A New Kind of Zeal

by Michelle Warren

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: New Ideas

  James Connor sat in the Prime Minister’s office, in the Beehive.

  The office had been made obsolete. Connor could still not fully grasp the reality that Parliament did not actually exist anymore. Instinctively, he wanted to attend meetings, and join the House of Representatives: how could it be that the House was actually shut up?

  The Governor General of New Zealand had only acted this way twice before – the most recently over a hundred years earlier!

  Connor was humiliated – but, more importantly than that, he was worried.

  Quickly he gathered up his papers, and his personal items. The photo of Pam and Rachel! He drew them all together into a box, and headed down the corridor.

  The Beehive was deserted – an eerie reality. Connor knew the Governor-General was busy in Parliament House – he also knew the New Conservative Party was quickly trying to reinvent itself, for the rapid election. What would Patrick Clarkson do now? Now was his great chance. Communism – would he secure communism? Connor shuddered at the thought.

  The Clean Greens, and Maori party – not much threat there. But what about the Christian Conservative party? Might they suddenly rise up, in this climate of religious extremism? Might they suddenly become a power to be reckoned with?

  Connor stepped into the lift, and turned around. Joshua Davidson…He swallowed. Tristan had shot him, in public! In public, for all to see! Connor had never intended that! Never wanted it. Tristan had secured Connor’s dismissal! On purpose, Connor was sure! On purpose. And yet, Connor couldn’t blame him. And yet, Connor actually agreed with him.

  Joshua Davidson was dead.

  Connor emerged from the lift, and wandered out to the Round Reception Room. He could see the Army, guarding the Governor General’s quarters – the New Zealand flag at half-mast! The British flag at full mast. Humiliation! Shame. Utter uncertainty for the future.

  He walked down the steps to the exit – and walked past the security guards, on the way out. Clarkson was outside, in the gardens – looking busy, gathering support! Connor let him be. His time was over, now! It was over.

  The black iron gate was in front of him. Here, four New Zealanders had been shot dead! It had been his fault! Connor’s own fault. The blood of those citizens was on his hands. And…and the blood of the other New Zealand citizen.

  Rachel was waiting for him, outside the gate. She was sitting on the ground, near the place where Joshua had died. He wandered over to her.

  “How about a trip to Stewart Island?” he asked – surely the furthest most place from Wellington. But there was something strange in Rachel’s face.

  She rose to her feet – she stood before him. Her eyes were bright! Quite beautiful, in that moment – she reminded him of Pam.

  “Ah, Dad,” she began, and he frowned, perplexed.

  “Yes?”

  “I have two lots of news to tell you.”

  “Fire away.”

  Her face was a little flushed, almost as if…

  “Don’t tell me you’re in love,” Connor said. “Impossible! After all the hell we’re going through…”

  “Not impossible,” Rachel said, smiling wryly, “only improbable.”

  Connor stared at her. “You look stunning, Rachel,” he said. “If it was any other time but the impending demise of our nation, I’d be really happy for you!”

  “I’ll accept that,” Rachel said, grinning – but then her expression changed: became serious. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  “What – you’re pregnant?”

  She hit his arm. “No! Come on, Dad – I’m a grown woman.”

  “Spit it out, then.”

  “It’s about Joshua.”

  Now he shifted on his feet. “What is it?”

  Her expression was unusual – he couldn’t quite place it: intrigue? Some kind of intrigue.

  “There’s going to be talk,” Rachel began. “There will be new ideas.”

  “What kind of new ideas?”

  “Well…” She hesitated, and seemed to make herself continue. “Some people are saying that they have seen him alive again.”

  Connor dropped his box. The frame – had he shattered it? Quickly he stooped to check. Rachel was standing over him, now: her voice firm.

  “I’m going to write it all down,” she said, “so that everyone can decide for themselves what they think.”

  “Have you converted to this new religion?” Connor asked, reaching to turn over the frame.

  “No,” Rachel said – the frame was still intact! Not shattered! Pam and Rachel were still smiling into the camera. Connor quickly picked it up, and his box, and rose to his feet again to face her.

  Her eyes were bright. “I haven’t converted, but I’m open to it! I’m open, and I’m going to write about it, and…and I’m going to stick with it.”

  Connor’s eyes drifted down, now – he saw: there was a ring on her wedding finger. He swallowed.

  “Shouldn’t I be giving you away?”

  Tears filled her eyes now – and she was taking his hand.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  The words hurt, but he smirked. “All I can say is, thank goodness I’m not the Prime Minister anymore.”

  “Agreed!” she said quickly.

  “Which one is he?” Connor asked, and Rachel smiled sadly.

  “The one who was crying, next to Joshua. His name is John.”

  “Fitting,” Connor said. “Someone’s got to match that fire inside of you.”

  She was smiling – and crying at the same time. Connor smiled sadly at her.

  “What should we expect from this movement?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  Pain filled him now: deep pain. She was going! She was leaving. She was choosing a dangerous path!

  “You will if you come with us.”

  Connor gazed at her, and then laughed. Beautiful! Kill Joshua, and then join him. Why not? Lose his job as Prime Minister, and join a King.

  “I’m sorry, my precious girl,” he said, “but even my mind can’t cope with that many twists and turns within one week!”

  She was grinning – and he grasped her hand now.

  “Rachel,” he said firmly, “make sure that John chap keeps you safe, okay? I love you! And if he gets you into deep water, he’ll have to answer to me.”

  Irony filled her face, and he enjoyed it, and he pulled her into a hug.

  “Go now,” he said. “Be with him. Find out what’s going on with that Joshua – do what you must, Rachel! Do what you must.”

  Her arms squeezed him, she released him, her face shone – and, as he moved away from her, toward his car, he was glad for his wife, and a shelter at home. Rachel must choose her own path! And who knew what bizarre twists might be ahead with this Joshua Movement.

  “Besides,” he muttered under his breath, “I thought you said there were going to be new ideas…”