0300 Book 3 - 5. Chapter 5: The Funeral

Chapter 5: The Funeral

USS Charleston—Intel Team Meeting

The Flag Intel Team meeting was scheduled for 1200 hours. As far as my Chief Mess Steward was concerned, that was the worst possible time. He and his men started fixing pizza at 0900. The table was covered with platters of pizza when Marty started the briefing.

“The Scudder’s telegraph network, and those of the Sheriffs and the Army, use Morse code. It’s exactly like what was developed in our universe and is still used by amateur radio operators. We’ve found enough of those in the task force to transcribe the traffic we’ve been able to intercept—”

“Couldn’t that be done easily and more accurately by computer?” one of the boys asked.

“I asked the same question,” Marty said. “The radio guys told me that they—but not a computer—could recognize an individual’s fist, his style of telegraphy. We don’t know the names of the operators, but we have identified them and correlated them with the messages they send. It’s one more piece of the puzzle and it gives about 100 of our people a reason to be proud of their participation.”

Speaking of pride: I was inordinately proud of Marty at that moment; he and the other Geeks could feel that.

“The fourth network,” Marty continued, “uses Morse, as well, but it’s encoded. The network is sparse, as is the traffic. We are still trying to break the code.”

That last statement was a bit of a surprise. Bobby had proven Goldbach’s conjecture that every even integer greater than 2 can be expressed as the sum of two prime numbers. In doing so, he also discovered that all our modern encryption systems—which relied on prime numbers—were vulnerable. So far, the only ones who knew were the Geeks—including Tobor—and Admiral Davis.

Cam picked up with his analysis. “We know that there are three, and perhaps four groups in the Reverends’ territory that share power. We’ve identified three: the Reverends, the Army, and the Sheriffs. We still do not know about the Arcana,” Cam said. The team had given that nickname to the group that coded their messages—“arcana” means hidden, and so far, they were entirely hidden from us. We knew nothing about them.

“We don’t know who are the Arcana, and what are their goals; much less what are the relationships among the four groups. Are the Reverends in control as it appeared to Artie’s people? Is the Army, which has the weapons, in control? Who are these Sheriffs? Are they all being manipulated by the Arcana? We need more information,” Cam concluded.

Humint? flashed through the link among the telepaths.

George answered that unspoken question. “Do you think,” he asked, “that we could kidnap someone? Do you think we could do that without revealing ourselves?”

George was always eager for action. The last time, he had risked getting himself in trouble. He’d been right then, and he was right, now.

Plans to kidnap someone from the Reverend’s universe had to be put on hold, however, for something more immediate. We were going to hold a funeral for Artie’s boys who had been killed or died from wounds received in the Battle of Las Vegas—what we privately were calling the “First Battle for Las Vegas.”

2009-02-15 The Funeral

The Funeral would be broadcast live over Fleetnet as well as the major commercial networks. George said we should hijack Al Jihadi. I vetoed that idea, but suggested to Admiral Davis they be offered a feed. They turned us down and that was the end of it.

The ceremony on the Charleston was not part of the broadcast in the Reverends’ universe, but a few days before the funeral we did seize the Reverends’ televisor network and broadcast Artie telling the Reverends’ people to “watch the skies” over Las Vegas. Then, on the Reverends’ Sabbath, we seized the network again, and broadcast scenes of the boys’ bodies entering their Earth’s atmosphere and burning. We had sent shuttles equipped with video cameras through the rift and stationed them in the mountains west of Las Vegas rather than broadcast images that were obviously made from space.

We didn’t try to put the scenes onto the televisor networks of the Pan-Asians or the Mujahedeen of that world. We’d already discovered that they intercepted, and sometimes re-broadcast, what the Reverends transmitted, although they redacted it heavily and added their own spin.

I knew I could not participate in the Funeral. I used as an excuse that the veil would not protect my image as a twenty-year-old from a worldwide audience. I could have done that with Tobor’s help, but there was another reason: I knew that my sons were going to adopt two of the dead children from the Battle of Las Vegas, and I knew that my sons were much stronger than I was. I would not have been able to speak as they did without tears, and that would never have done.

2009-02-15 California After the Funeral

Camp Santa Ana

“Were those really the boys who died?”

“I didn’t believe it until I counted them. Exactly sixty-eight. Just like Artie said. It had to be. How else . . . ?”

“Artie wasn’t lying. He would never lie to us!”

“He didn’t know he was talking to us. He thought he was talking to the Reverends. Maybe he was lying to them.”

“Don’t you dare say that!”

“Who were they? Who were the sixty-eight?”

“Who lived? Where are they?”

“Will we ever know?”

“Will we ever see Artie and the others again?”

Hamish and I were in the mess hall with the rest of our squad drinking orange juice. There were cookies, too, but no one felt like eating cookies. It was still an hour until we had to be in bed with the lights out—something they called taps. There was a pretty bugle call at taps. It was kind of peaceful. I tugged Hamish’s arm.

“Hamish? Was the fire really . . . ?” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Was the fire really the bodies of dead boys? The friends of our friends?

“Yes, Matthew,” Hamish said, and hugged me. I knew he could feel how sad I was, but we could never, never let anyone know that he could feel me that way.

“Yes, Matthew, it was just what Artie said it would be.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I felt a great sadness, and a great anger, as if millions of people were sad and angry at the same time. It was real, but I don’t know where it came from.”

Monterey, California

The Headquarters of the California Intelligence Agency was located on the Monterrey Peninsula in what once had been a Catholic girls’ school. The California Liberation Army had assumed control of the property—and the large number of peacocks that occupied the grounds—and made it their headquarters.

The telegraph in the communication center stopped clattering; the operator handed a message form to the Colonel who had been looking over his shoulder.

Fire fell from the sky over Las Vegas as promised. Sixty-eight ‘shooting stars’ singly and in groups of two or three over a period of about thirty minutes. Renaldo. ENDIT

“Thank you,” the Colonel said. “This is classified Ultra Secret.”

The Colonel rushed from the room, and barely heard the operator’s Yes, sir.

Hours later, the screams of peacocks announced sunrise, but the Senior Committee of the CIA had reached no conclusions.

2009-02-16 The Arcana; Monday after the Funeral

... quoniam punitio non refertur primo et per se in correctionem et bonum eius qui punitur, sed in bonum publicum ut alij terreantur, et a malis committendis avocentur.

"... for punishment does not take place primarily and only for the correction and good of the person punished, but for the public good in order that others may become terrified and weaned away from the evils they would commit."
—1578 Handbook for Inquisitors,
Earth Analogues I, II, III, IV, VI, VII

His uniform was pearl gray. His grade insignia of four silver stars would have been familiar to people in many realities. His title would have caused fear in some of those realities: Colonel-General of the Congregation of the Holy Office of the Inquisition.

Paul Stewart would have recognized the title from history. The Inquisition had begun in his world in 1184 C.E., and continued until the forces of the Enlightenment—not armies, but ideas, reason, logic, and science—in the eighteenth and early nineteenth century had put a stop to the Catholic Inquisition’s witch hunts, torture of innocents, and immolation of people unjustly accused of heresy.

Corey Long would have recognized the title: the Holy Office of the Inquisition continued in his world until 1870, and was responsible for the Salem witchcraft trials of the 1690s. The Enlightenment had not taken hold in U-Long until the early twentieth century. Then, as if it were a spring held back until that moment, the power of rational thought and science swept Corey’s world, where scientists had been elected President of the United States beginning in 1920, and faster-than-light flight had been developed in 1968.

Artie Stewart would have recognized the title, for the Inquisition was a feared force in his world. The first Reverend elected President of the United States was Neimiah Scudder who took office in 1901. He re-created the Inquisition. His son, Makepeace Scudder, who succeeded his father in 1917, expanded the Inquisition and its power. Using that Office and an army of young men, promised salvation and paradise if they died in the service of the Lord, he spread his gospel throughout much of the American continents and Europe before death removed him from office in 1950.

Hamish and Matthew would have remembered the title from their childhood, although only as a boogieman used to threaten unruly children. They had not been threatened with Inquisitors while at the Sheriff’s Ranch—the Deputies had their own methods of creating fear and ensuring obedience. Their methods didn’t require Reverends, Inquisitors, or myths.

The man in the pearl-gray uniform sat at the head of a table with twelve others in the same uniform. The Colonel-General spoke.

“You have seen the recording of the announcement; you have seen the recording of the show of fire over Las Vegas last night. Our assumption that the announcement had some legitimacy was correct, although the consensus among the Reverends Councils was—according to our agents—that it was purely propaganda.

“Start the tape.”

At the opposite end of the table, a young man wearing lieutenant’s bars turned a knob on the recorder and a televisor came to life.

“My name is Artie. I was born in Las Vegas. I never knew my father. At the age of twelve, I was taken from my mother and made a servant of the Reverends. I escaped. You have seen me on the televisor at the Battle of Las Vegas—”

The Colonel-General’s voice cut through the sound from the televisor. “You have identified him?”

The lieutenant stopped the recorder. “Yes, sir. Here is an image from our film of the battle.” He put a photograph on the stage of the opaque projector.

“Looks different. Are you sure?”

“Yes, Colonel-General,” the lieutenant said. “We brought in seven boys from the _____ Palace Casino. When put to the Question, the boys identified him positively from the tape and from this image. Only one was old enough to have known him. Apparently he escaped from Las Vegas about five years ago. Others, however, reported overhearing Reverends speaking of him as having been at the battle.”

The older man grunted, and his nostrils flared. His distaste for the activities at the _____ Palace Casino was no secret among his staff.

“Continue,” the Colonel-General said. The lieutenant turned the knob.

“ . . . Many of us were killed before the rest were rescued by those we thought to be angels in boxy aeroplanes without wings.”

“Stop,” ordered the Colonel-General. “Who flew those aeroplanes, and how did they fly without wings? We’ve had some weeks to answer those questions. The matter has become considerably more urgent.

“Colonel Bayer, what have you turned up among the Muslims?” he continued. “What is the probability that they are behind this?”

The colonel didn’t wipe away the sweat that formed on his upper lip. He thought it better not to call attention to it. Its presence did not escape the notice of the Colonel-General, however.

“Colonel-General, we have never seen this kind of technology among the Muslims. Most of them are still wiping themselves with their left hands after defecating. The only center of learning is in Medina, and the only thing that is taught there is the Quran. There are rumors of greater freedom of inquiry in Turkey, but only rumors.”

“Do you have someone in Turkey?” the Colonel-General asked.

“No, sir,” the Colonel answered. “But I will before the week is over.”

The Colonel-General was not fooled. The idiot hadn’t thought of that until now. Still, he is too valuable to replace. I must find his successor soon, though.

“Colonel Carter? The Pan-Asians?” the Colonel-General asked.

“Sir, as you know, much of the Pan-Asian Hegemony is absolutely closed to foreigners. The last three agents we placed in the trade delegation in Formosa met with accidents—no doubt created by the Pan-Asians after finding them engaged in espionage and recruiting.”

“And that’s the extent of your efforts? Do we not have citizens with Asian features who learned the language as children?” The Colonel-General’s voice was sharp with each word bitten off like bullets fired from one of the Army’s hand-cranked Gatling guns.

“Sir, we do, but the logistics . . . communication . . . their reliability and loyalty . . .” Colonel Carter sputtered.

“Colonel Carter, who is your deputy?” the Colonel-General asked. The question was rhetorical. The Colonel-General had already interviewed the man.

“Major Johnson,” the colonel choked out.

“Your service is no longer needed,” the Colonel-General said. The bullet from his sidearm ended the colonel’s life before the man had a chance to understand.

“Call Major Johnson,” the Colonel-General said. “And invite him to join us.” The lieutenant who was not operating the televisor hurried to obey.

“The Jesuits,” a man with Colonel’s diamonds spoke. “The Jesuits were scientists. Have we looked in South America? Do we have any idea what’s going on in those jungles? Those mountains?”

Several of the men grimaced, but none dared meet the eyes of the Colonel-General. The Jesuits, remnants of the Catholic Church in the Americas, were a lance in the man’s side. The colonel who had spoken was powerful, though. He was the Grand Inquisitor, the direct supervisor of an army of torturers and, some said, a cousin of the Colonel-General.

“Do you have men to send there, Colonel?” the Colonel-General asked. “Can you send enough men there to make a difference?”

“Probably not, sir, but they may get lucky.” The colonel took his superior’s question as authority to act. “They’ll be on the way by tomorrow morning.”

“What do our Jewish scientists say?” the Colonel-General asked.

The man who answered this question wore the same pearl-gray uniform as the others at the table, but without rank insignia. His lapels displayed crossed flags, one white with a red square in the center, the other red with a white square in the center. A golden torch was positioned vertically in the center of the insignia. The Intelligence branches of both the Inquisition and the Army had for reasons lost to history adopted the symbol of the Signal Corps.

“The Miami group has focused on the video, itself. They believe that the signal from Lynchburg was broken at key points, and the replacement signal substituted. They believe the clarity of the signal is due to higher power. They have recommended stationing guards at the microwave towers and searching the paths between towers for generating equipment which they say must be large and relatively immobile.”

“Which towers, and where?” the Colonel-General demanded.

“They cannot say without having a complete diagram of the network, sir.”

“Well give it to them, then! What are you afraid of? They’re secure, aren’t they?”

“Yes sir. The Miami ghetto is completely locked down at night, and although women are allowed to leave during the daytime, we search them, and we keep their children hostage.”

“Then give them what they need.”

The intelligence officer-scientist continued. “The Chicago group is convinced that the aeroplanes and the weapons are using what they call atomic power. We have sent them samples of the metal from the tanks that were destroyed, metal from the plates that were struck by the lightning weapons, but they have found nothing unusual.”

“What is this atomic power,” the Colonel-General asked.

“Most likely, something they dreamed up in order to get more resources,” the scientist said. “They claim that they can harness the power of the sun.” He snorted.

Too valuable despite his closed mind, the Colonel-General thought. He waved his hand for the lieutenant who operated the televisor to continue.

“ . . . the adopted son of Commodore Paul Stewart, Commander of Task Force Rift.”

“Stop! Commodore is a naval rank. Who but the Pan-Asians has a navy large enough to have a commodore? Stewart is not a Pan-Asian name. What does this mean?”

“The Pan-Asians do not use the rank of Commodore,” Major Johnson asserted. “If they did, they would say Comrade Commodore.”

“Then we shall assume that much of his message is a bluff,” the Colonel-General said. “Until we know more,” he added, and waved again to the lieutenant.

“ . . . to honor their sacrifice, we will send their bodies from the heavens back to Earth. They will fall through the air above Earth. The speed of their fall will cause them to burn.”

The Colonel-General looked at the scientist and raised his eyebrows.

“Sir, we believe that the air of the Earth extends only some miles above the surface. We also know that rocks, called meteorites, sometimes fall from the Heavens to the Earth, and that they become heated in their fall. Some burn up before reaching the surface; others land on the Earth. We do not know why this would happen.

“What fell over Las Vegas was nothing more than rocks.”

The Colonel-General stared at the scientist for a moment, restraining his anger. When he felt in control of himself, he asked. “And if they were rocks? From how high would they have to release them in order for them to burn?”

The scientist shook his head. “I will ask the Jewish scientists.”

“Turn it off,” the Colonel-General told the lieutenant. We know the rest is purely propaganda.”

All had left save the Colonel-General and the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant rewound the tape on the recorder, and shut off the televisor and the opaque projector.

“Lieutenant Thackery,” the Colonel-General surprised the young man. “You were told during your training that the Earth was the center of the universe, and that the sun, moon, and planets were fixed in crystal spheres between Earth and the firmament, and that those spheres rotated around the Earth.”

The lieutenant nodded. “Yes, sir.” One eyebrow twitched, but otherwise his face remained passive.

The Colonel-General looked for sweat or nervousness, but found none. “You were told that Jews paint their doorposts with the blood of Christian babies to keep the angel of death away.”

The Colonel-General paused, and the young lieutenant nodded, again.

“What do you think of that?”

“Sir, I was taught those things,” the young man said. “I was also taught to question and to learn from my questioning. I believe those stories are propaganda designed for the illiterate serfs.”

When the Colonel-General said nothing, the lieutenant continued. “I was also taught that the Bible says that Earth is flat,” he said. “But I know this not to be true. The Holy Book says that four angels stood on the four corners of Earth; but a sphere does not have corners, and Earth is a sphere. The Bible says that Satan took the Christ to a high place from which He could see all the kingdoms of the Earth, another proof that Earth is flat. But Earth is a sphere.”

“You know this, how?” the Colonel-General demanded.

“The evidence of my senses. The shape of the shadow of Earth as it passes over the moon during an eclipse. The falling away of land with distance. Stories of how ships’ masts seem to drop below the horizon as they sail away.”

“And the blood of children?”

“A story hardly worth consideration or comment.”

“Boy! I hope that your mouth is not usually quite so quick to speak,” the Colonel-General said.

Now, perspiration did form on the lieutenant’s forehead, but he showed no other sign of nervousness. “No, sir,” he said. “But you are not like the others.”

“Never fear to speak your mind to me,” the Colonel-General said.

“No sir, I won’t. Whether they were rocks or bodies, this Colonel Stewart knew the exact number. Whether they were rocks or bodies, they had to reach some great height,” the lieutenant said. “It may give us some information about the capabilities of these boxy aeroplanes.”

“Yes, although it seems to have escaped our chief scientist.”

Emboldened by the Colonel-General’s words, the Lieutenant continued. “Sir? Were the boys from the _____ Palace Casino asked if they recognized anyone other than Artie?”

The Colonel-General frowned, and the lieutenant was afraid until the man spoke. “A good question, which was not asked, and which I shall pose to the inquisitors. You, however, have a more important role. You are to travel to Chicago with this letter. Speak to the Jewish scientists. Learn about this atomic thing, and bring the knowledge back to me. Time is important, but understanding is perhaps even more so.”