined in the motor pool back at Camp Ellis, when 34th FIST deployed. I think for this operation I could get the base mechanics to put one back on line and ship it out here. It's worth a try. Dragons can go anywhere."

  "How long would it take to get one here?" a policeman asked.

  "If I call right now and they can get one in working order, maybe eight hours. Will the storm hold that long?"

  "The weather service thinks so. But Colonel, if 34th FIST is deployed, where from do you get the crew to drive this Dragon?"

  "You're looking at it," Colonel Ramadan answered.

  Sabbath Lordsday, followed closely by Jesse Gospel and Joshua Merab, all holding weapons at the ready, stepped onto the Cambria's bridge. "Please stand very still and do not interfere," Lordsday said. "Captain Tuit, Miss Lenfen, Captain Conorado, kindly step over there by the navigator's station and do not move until I tell you."

  "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing, goddamnit!" Tuit shouted.

  Lordsday motioned with the barrel of his blaster. "Move, Captain, or I will kill you. I will kill everyone on this bridge, on this ship, if you don't do precisely what I ask." Lordsday spoke in a calm, conversational tone of voice and smiled. It was evident he meant just what he said. Slowly, the trio moved over to the navigator's console and stood there, hands raised. Conorado noticed that two of the "miners" were missing.

  "Brother Gospel." Lordsday nodded toward Jesse Gospel.

  A tall, angular man, Gospel stepped briskly up to Jennifer Lenfen's station. He withdrew a case from a pocket and popped out a crystal, which he inserted into a port. "Your computer now belongs to me," he said. "Minerva?"

  "Yes, Brother Gospel?" Minerva answered.

  "Send the message."

  "The message is sent, Brother Gospel."

  Gospel looked up from the console and grinned. "This is a wonderful program I have written," he said to Jennifer. "I have overridden all your safeguards and installed my own password. You commercial people are too free with descriptions of the systems you use on your ships." He typed some commands on the keyboard. "Brother Lordsday, the course is set and cannot be altered. It will take us to three thousand kilometers above the Earth's surface over the Western hemisphere. It will be nighttime when we arrive at
that point in, um, precisely forty-seven hours, eighteen minutes, twenty-two seconds. And," he added, smiling at Captain Tuit, "you cannot possibly alter course manually because," he nodded at the navigation console, "we have taken care of that."

  "Good!" Lordsday pronounced.

  "What about my men in the propulsion unit?" Tuit asked.

  "They do not matter, Captain."

  "What ‘message’ did you send?" Jennifer asked Gospel.

  "To the President of the Confederation of Worlds!" he answered. "Informing her that we have taken over this ship in protest—"

  "Stop!" Lordsday commanded. "No more! They do not need to know any more. Now, Brother Gospel, have the computer tell the crew and passengers to report to the passenger dining area for an emergency meeting. You," he gestured at his four prisoners, "will come with Joshua and me, and when you are all gathered in the dining room I will explain everything to you. Captain Conorado, I know what you are thinking."

  "I'm thinking what any Marine would think in a situation like this, mister," Conorado answered.

  "I know." Lordsday smiled tightly. "But stop it. Even if you were able to jump us and take our guns, this ship will still proceed to its destination. There is no way you can alter its course. Now, all of you, we are going to the dining area. Please do not try anything foolish on the way."

  The thirteen other passengers and eight remaining crewmen stood and sat about the dining room expectantly.

  "This ship is now under my control," Lordsday announced. "After this meeting you will proceed to your respective staterooms and remain there until our mission is complete."