by Ken Hansen
Huxley suppressed the rage bubbling within. “They’ll check my record. They’ll know I’d never do this.”
“You think so? How about that little CIA meltdown a few years ago? You think the press won’t be able to find a motive after you were drummed out of the agency? Especially when you clearly set up Ken Mayer in Dubai? You’ve had contacts with terrorists around the world—your name even showed up in one of their cell phones. And you released the main terrorist, Anwari, from a CIA prison just weeks after he stole the nukes from Pakistan. Don’t worry, we have plenty of evidence to link you to him and him to the nukes. Oh, and I forgot to mention—we did put $50 million into a Swiss account for you. Too bad you won’t be able to spend it. Of course, you already spent much of your illicit funds from that rogue Islamic nation when you bought this Ship of Fate using an alias that will be traced back to you. That is right, Huxley, it has been registered in that name from the time of its maiden voyage. But look, I want to be sporting with you, my old friend. If you so choose, I can put all of this baggage on Mayer instead. You’ll just be the dupe, not the bad man. But then, Sonatina will surely die. Your choice.” Kadir smiled broadly while glaring at Huxley through the monitor.
Huxley closed his eyes, drew his lips into his mouth and exhaled hard out of his nose. Keep your head. Why does he need to frame me? He remembered his text to Sonatina before he blacked out and looked back at the camera. “You are worried about Sonatina. She’s read my texts. They point to you, my loud friend.”
“They do no such thing. You wrote:
Sorry abandon u. Sorry doubt u. Love you still. On Ship of Fate sailing away. Pardus lives. Where will Fate take me? Where will it take us all? My loud friend will give answers.
“Nothing but the nonsense of a crazed, love-struck killer. The Ship of Fate is your own and you are sailing to hell. You are Pardus and you live. Your loud friend is your nuclear bomb. Of course, your final text today will end any speculation that might provide. It doesn’t matter, though. If you don’t push the button, she will be dead, and the texts will be long forgotten in the ashes of DC and Rome. Just do it. Push the button, Hux, and your little girlfriend Sonatina will get her chance to live. Of course, you will be vilified forever as the destroyer of cities, but that is not too much to ask, is it? So what will it be? I’m running out of patience.”
Huxley’s head fell to his chest and he closed his eyes…
…Tomadus sunk back in his chair, shivering as the glow subsided, still too devastated to move. He had seen his other self, Huxley, in chains, pleading with a man on the screen who just taunted him, “Just do it. Push the button…” The button had been linked to a small device with a message—a message of warning, a message of despair, a message that would condemn Huxley for all time. How had he gone so wrong in both places? He remembered Jochi’s words in her letter. That was it. Somehow, she had known before him. Were her visions ahead of his? Had she experienced something else? He had to trust her now. Somehow, he must tell Huxley to do it. Do it, Chris. Sacrifice yourself and you will save billions.
Tomadus heard the Governor resume his interrogation. “Now that you feel the wrath of God, renounce your teachings and you will be spared.”
“I am here to testify only to the truth,” Isa said, the words barely audible.
Tomadus shot a look at the First Consul. “You are a fool to believe he will renounce. His death will make him an even greater martyr in the eyes of the Way. Millions will rally to his cause. The Empires will not be able to stop the movement. And Heaven knows what wrath God will bring you.”
“Quit acting like a religious zealot,” said the First Consul. “You know God has nothing to do with this because God has long been dead to you. This isn’t about a deity. It is about power. And your little Christ isn’t going to gain any power for himself or his little band of brothers over this execution.”
“I thought you were politically astute, Pardus,” Tomadus said indignantly.
The First Consul raised his eyebrows.
Tomadus sneered. “Yes, I know who you are. You think you can act the destroyer across both time and universe, but you will suffer the same end in both.”
“And you are ignorant, my old friend. You still do not understand, do you? I have planned this with the help of the Governor, the Grand Imam and the Abh Beyth Diyn all along. We do not play at politics like you do—we control the masses. You really thought I tried to save Yohanan from the triangulum. You fool. We will torture your Isa awhile, just to see if we can ‘coax’ him to renounce on his own. But do you think I am stupid enough to let this man martyr himself like Jesus before him, and this time on worldwide visi-scan? No, my friend, we are employing a little broadcast delay to give merely the impression of a live show. Right now, we are broadcasting only the preparation for this trial and punishment. In a little while, if he refuses to relent and dies on us, we will use the magic of editing and a few camera tricks to show him admitting, apparently live to the world, that he is nothing but a fraud.”
Tomadus sneered at the First Consul. “He is no fraud!” Then the light struck again…
Kadir/Pardus shouted, “Decide! No more stalling. Do it, Huxley. Sacrifice your reputation and you save her.”
Huxley raised his head slowly and pleaded, “Thirty minutes is not enough. She won’t make it. Give her 2 hours.”
“Nice try Scholar Boy. No chance. Too much time for your government to figure out your text is real and determine there is a credible threat.”
“An hour then.”
“Twenty minutes.”
“No. No. Please.”
“Last chance. Thirty minutes.”
“How can I trust you?”
“Hey, I’m your old friend, remember? What is your choice? She dies for certain if you don’t. She has an outside chance to survive if you do. Just push the button.”
“Will you promise you won’t kill her after?”
Pardus laughed raucously, as if he and Huxley were sitting in a bar in DC having the time of their lives. “No promises. But she will despise you, anyway. You used her to destroy the Vatican and all of Rome, even if you managed to save her petty little life. You will have, as I wrote in the poem, descended to hell like your father before you. She will hate you so badly I might even want to give her a little taste of the Ambassador of Peace to comfort her. That might be the best way to rid her of the foul taste of Huxley. What do you think, Hux, you banged my old girlfriend—how about I bang yours?”
Huxley lost control of himself. He rattled the chains holding his arms, struggling against hope to somehow free himself. He threw every expletive he knew back at the camera. Pardus just laughed. Eventually, Huxley became still, absolutely still, his head hanging down with his eyes closed…
…When the glow dissipated, he saw the First Consul standing over him, laughing. Tomadus’s voice thickened as he slowly asked, “Why have you done this?”
“You must ask that?” the First Consul asked. “Just who or what do you think I am? Obviously, you do not yet comprehend. Perhaps your skepticism does blind you at times. You were a tool, Tomadus, a simple but useful tool. I saw this Isa heading down the same path as Jesus in that other universe, but I was prepared this time, and He was playing on my home field. He predictably followed his time-honored martyrdom strategy, but you helped me remain a step ahead. Finally, I will extinguish his message forever—at least in this instance of the universe.” First Consul Khansensius cackled and then stared at Tomadus for a few seconds. “Here,” he added with a smile of pride, “let me show you what we have done.”
When the First Consul started toward the console, Tomadus’s head jerked toward it. Would he discover Tomadus’s ruse?
Isa screamed again, and Tomadus winced. How many times had it been? With his courage now refueled by desperation, Tomadus lunged out of his chair, knocking the rap rifle to the side, grabbing the First Consul from behind, and twisting him around toward the guard. In nearly the same motion, he whisked up the F
irst Consul’s letter opener from the desk and held its point to the First Consul’s throat as he stood behind him. “Tell the guard to give me the rap rifle,” Tomadus said calmly.
Khansensius nodded to the guard, but the guard did not move. “I cannot give you my weapon,” he said.
Tomadus glared back, motionless. “Then the First Consul will die.”
Tomadus heard Isa yell out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Although the guard ignored Isa, he could not entirely ignore Tomadus. The guard let the rap rifle fall into his left hand, holding it away from the trigger. He slowly showed both hands to Tomadus and moved toward the wall where he opened a refuse chute and tossed the weapon in, the sound of metal echoing through the room as the weapon clanged its way down.
Tomadus nodded to the guard but kept the letter opener tight to the First Consul’s taut neck. “Fair enough,” he said. “Now back away from the door.” When the guard complied, Tomadus ushered the First Consul out of the control booth and into the theater, down its steps toward the stage. With each step, he struggled as the visions kept flowing through his brain…
…Kadir/Pardus sneered. “What’s the matter, Hux, have you lost all hope?”
Huxley barely heard the words, but they echoed in his brain. The echo came first in the voice of the Old Priest: Hope… My hope is my belief… Because of my faith in Christ, my hope is my belief: I believe that the world and my own soul will not end in death or nothingness… Huxley shook his head slowly, but the echo continued. This time Anwari’s voice rang through his brain: Hope. He shows you the lightning that terrifies and inspires hope… The Light from the Sky is God’s Truth. Huxley’s eyes opened as he raised his head.
The Deceiver looked back at him with a pathetic look of sympathy. “You done pouting, now, Hux? You going to cry? Hey, have a little faith. Your little love will survive somehow. Just do it. Push the button.”
Huxley glared back, but Kadir’s voice once again echoed through his brain until it transformed into Sonatina’s voice: Faith…love… Faith and love… Have a little faith, and love will come back to you. A tear ran down his cheek. He watched it fall to the floor and splatter there. Had love come back to him? Still looking down, his eyes began to refocus when they noticed the bulge in his pocket. The crucifix. Now his mother’s voice echoed with Sonatina’s: Love… God’s Love… Every gift can be used for good or evil. You must trust your heart and fill it with God’s love, and He will guide your way.
Huxley’s chin sunk further into his chest. Hope, faith and love… He held back more tears and swallowed hard, but his heart and soul rose anyway through his throat and into his brain. Can I believe again? God. My God. They have all tried to bring me back to you. Forgive me. My mother is dead. Anwari is dead. Sonatina—please, save Sonatina. Please save humanity. Forgive me. Must my penance now forever condemn me as the Destroyer? Please, show me the way. Show me the way! Huxley took a deep breath. What am I doing? Is this a last act of desperation? Who but the wind will listen to my prayer? Huxley shook his head. He must hear me. Accept my sacrifice as you sacrificed for all. Please, hear me…
…As he moved down the stairs, knife to First Consul Khansensius’s throat, Tomadus fought with himself. What am I doing. Is this a last act of desperation? He looked up at the stage and saw Isa still hanging from that damned wooden contraption, sweating and smoking and spewing his precious blood. His eyes were closed, and his head hung to the side.
A tear fell down Tomadus’s cheek.
Isa raised his head slowly, opened his eyes and looked at Tomadus.
The unbelievable compassion from Isa’s eyes reached into Tomadus and hugged the creature shaking in his belly. Could this man, even now in this horrible condition, reach so deep within my soul?
Tomadus breathed, “Forgive me.” When Isa gazed back at him, Tomadus knew Isa had already granted him absolution. As he looked into Isa’s eyes, words of atonement from Jochi entered his head again. Do it, Chris. Sacrifice yourself, and you will save billions. Tomadus shook his head. Who but the wind shall hear me? No. Trust Jochi. Trust Isa. Trust the Father. I must have faith. He focused on Jochi’s words and repeated them in his brain over and over again. Finally, he burst out, “Do it, Chris. Sacrifice yourself, and you will save billions!”
The First Consul jerked in his left arm, but Tomadus pulled him closer and pushed the blade of the letter opener tighter into the man’s throat. A small trickle of blood appeared, followed by the Light…
…Huxley hung from his chains, his body nearly limp. He felt himself blacking out and soon found himself dreaming. Or was he awake? He was not certain. His eyes were shut as a strange scene played out before him. He was wearing a silken robe. No, it was that merchant from his dreams. He was standing very close to another man in a robe, hugging him. No, not hugging. He had one arm around him holding the man in place. The other held a tri-jeweled letter opener with its point to the man’s throat. In front of them on the stage hung the man he had seen from his earlier dreams—the man in the white robes. Now nearly naked, this Jesus was being crucified. No, that wasn’t quite it. This Jesus’s arms and legs stretched out in the same way as he stared back at Huxley, but this Jesus hung not from a cross but an inverted triangle. Smoke was rising out of Jesus’s back, the putrid smell of burning flesh poisoning the air. In his dream, the merchant mouthed, “Forgive me,” to this Jesus. Then the merchant’s thoughts and words turned to a single chant: Do it, Chris. Sacrifice yourself, and you will save billions. The thoughts dissolved into voices. He heard his mother: Do it, Chris. God will know the truth. Then it was Sonatina’s voice. Do it, Chris. Sacrifice yourself, and you will save billions. No, it wasn’t her voice, not quite, was it? As the chant played over and over, this Huxley stared at Jesus, and Jesus nodded gently. Then Jesus mouthed to him, “Tell her.”
When he awoke, Huxley’s eyes opened to Pardus glaring at him on the screen in the cabin of the Infernum. Huxley did not glare back. With a strange sense of calm, he smiled at Pardus. He hoisted himself up and grabbed the device, pushed the button, and said slowly, “I am sorry, Sonatina, but it is best for the whole world. These cities must die. Forgive me.” As he did this, the phone lit up, showing it was recording the audio clip. He released the button but could not release himself. She would hate him forever. The world would hate him forever.
Kadir/Pardus smiled broadly and nodded to Huxley. “I always knew you were pathetic. How sad a fate for the Destroyer of Cities? You are the Destroyer of Cities, Hux, and I am the Ambassador of Peace.” Kadir/Pardus snickered.
“Ambassador of Peace. How can you even call yourself a man?”
“Sometimes, Huxley, your insights amaze me. But now I must go. Please, enjoy the view. I owe you that, at least. Until we meet again.” Kadir/Pardus nodded as his image faded to black.
Sonatina twirled her hair, lost in deep thought. She had awoken early that morning and seen the bizarre message from Chris about abandoning her and loving her and sailing on a Ship of Fate. She had never felt abandoned by him, not really. She felt in her heart that they would soon fully reconcile. But what was the Ship of Fate? Where was Pardus? Who was this loud friend? She pursed her lips and shook her head. If Chris had responded to just one of her many replies, she might now know the answer. But after this strange confession from him, he had ignored her. First her texts, next her calls, then her voice mails. So he had gone dark once again. Becoming desperate, she had thrown logic to the wind and leapt head first with the faith she could save him. She knew he needed her. She knew she needed him.
She tipped the few remaining drops of merlot over her lips and set the glass down on the half-folded table above her lap. The woman in the neat blue suit and red scarf with the stylized wings noticed it immediately. “Would you like some more wine, Ms. D’Amare?”
“No, thank you. You can take the glass.” She looked out the window, down at the clouds that puffed like giant pillows, tempting even the largest of the gods to lay down their
heads and rest. She was tempted to do the same but heard the familiar ping of a text from her cell phone. When she pulled it out of her purse, her heart leapt. Finally, a message from Chris.
Instead of singing, her heart sunk. It is some sort of sick joke. No, Chris wouldn’t find that funny. A lie then. Someone had stolen his cell and was making fun of him. Or maybe his friend thinks he is funny. That must be it. Then she saw the audio file at the bottom of the message. She gasped and her brain stopped searching for another rational explanation. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and pressed the play button. When the words came from Chris’s voice, they exploded her heart, taking with it nearly every fiber of her being.
Tomadus tried to separate himself from Huxley so he could manage the scene in front of him. His chant to Huxley had finally gained the Governor’s attention. He paused the interrogation and saw Tomadus with the sharp point to the First Consul’s throat. “What is this? Have you gone mad?”
“Let him down or your First Consul dies.”
The Governor stared back at Tomadus without the least flinch. “Release the First Consul at once if you want to live.”
“No Governor, you first. Release Isa. First Consul, care to weigh in on this discussion?”
The First Consul responded, “Why should I weigh in on your pathetic little martyr?”
Isa responded weakly, “People always seem to underestimate the power of one man to change the course of history.”
“So it seems you too can see the other world,” said the First Consul. “But then you are not just a man.”