0300 Book 3 - 10. Chapter 10: Fatima Follow-on

Chapter 10: Fatima Follow-on

 

The proper study
of mankind
is man.
Know then, yourself.
—Alexander Pope

 

 

2009-03-18 USF Charleston
Intel Team Meeting

 

“A lot has happened since the Funeral.”

Marty, who was lead on this briefing, didn’t have to say which funeral; everyone in Fleet, perhaps our entire world, knew what he meant.

“One thing we’ve learned is that things don’t move as fast on the Reverend’s world as they do on ours. We’ve also learned that the televisor technology of the Pan-Asians and the Mujahedeen of F-U is identical to that of the Reverends, including the codec,” he reported. “The distribution channels are the same, as well: microwave from a central location and local broadcast from an antenna. The Pan-Asians’ system is more powerful and cleaner than the others.

“The Pan-Asians did not re-broadcast the scene over Las Vegas as our brothers’ bodies were returned to their world until twenty-seven days after the event. This suggests that they intercepted and recorded the signal, and then transported the recording across the Pacific by ship. It does not confirm this; however, we’re re-examining all such re-broadcasts to see if we can establish a pattern.

“Remember that the signal came from our two synchronous satellites and was designed to be picked up only by the regular televisors in homes, Sheriffs’ Stations, Army barracks, and so on. The only place the Pan-Asians could have gotten the signal would have been from our satellites, but we don’t think they got it except that they have a televisor with a recorder somewhere in the Reverends’ territory, and picked it up that way.

“The Mujahedeen re-broadcast occurred twenty-eight days after the event, suggesting that they intercepted the signal in the same way, but in Europe, recorded it, and transported it overland to Medina.

“Tentatively, we conclude from this that the Pan-Asians have agents in Reverends’ territory, and that the Mujahedeen do, as well.”

Marty paused to let that sink in, and then continued. “Both the Pan-Asians and the Mujahedeen put their own spin on the broadcast.

“The Mujahedeen said it was Allah’s curse on the Reverends. They call the Reverends infidels. Given the blindness to anything resembling reason that religion inculcates in its adherents, that is not surprising.

“The Pan-Asians described a meteor shower which they claimed Reverends interpreted as a sign from their god. The message was more about the foolishness of superstition than about the meteor shower. Neither the Pan-Asians nor the Mujahedeen seemed to catch the prediction of the number of meteors that would be visible. Either that, or they don’t want to admit to their people that they know it was not a coincidence that the number of meteors matched the number Artie said in his speech.”

Marty paused. I felt him swallow his sorrow, and felt the same from the rest of the metas, the men of the Task Force who were watching—and myself. Those meteors had been our sons and brothers.

“However,” Marty continued when he’d found his voice, “there were additional clues in the Pan-Asian message that suggest that their science is beyond that of the Reverends. They described how meteor showers are often associated with old comets, noted that their history does not contain a comet that would correspond with this shower, and talked about how the gravity of Jupiter might pull an asteroid from its orbit, or how a long-period comet from the Oort Cloud—they didn’t call it that, but that’s what they meant—might have been the genesis—they didn’t use that word, either—of this shower.”

That’s good news, and bad, I thought. The bad news is that the Pan-Asians are more advanced than the Reverends. Of course, we knew that, since it’s from them that the Reverends get their aeroplanes and tanks. The good news is that at least they seem to be rational realists about science, anyway. Maybe we can find common ground.

Marty didn’t have a good conclusion to the briefing, so I stepped in. “Thank you, Marty,” I said. “Good work, good analysis. Thank you all.

“We won’t know for a long time, if ever, what is the most important thing we learn about the Reverends’ Universe. Every thing we learn has potential, and if there’s ever anything that anyone sees that can point us in the right direction, please let one of the team know about it.”

 

“Sir?” The next briefing officer, a Commander, seemed nervous. He wasn’t a meta, but still I tried to push reassurance. It may have worked. The Commander took a deep breath and continued with a stronger voice. “Sir, we need more humint.”

“Humint insertion and retrieval were successful in Australia and at Fatima although that could have been much worse. We got two data points at Fatima: one soldier and one intelligence agent from the California forces. We and the staff of the Charleston are trying to plan war games that will be of use in a possible invasion of the Fundamentalist Universe; we do not have the psychological profiles of the Army, the Sheriffs, or, indeed, of the Reverends themselves that we need in order to do that. We need more data.”

It was again my turn—and obligation—to speak. “Commander, you are right, and I thank you and the others who came to that conclusion. I assume you have some specifics, and some ideas of how to go about expanding our information base?”

George’s smile, which I could feel but not see, gave me the answer.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Kidnappings.”

“Yes, sir,” the Commander said. “Ensign Stewart-Rodgers has the details and, I believe, has already done some preliminary planning.”

“Full briefing, including team composition, tomorrow,” I said. Everyone knew I was addressing George. If he were going to be a cowboy, he was going to have to do the planning and documentation, as well.

 

Following the meeting, the Geeks gathered in my Ready Room. Alex said what no one else had said.

“The Scudder proclaimed that the miracle of fire occurred,” Alex said. “The televisor showed images of the so-called miracle. Several people, dressed as commonplace people, asserted that it happened. The images are poorly assembled; to our eyes, they are obviously fake. The actors, too, given our knowledge and greater sophistication, are obviously not commonplace people.”

“They’re not very good actors, either.”

 

I wasn’t very happy. I’d not anticipated this, and was reluctant to report my failure to Admiral Davis. It wasn’t easy to write the report, but I did, and included televisor footage of the Scudder proclaiming the miracle, images of the alleged miracle, and the actors. The admiral’s reply came much sooner than I would have thought.

Paul, this isn’t the first time you have told me that you failed. I recall a bad decision made at Disneyland that could have been disastrous for you, Danny, George, and Alex. You learned from that; you will learn from this latest event. Nor do I consider it a failure. Think about it. What did you learn about yourself? What did you learn about the Reverends?

When I was a junior cadet on my first shipboard assignment, indicator lights on our consoles were labeled, “Press to Test.” In many cases, that was the only way we could know if the light were working. You have just “pressed to test” the Reverends, the Army, and probably the Inquisition. Now learn from it.

You know of Alexander Pope, one of the figures of the Enlightenment. You’ve heard the first part of his most famous quotation: “The proper study of mankind is man.” Most people don’t know the tag line: “Know therefore yourself.” Think on that, too, please.

I felt a little better.

 

2009-03-20 Mt. Zion:
Microwave Intercept

 

“What do the Jewish scientists have to say about the televisor signals? They’ve had enough time.” The Colonel-General had summoned the scientist to his office.

“Sir, they believe the signals are being broadcast from space.” The scientist’s distain for this conclusion was written on his face. He looked down his nose, and curled his lips in a sneer.

“Did they say why they believed this?” the Colonel-General asked.

“The televisor signals, like the microwave signals, are what they call line-of-sight. They travel in a straight line until intercepted by an antenna or something physical—a mountain, for example. Further, the microwave signals travel only a few tens or hundreds of mile from tower to tower. The televisor broadcasts travel only a few miles before becoming too weak to be picked up by a serf’s televisor antenna. This is why there are broadcast towers in every town and village.”

“Go on.”

“They could find no place where the enemy signal might have been injected into the microwave network. There were no signs of heavy equipment, generators, transmitters—nothing. Since they cannot answer the question, they are grasping at straws. Signals from space! The scientists are worthless—less than worthless. I wish to punish them—”

“No.” The Colonel-General’s order was curt, as was his nod. “That is all. Thank you.” It wasn’t so long ago that he dismissed the fire in the sky over Las Vegas as rocks from space, burning in the air. He cannot connect the two. Still, he is too valuable to replace, and I’ve failed by not preparing for that.

The scientist managed not to tremble until after he had left the room.

The Colonel-General summoned the remaining Lieutenant on the team. Boys, he thought. I am reduced to trusting untried boys. Still, they have the courage and perhaps the insight that their elders lack.

The Colonel-General gave Lt. Riggs broad instructions, a letter, and orders to travel to Miami.

 

That Same Day:
USF Charleston
Intel Team Meeting

 

George gave the report of the first kidnap of a Reverend.

“We have not yet found a way to isolate a Reverend in Las Vegas without an unacceptable risk of detection. We decided our first kidnap of a Reverend would be from Moapa, a remote and isolated community northeast of Las Vegas.

“We attached destruct charges to the telegraph lines leaving Moapa so that no message could get out should we be discovered. We had excellent imagery of the town. The Reverend’s schedule was very regular, and we could be certain that he lived alone, and would be in his house in the early morning hours.

“It was easy to land in the scrub just outside of town, reach his home, shoot him with a tranquilizer dart, and return him to the shuttle.

“John of Patmos suggested that he don his green robes and greet the Reverend when he wakened. It was a brilliant strategy, and got the man talking right away.

“This Reverend was trained at Lynchburg. He had visited Las Vegas, and the _____ Palace Casino. He had not, however, participated in the rape of children and he, himself, did not have a catamite living with him. Therefore, he is still alive.

“He felt that he would soon lose his position, perhaps even be killed, because he believed that the Reverends’ Council used the catamites and the debauchery at Las Vegas not just as a reward, but also to exert a hold on other Reverends.

“He had little knowledge or understanding of the government, economic system, or trade arrangements. He knew that the Las Vegas Reverends’ Council was powerful, and that it ruled a large portion of the western United States—although he did not use that term. He thought that there was another, similar council, in Chicago. It was his belief that the Scudder was in charge of all of this.

“We described the events at the Grand Canyon. He was aware of the miracle, and that it had occurred. Not surprising, since it was widely reported in the Scudder’s televisor messages.

“We explained the Army’s response with the gas generators. He did not believe us, at first but, upon reflection, he agreed that it made sense that the serfs would be sacrificed rather than allow widespread knowledge that the miracle had been foiled.

“We told him about the interaction of our humint resource with a member of the Army. He confirmed that it was likely that the Army would kill, easily. Here are his words.”

An image of a young man appeared on the screen. He wore the black shirt with white collar we’d come to associate with the Reverends. He was thin, to the point of emaciation, but his voice was strong. “The Army are cruel,” he said. “They are few, and they know that they cannot appear weak. They do what they have to in order to appear strong. For them, strong means callous. They would not hesitate to kill—even a child—to prove their strength.”

There was a long silence before George continued.

“When we were sure we had wrung all we could from him, we revealed ourselves to him. He accepted us—and his situation—with remarkable equanimity.”

“We have another data point,” I said. “What does he believe about his beliefs?”

George and Danny looked at one another. Danny took the fall. “We didn’t think to ask him,” he said.

“Perhaps you would work with John to find out more,” I said.

“And . . . this may not be important, but he seems to be nearly starving. What do we know about the food supply of his town? Is it normal? Please explore all avenues. The kidnap was brilliantly executed, but we do want to wring out all information we can.”

 

2009-03-23
More from Moapa

 

Danny took to heart my instructions to learn as much as possible from the Moapa Reverend. He called in some experts in psychology, and with them, managed to find out a great deal, including some things the Reverend wasn’t aware he knew.

For example, the reason the Reverend seemed nearly starved was that he was, and the people of the town were in the same circumstance. They couldn’t grow food in the desert and the ore they mined was often insufficient to guarantee that they’d be sent food from elsewhere.

In theory, the Reverend had first claim on what food was shipped to the town. In practice, since it was the Army troops who unloaded the trains, their commander took what he wanted before giving access to the Reverend. This particular Reverend did what he could to ensure an equitable distribution among the serfs, and took for himself no more than what a serf might have received.

The entire town is starving, I realized. What would happen to them if we attacked the Reverends and destroyed the farms, the rail network, the infrastructure—such as it is? I realized how fragile was the economy of the Reverends’ world. It was something to put into the decision matrix that my people were developing.

 

2009-03-24
A Bar in Monterey

 

The sign over the door read “40 & 8.” It was common knowledge among soldiers of the California Liberation Army that the 40 & 8 was a semi-secret drinking society named for the signs on the boxcars in which soldiers had been carried to the front during the Conquest of Europe. Membership was by invitation, only. What neither the California army’s senior leadership nor the uninitiated soldiers knew was that the 40 & 8 was the front for another organization, The Brotherhood.

Major Chastain entered the room, was identified and welcomed. He took a bottle of beer from the bar, and went through another door. Men greeted him quietly, with firm handshakes and slaps on the back. These were his peers. No words were necessary to welcome him back. No one would complain about how long it took him to get home. No one would question him. They would wait until he spoke.

“I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon,” he said. “Was thinking of taking the family there for vacation. Dusty place, though.”

This garnered a few chuckles. Enough people had heard enough of his report to get the joke.

Major Chastain took a long drink. “Their Army nearly gassed 5,000 of their people. The serfs were nearly abandoned to hunger and thirst. A sergeant would have shot a kid because the kid didn’t have papers and had become separated from his family. The miracle was foiled by the people in boxy aeroplanes who have weapons that shoot lightning, but neither the Reverends or the Central Committee have figured that out—nor, I think, would they believe it if it bit them in the butt.

“I met one of them—the kid the sergeant was about to shoot. A boy, maybe twelve years old, sent into danger with nothing but his wits. They didn’t fly in the boxy aeroplanes, but in planes that looked almost exactly like the winged planes of the Reverends’ Army. I told the Senior Committee that, but I don’t think they believed me.”

He took another drink from his bottle. “The people in boxy aeroplanes are going to invade the Reverends territory—and maybe California—and the Senior Committee will screw it up.”

A great deal more discussion than beer followed that announcement. By the time it ended, The Brotherhood had the outline of a plan.

 

2009-03-25 USF Charleston
Team California

 

Professor Martin had given us a lot of information about California. On the other hand, the more we knew, the more we realized what we didn’t know. Terry’s report of his interaction with Major Chastain had raised more questions. I had thought about this a lot, and began the next meeting of the Fleet Intel Team with a few parameters.

“We will continue to press to test the people of the Fundamentalists Universe. We will continue to prepare for an invasion. Here are some additional parameters—things to keep mind as you plan.

“First, we don’t want the people rising up and murdering their local officials—Reverends and Sheriffs, for example—and we certainly don’t want a pogrom, which might occur in some of the larger cities.

“Our treaty with Artie and his people not withstanding, we don’t want the California Army marching in and establishing martial law. And I want to stress that our treaty is with Artie and his soldiers, and not with California. We will not ally with them or anyone until we know a great deal more about them.”

I had talked to Artie and Professor Martin about this, and had an understanding—albeit incomplete—of U-Cal. They claimed what we knew as the States of California, Oregon, and Washington west of the Rocky Mountains, as well as western British Columbia, the Pacific coast of Alaska, and to the south, the Baja Peninsula. California traded with both the Reverends and the Pan-Asians.

“The government is in Monterey,” Professor Martin had said. That’s somewhat north of Santa Ana, and on the ocean.” He described the government as ostensibly a republic, although elections were sporadic. He had no idea how large was the army, or why they were able to resist the much larger forces of the Reverends and the Pan-Asians.

There were many more questions than answers, so I decided to create a California Team. Tobor filtered the personnel records for candidates, and invitations went out. Two days later, they assembled on the Charleston.

 

After telling the team what their job would be, I outlined some key parameters.

“We were very careful with the words of the treaty: We swear from this moment forward, eternal amity among ourselves and among all those beholden to us or under our protection.

“Colonel Artie Stewart signed the treaty for himself and for his soldiers, all of whom were both beholden to him and under his protection. Understanding those reciprocal obligations has been made a part of their training. I have great confidence in them. But, I know that Artie didn’t speak for the entire California Army, much less for that nation-state.”

I looked over the assembled men and boys: intelligence analysts from various ships, as well as people with expertise in political science, geography, social science, oceanography, history, something called “surfing,” and a dozen other disciplines.

“Your initial tasking is the question: What will we find when we arrive in California—and it is a certainty that we will, someday, arrive in California. Do not be constrained by that question, but go wherever it takes you.”

 

2009-04-01 Kidnap Team

 

The next kidnap target would be a Sheriff or a Deputy—an adult from one of the Sheriffs Ranches. We asked John, whom the boys called “John of Patmos,” for his thoughts.

“The Sheriffs never come to the _____ Palace Casino,” John said. “There is a resort, about 100 miles from Las Vegas in a place called Lake Havasu that caters to them, and at which they conduct an annual meeting.” He was unable to tell us whether there were children held in sexual slavery, there. Something else for the to-do list.

On the other hand, he did say, “Once, I was called to treat a Sheriff at the Las Vegas station. His disgust at being treated by a eunuch, and someone from the _____ Palace Casino, was palpable. That is, of course, only one data point, and may have reflected only that individual’s opinion,” he added. John had dived into studies of logic and propaganda with great enthusiasm, and had become a very valuable member of our team.

“Andy?” I addressed Captain Moultrie’s son, a young meta whom I’d stolen from his father’s staff. “Andy, you will command the team. Daffyd? You’re opsec and second in command. You may ask anyone on the Flag Team to help plan, and you may select your team from among the Task Force. Run your plan through the Ops Team. I will give the order to execute. Any questions?”

Andy’s face turned white, but only for an instant. “No, sir,” he said.

Daddy? Why? George sent. There was only a little hurt in his voice.

George, my beloved son and boyfriend, you know why, I sent. It’s time that Andy and Daffyd have a command. Besides, you’re not the only one who gets to have fun. I looked at him across the table and saw the little wry smile, the right corner of his lips pulled up and a dimple in that cheek, that was his trademark. I know, Daddy; and I love you.

* * * * *

The boy knelt before the Deputy and trembled at the sound of the Deputy’s zipper. It was louder in the boy’s ears than the ribbit of bullfrogs or chirping of crickets. Neither the Deputy nor the boy was aware of the invisible, multispectral radiation from night vision equipment that bathed them. Neither was aware that they were not alone behind the mess hall until the faint susurrus of zip-lines sounded under the boy’s sobs and the Deputy’s guttural orders.

Neither the boy nor the Deputy had time to react before a taser rendered the Deputy helpless and two boys had taken the arms of the Deputy’s would-be victim and lifted him into the shuttlecraft that hovered overhead. The Deputy followed, carried by two other boys and then dumped onto the floor. By that time, the door had closed, the boy from the ranch had been strapped into a seat and cautioned to “hang on, we’re getting you out of here.”

After a brief oomph at takeoff, the gravity compensators were carefully tuned to prevent any sensation of movement. That, and the sight of the Deputy’s body, still on the floor, seemed to reassure the boy.

“My name’s Andy,” one of the boys said. “We’re . . . um, friends? At least, we’re not friends with the likes of him.” He pointed to the Deputy. “I hope that makes us friends.”

“I am 7848342 . . . Donny,” the boy said. He didn’t seem inclined to say more, and retreated within himself.

“He looks like he’s about to wake up,” Andy said, gesturing to the Deputy. A couple of the boys rose from their seats and strapped the Deputy’s hands and feet together with plastic tie-ties. One pointed to the Deputy’s penis, now flaccid but still protruding from his fly.

“What about that?” he asked. And giggled. Donny heard, and wrinkled his brow.

“I’m not going to touch it!” the other boy said.

“That’s not what you said last night in the shower,” a third boy said.

“At ease, guys,” Andy said. “Donny, don’t let them get to you.”

He gestured to the boy seated on Donny’s right, and then took that boy’s place.

“I know what the man was going to do,” Andy whispered. His voice didn’t carry beyond Donny’s ear.

“All these boys?” Andy added. “Well, they do that with their boyfriends, and some of them were forced, like you were about to be.”

“You can say it,” Donny said. He spoke in a normal tone, and the others heard. “I was about to have his stinkin’ dick shoved down my throat until he spurted in me. Then, he would have slapped me and beat me and if I said anything to anyone, he would have killed me. That’s what they do.

“How come you don’t know that, and where are we going. We’re moving, aren’t we?

“And how can you have a boyfriend?”

The pilot’s voice came over the Tannoy. “Approaching Charleston; landing on Flight Deck 3 in two minutes. Thank you for flying Golden Geek Spaceways.”

“Flying?” Donny asked, and fainted.

 

The Deputy wasn’t happy about being captive of a bunch of boys, and certainly didn’t want to talk to them, but a few prompts from a meta who followed the man’s surface thoughts and who showed him in no uncertain terms what we did to rapists loosened his tongue. Maybe he thought we’d go easy on him if he cooperated. We didn’t, of course. But we learned a lot before we executed him.

There were more than 300 Sheriffs Ranches in what had been the USA plus Canada and part of Mexico. Each ranch had between 500 and 1,000 boys. At all the ranches, the boys farmed enough to feed themselves—and their overseers—and to send surplus, usually wheat, corn, rice, or cotton, to the Pan-Asians.

What surprised me was that each ranch was pretty much autonomous: the Sheriff made whatever rules he wanted, and if too many boys died, he telegraphed for more.

“Where did the telegraph go?” I asked.

“District headquarters,” the Deputy had said. “Ours was in Lafayette.”

More targets for sigint and imint, I thought.

 

John and I tossed that information between us while Cam, Artie, Corey, George, and Danny watched, and interjected an occasional comment or question.

“The Sheriffs may be the only force that has prevented the Army from taking control; the Army is the only thing that’s prevented the Sheriffs from taking control,” John said.

“The Reverends would be the third leg of that tripod,” I suggested.

“No, they’re balanced precariously atop a two-legged stool,” John said.

What will happen if we defeat the Reverends’ Army? Are we going to have to defeat the Sheriffs, too? I wondered. More questions than answers.

 

None of Artie’s boys had been on Sheriffs Ranches, but they were from the same world as Donny. We put him with a couple his age, and kept a close watch on him. Within a week, he had adapted to being in a space ship. By the end of the second week, he had a boyfriend, even though at nine, they were too young for much more than cuddles.

 

California Kidnap

 

“Team California needs humint,” George said. “And we’ve got a plan.”

He outlined a mission to kidnap someone from the Monterey headquarters. “We’d like to get the man Terry met at Fatima,” he said, “but we’ve not been able to identify him. Our next best choice is someone from the communications center, ’cause we figure he’ll know more than the average person. And, because it’s in a good location.”

“Here’s the comm center,” Alex said, pointing on the screen to a building at the edge of the complex. “We’ve traced telegraph lines coming into it, and are sure it’s the center.”

Danny continued the briefing. “There are at least a dozen men assigned duty there. One of their shift changes is at 2300. We think we can kidnap one of the men coming off duty shortly after that.”

It was a good plan, although there was some risk of being detected, which would have violated one of the Prime Directives.

“If you’re observed?” I asked.

Danny looked at George who looked at Alex, and then at me. “It’s worth the risk,” George said. Daddy? We can’t never take a chance, he sent.

“George? You’re right,” I said. “I understand the risk, and approve. And thank you, all, for not being afraid . . . ”

Ain’t scared of you, Daddy, George deliberately misinterpreted what I’d said. When he felt my reaction, he giggled.

* * * * *

“It is possible that someone saw the shuttle departing,” George said. “We were about fifteen minutes behind schedule. The moon was about to rise, and the sky was brighter than we’d expected. Still, nothing we’ve seen, so far, suggests that we were detected.”

“Your captive?” I asked.

“A corporal, a telegraph operator, and a cryptanalyst. He knew the codes—rather, he had access to them—and could deal with encoded messages. There weren’t many of them, though. It’s as if they thought no one could intercept their messages. Given the state of their technology, that’s not a bad assessment,” Cam said.

“He wasn’t sure he should talk to us,” Danny said. “Until we said we knew Major Chastain, and owed him the life of one of our boys. This kid—the telegraph operator—opened up after that. He was afraid we would not understand that California and the Reverends weren’t alike, and that we’d attack California. We told him we knew the difference, but he made us promise to at least give his people an opportunity to negotiate before he would talk. We agreed.”

Danny’s voice made it clear: negotiation with the Army of California was his promise, and he had committed me and through me, Fleet. I felt George and Cam’s’s unity with Danny.

“You did the right thing, boys,” I said. Privately, I sent, . . . and I’m so proud of you all!

 

George turned over the telegraph operator—a corporal—to Team California. He had been a good choice, and gave us a lot of insight into the California Army and the government. There was something he was hiding from us, though. The metas could detect that, but not what it was. We guessed he still had some concern that we would invade California, and didn’t press, but we did keep an eye—physical and mental—on him.

 

Camp Santa Ana

 

“Hamish, please wait behind,” the Don said. “Everyone else except Dr. Furman may return to your tasks.”

“It will be all right,” Hamish whispered to Matthew. “I’ll be back, soon.”

Matthew nodded, and kissed Hamish’s cheek. “I’ll wait on the porch.”

Hamish had stayed in his chair but, at the Don’s gesture, sat on the couch beside the Don.

“Hamish,” the Don began. “You’re an important part of this school. You and Matthew have helped us learn a great deal about the Reverends. Now, we want to help you learn something important about yourself.”

Hamish looked at the Don, and furrowed his brow. “Something about me?”

The Don nodded, and gestured to Dr. Furman.

“Hamish, sometimes, you can feel what other people are feeling, can’t you? Sometimes, you can hear what they are thinking, some—”

“No!” Hamish said. “I am not a witch!” He tried to stand up, but the Don held him. Hamish struggled, and cried out, “No! No! You will not burn me!”

The Don pulled the boy tightly against him, and held him despite Hamish’s struggles and the blows from the boy’s fists. It was several minutes before Hamish’s struggles turned to sobs. Still the Don held him.

“Hamish?” the Don said. “You’re not a witch, and we’re not going to burn you. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” Hamish mumbled into the Don’s chest.

Dr. Furman had sat on the couch. He touched the boy’s back, and rubbed it, gently. Hamish, you know me, and you know I’m not a witch, he sent.

Hamish jerked free from the Don’s hold, turned, and stared at the doctor.

“Huh?”

Speak to me silently, Dr. Furman sent.

It’s not wrong? It’s not evil? Hamish thought.

No, Hamish, it’s not wrong. It’s a very wonderful thing. It’s not evil; it’s a very good thing. It means that you are very special. But you’ve known that, haven’t you? You’ve just been taught that it’s wrong.

“Not everyone can do this—talk to one another with their minds. I know others, elsewhere in California, but no one else here at Camp Santa Ana,” Dr. Furman said aloud, so that the Don could be part of the conversation.

“And you are right to think that some people believe it to be evil,” the Don said. “Not everyone is as smart as Dr. Furman is. Not everyone is as smart as you are. For now, you must keep this secret, even from Matthew.”

“But he already knows!” Hamish said. “He knows I know sometimes what he is thinking. He knows I killed the Deacon with my mind. He knows I know that Andrew isn’t dead for I know I would feel him die. He knows I felt the sadness and anger of millions of people during the funeral . . . ” Hamish saw—or felt—how puzzled Dr. Furman was.

“What do you mean, millions of people Hamish?”

“Matthew asked me if it really was those boys,” Hamish said. “And I said I believed it was because I felt real sadness and real anger from millions of people. It wasn’t just the boys on the ball field with us, and it wasn’t from Las Vegas. It was like it was from all over and from inside me.”

Both the Don and Dr. Furman sat quietly for several minutes.

“I don’t know what that means, Hamish,” the Don said. “But please, tell me if you ever feel anything else like that. Your corporal, Martin, can always get you in to see me, and this is important.

“And you must caution Matthew to tell no one. Not for a while. Not until we are free not only of the threat of the Reverends, but our own superstitions.”

 

First Battle for the Reverends’ World

 

Voices on the comm were angry where they were not frightened.

The icon on my screen identified a voice as a Major of Marines. I watched through the camera on his helmet. “They’re sending in children . . . they’re heavily armed. Nova sol! They’re suicide bombers. Two just blew themselves up. They’re moving toward unarmed civilians. We cannot allow them to reach their targets.” The major’s horror at what he would order his men to do was palpable.

“We’ve tried to stun the children with rubber bullets but they must have a dead-man switch. As soon as they fall, they explode.” That was Artie.

I switched channels and asked Corey to report. “We’ve stopped the tanks,” he said, but they’re set to detonate when disabled or have a suicide switch. As soon as we knock the treads off of one, it blows up.”

The next voice was George’s. “An Army major ordered the entire village to be executed rather than allow us to liberate it. The civilians were already lined up. The Army used Gatling guns. We had to kill the Army troops; they wouldn’t surrender. Some of the civilians survived, and medics are working. We’re going to need medevac.”

And then I felt the bullet hit Danny . . .

 

I stepped out of the VR chamber and stripped off my helmet. It took every bit of self-control I had not to throw it to the floor. I clenched it in my fist, and gritted my teeth.

“How certain are we that they would do these things?”

Cam answered. “Everything we learned from Terry, John, Andrew, Artie and his boys. Everything we’ve picked up from the Reverends’ televisor, from the telegraph and from the captives. Tobor programmed the simulators.”

I’m sorry, Daddy, Tobor said. I guess I messed up—

No, son, I sent. You did well with what you had. This isn’t your fault; it’s mine. I rushed, I was too anxious.

“Anything new from any source?” I asked Cam.

Cam shook his head.

* * * * *

I wasn’t surprised to get the call from Admiral Davis. He knew about the exercise, and could easily have linked to it from his desk in Geneva.

“Paul? What went wrong?”

“Sir, I went too fast and asked the planners to model the strategy, tactics, and behavior of the Reverends’ forces based on inadequate information.

Davis nodded. “You did with what you had, Paul. Lesson learned. How to you plan to solve it?”

My stomach iced. Humint was still unacceptable.

“You’re still reluctant to insert humint resources. Have you looked closely at your own motivation? Are you being overly-protective of your people?”

“Yes sir. I mean, yes, I’ve examined my motivation, but no, its not being overly protective. I do not want anyone on that world to find out our capabilities, not yet, at least. They’re bound to, eventually, if we continue to interact with them, but not now, not yet.”

Davis looked hard at me, and then said, “Your call, Paul. May I offer a suggestion?”

“Yes, sir, please . . . ”

“Turn George loose,” he said. He laughed at the expression on my face, and closed the circuit.

Kevin, my XO and head of Intel was standing beside my desk. I turned to him.

“Ask George to get us a couple of Reverends’ Army officers—field grade, at least. Strip them of everything they know, and then tweak the simulation,” I said. “And we’ll try, again.”

 

Winding Road, West Virginia

 

Cam’s screams woke Maudi.

“It hurts!”

When Maudi tried to comfort him, Cam lashed out. His reaction was physical rather than mental, and the force of his blows triggered Maudi’s own fears. Within seconds, every meta on the Charleston was awake. A few moments later, and four of them had reached Cam and Maudi’s room and were holding the two boys tightly lest they hurt each other, or themselves.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Cam and Maudi calmed down enough that George could question them.

I was awakened, too, but when I realized that George was there, I kept myself out of the situation. Until George called a meeting. A dozen or us gathered in my Ready Room.

 

“There’s a meta down there,” George said. “At least, a telepath.”

“We guessed that there might be some, given how Andrew and Artie and a few of his boys have developed, but we also guessed that like on our Earth in the Mujahedeen and religious territories, the genes might have been removed from the gene pool by the practice of killing witches and others suspected of having powers,” Danny said.

“Where?” I asked.

“In our world, it would be Winding Road, West Virginia. Down there, it’s an unnamed coal mining town: about 500 houses on dirt streets, a chapel, a ‘company store,’ a Sheriff’s station, train depot, power plant, and Army barracks,” Alex reported, pointing to each feature in the image on the briefing screen.

“The meta?”

“He’s the Reverend’s catamite,” George said. “He was being raped. That’s what Cam felt.”

I looked at the graphic that showed time on the Earth of F-U. It was dark in West Virginia, and would be for several hours.

“Do not let anyone see your shuttle; do not let anyone be captured. Rescue the boy.

“If you can, bring me the Reverend.”

That’s all I said. George was capable of planning within those constraints.

 

Cam was the most sensitive, and Maudi had felt and seen what Cam had sensed. Artie, too, was able to relate to the boy. He was frightened, of course. Being smothered by the concern and love of a score or more boys helped a lot. When Cam felt the boy had overcome his fear, he brought him into my ready room, and showed him through the window his Earth, below. Cam had waited until North America was in full daylight.

The boy gasped before he knew what he was looking at. I understood. It was the shear beauty of the “blue marble.” I felt the boy’s heartbeat and respiration pick up as Cam pushed, slowly and gently, an explanation of what the boy was seeing.

“It’s not flat, is it?” were the boy’s first words.

Cam looked at me for the answer.

“No, Douglas, it’s round, a ball” I said.

“What else did Reverend Path tell me that is a lie?”

Cam giggled. “Probably everything,” he said. “But don’t worry, I promise that we will never lie to you, in any way.”

Douglas nodded his understanding and smiled his trust.

 

I didn’t want any of the Geeks, and certainly not Artie or Douglas, anywhere near when I interrogated the Reverend. As soon as I’d satisfied myself that he had raped a child, his life was no longer his, it was mine.

We had determined that the range of our telepathy was well more than the 250,000 or so miles between our orbit and the surface of a planet. We’d determined that by conversations with Dr. Adams—who was still running CERN-Higgs. Of course, we didn’t know if the distance through the rift was line of sight, or if our thoughts went through or bypassed the rift. Something else for the to-do list.

This meant that there was no practical way for me to get far enough away from the others to block my thoughts. I issued an order that no one was to “listen in” on my conversation with Reverend Path and that they were to do everything in their power not to listen. That was the best I could do, and given our trust, it was sufficient.

 

Ship’s security brought Reverend Path to my ready room. He had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. He blustered.

“I don’t know what you are thinking, but you’d better release me. The Army doesn’t have this kind of authority—”

“We’re not your army,” I said.

I felt him think Inquisition and, unless I was mistaken, felt his anal sphincter tighten. Better than the alternative, I thought.

“Nor are we the Inquisition.”

His relief was short-lived as I added, “We’re much more powerful and much less kind-hearted than either of those organizations.”

I touched the button that would open the shutters on the window that overlooked Earth. It was daylight on the American hemisphere.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“What? A map—”

“Not a map; that is your world.”

His shock when he realized that I was telling the truth was enough to open his mind to me completely.

His mind? Let me put it this way. When I was a cadet at Edmonton and we went on maneuvers in the mountains, each night we’d dig a trench latrine. We’d squat over the trench to poop, and stand beside it to piss. Each morning, before we left, we’d draw straws. The loser got to fill it in. This Reverend’s mind was worse than any of those trench latrines. It literally stank. At least, that’s the way I interpreted it.

He did provide a lot of information, though. Douglas was not from Winding Road, but from a town in Ohio. He’d been identified by the Reverend, there, and sent to Winding Road. That was standard procedure: isolate the boys from their families, from that which was familiar. It was part of the process of breaking them down, and something that was taught at Lynchburg where this man had been trained as a Reverend.

He confirmed what we’d learned earlier, that each Reverend received an annual trip to one of several “fleshpots.” I was disgusted to learn that Las Vegas wasn’t the only one, and added Miami and Chicago to our target list.

His training had consisted mostly of how to speak and how to use tools of propaganda. His sermons were prepared months in advance, and delivered by packet, although he was expected to expound on current topics delivered to the serfs by televisor. Yes, serfs; that’s how he thought of them.

He whined a bit at the unfairness of his being held responsible for production from the coal mine, especially since he had little control over the men.

“The Sheriff has all the control, but he doesn’t have to listen to me.”

“What is the purpose of the Army troops in your town?” I asked.

“To sit around and eat and sleep, unless there’s a riot. That’s the only thing that would get their attention.”

“Does that happen often?”

“It had better not, or the Army commander would lose his position,” Path said.

The only pay he received was food and clothing—that and knowing he didn’t have to work in the mines. There was no retirement plan: like everyone, he was expected to work until he died.

Medical treatment for the general population was nearly non-existent except for some pre-natal care and midwives. Got to keep the population up, I thought, and remembered what Lt. Evans had said about inbreeding. I asked Path about that, but he had no knowledge—and a distain for the question and the serfs.

“What about you? The Army?”

I learned that there was an Army medic—I thought medical corpsman—who could patch up minor injuries and perform some dental services. But only for the Army, the Sheriffs men, and for the Reverend.

“What would have happened to Douglas?” I asked.

“If he could learn to read and write, he might be sent to Lynchburg to be trained. That’s how I was selected.” He seemed proud of that. I let that be his last thought, and killed him with my mind, but without all the mess I’d created on the beach at Tripoli.

 

Meta Meeting

 

“We will continue periodic overflights of our Earth and of the Reverends’ Earth. Cam, you and Maudi are our best meta-detectors. I know that will take you away from other duties. At the moment, I can think of nothing more important. Once we’ve completed several sweeps of the Reverends’ Earth, we will reduce the frequency of the overflights.

“George, you will assemble a dozen kidnap teams. Each will have one meta and one of Corey’s people armed with a phaser. The other members of the team should probably be Marines, simply because there are so few metas. Do not rush headlong into this task, but take time to train and integrate your teams.”

“What—?” George was startled, and Corey no less so. I’d not discussed this with them.

“These teams will begin freeing Reverends’ catamites in randomly selected towns and villages throughout their territory. The boys will be taken to the Hope for medical treatment and psychological counseling. When the doctors say we may, we’ll question them, and perhaps recruit them into Fleet.

“Bring the Reverends, too, where you can. Kill them and conceal or utterly destroy their bodies where you cannot bring them here. They will be interrogated to find out where the boy came from in hopes that we may, someday, be able to return them to their parents. We may execute the Reverends or imprison them, depending on what we learn. We’ll have to have some prisons, eventually.” I made a mental note to get that information to Admiral Davis. There weren’t many prisons on Earth, and Fleet operated very few of those.

“It is essential that the shuttles that transport these teams not be seen. It is essential that none of our people fall into the hands of the enemy.” This was, I think, the first time I’d referred to the Reverends as the enemy.

“Do not remove anything but the children and the Reverends. As far as the rest of them know, these people will simply have disappeared.

“And, we will take advantage of that.”

“Defections! They’ll think these people defected to . . . well, to someone!”

“Exactly,” I said. “We’re going to make them think there is a movement, perhaps a fifth column, of defectors.”

 

George was happy that I’d given him command, and made sure I knew when he appointed Andy and Daffyd to command two of the teams.

 

“Paul?” Admiral Davis said once the secure link was established. “Let me guess. George has done something I need to know about just in case, or you’ve got another unusual request.”

“The latter, sir. I’m going to need some prison space.”

I knew Admiral Davis didn’t like dramatic pauses, so I continued without a break.

“We’re going to kidnap Reverends in smaller towns and villages and rescue their catamites. Eventually, I plan on a rate of perhaps 20—25 per week. We’ll be treating the boys in the Hope, but we’ll need a place to lock up the adults who survive.”

“Those who survive.” That was not a question. Still, I treated it as if it were one.

“They will be interrogated by one of us.” Davis understood that one of us meant a meta.

“Afterwards, any who have committed a capital crime—such as rape of a child—will be executed. I expect that to include many of them. Others will be imprisoned.”

I didn’t tell Davis about the second part of the plan: the fake fifth column. That was the sort of thing that belonged in a routine report. Davis didn’t want to wait, apparently.

“That’s going to cause some consternation, isn’t it?” he asked.

“That’s what we’re counting on, sir. We’re hoping they’ll believe these people are defecting to some sort of underground resistance organization.”

“You’ll be leaving clues to that effect?”

“Actually, sir, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Admiral Davis chuckled as he signed off. I think he was pleased to know that he could still think ahead of me.

 

Reverend’s Army Tactics: Briefing

 

“Our belief that the Reverends’ Army would use child suicide bombers was correct. That had been based on what we can only call field trials at a base in Utah. It was confirmed by our captives.” Kevin began the briefing. He studiously avoided looking at Artie, who had commanded bomb-laden children in the First Battle for Las Vegas. Artie and I had talked a lot about that. He understood that no one blamed him for the children’s deaths. He agreed that we would never have to do that, again.

 

Blowing up disabled tanks was not confirmed, although we had seen what appeared to be tests. Cam agreed to theorize, and suggested that what we saw may have been demolition team training.

“We’ll continue to watch for that,” Kevin continued. “Executing an entire town rather than allow it to be liberated would be up to the local commander, but is judged to be 75% probable if the local commander thought his troops were about to be attacked by us. Killing the civilians would allow the Army to fight an invading force without having to worry about an attack from their rear.”

“This does not change the simulation sufficiently to alter the outcome,” Danny relayed for Tobor since there were non-metas in the audience.

This data about the Reverends’ Army wouldn’t change the outcome of the simulation. Something had to change, however. My strategy. But I was at a loss to decide what or how.

 

Signs and Portents

John, who had adopted the last name Patmos, perhaps in response to the boys’ gentle teasing, asked to speak to me. He was still the greatest humint asset we had, so I invited him to my ready room. Naturally, Danny and George were there for security. Cam and Kevin joined us. I offered coffee; John declined. I offered water and he accepted.

“I’ve not grown accustomed to the taste of your coffee,” he said. “Coffee was rare, and even that which I served the Reverends was—weak, I suppose—compared to yours.”

“Where did the coffee come from?” Cam asked.

“Trade with the southern continent,” John said.

“Which countries?” Cam asked.

“I’m sorry, I do not know,” John said.

“John, you asked for this meeting but so far, all we’ve done is ask questions. What may we do for you?” I asked.

“Something I might do for you, rather,” John said. “Your staff asked me to look at a copy of the Bible from your world. There are differences in many verses between it and the Bible used by the Reverends. Andrew and I were able to identify some of those differences, usually minor differences in wording. There is another difference, however. I did not at first realize its significance. However, the more I learn of your world and the Enlightenment, the more I understand what might be important.

“The Bible from which the Reverends preach does not contain either the Book of Daniel or the Book of Revelation, although they know about both.”

“What is the significance of those books?” I asked.

“They describe The End Times, when the Lord God in the Person of His Son will return to Earth, when Satan will be unleashed for the final battle, when the dead will be resurrected, and when all promises will be fulfilled.”

“And the Reverends don’t preach this?”

“They teach nothing associated with the End Times. Their message is simply, ‘suffer in this life, and go to heaven when you die,’ ” John compressed thousands of words of theology into a succinct phrase.

“They do use the phrase, the Number of the Beast, but they say nothing about what it means, other than evil. The Number of the Beast is described in Revelation. That is the book written by John of Patmos. I’m sorry I didn’t understand earlier how important this might be.”

“But the Reverends know about the End Times?” Cam asked.

John nodded. “At least, the most senior, and perhaps them all. I asked the Reverend George brought to us from Moapa; he was familiar with both Daniel and Revelation, which he read during his training, but which he was told not to preach.”

“Cam?” I asked. “Would you put a team on this? And John, would you accept a position on that team?”

Cam and John agreed, and John was surprised when, two weeks later, he received his first pay. “John, I have authority to hire civilian experts. And, I do know that the workman is worthy of his hire.”

I think I surprised him with that statement.

 

Chapter End Notes: Paul said to John Patmos that “the workman is worthy of his hire.” The complete verse (I Timothy 5:18) reads, “For the scripture saith, Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn. And, the labourer is worthy of his reward.” Where the scripture sayeth this is open to question. The first part is from Deuteronomy 25:4. The second part appears to have been made up by the author of I Timothy who was almost certainly not the Apostle Paul. See Bart D. Ehrman’s Forged: Writing in the Name of God, Harper Collins, 2011 (Kindle Edition).