0300 Book 3 - 6. Chapter 6: Reunion

Chapter 6: Reunion

2009-02-16 Las Vegas Reverends’ Council

In a large, bright room on an upper floor of the _____ Palace Casino, thirteen men in black—save for the narrow strip of white at their collars—sat around a table. A fat man in a green robe went from place to place, serving coffee laced with Irish whiskey and topped with whipped cream onto which crème de menthe was drizzled. At one end of the room, a televisor replayed something the men already had seen many times.

“We’re not going to see anything new!” One of the older men said. The younger men knew better than to complain, but a couple tightened their lips, and nodded.

“Watch it, anyway,” the Senior said.

“ . . . those we thought to be angels.” The voice was that of a boy wearing a gray and black uniform.

“He said we thought to be angels!” One of the younger men said. “He knows they were not angels!”

“Of course they’re not angels, idiot. There are no such things as angels,” the man at the head of the table said. His voice softened. “But that’s a good point. He left open the possibility that there are angels, and that he and his rag-tag army had been rescued by angels. That’s a point we must counter.”

“Doesn’t look rag-tag to me,” an older man said. “That uniform is clean and neat. His insignia are bright. The boy has been well fed. He looks a lot better than he did in the video of the battle.”

“His allies have provided him with food and a clean uniform. So what?”

“His allies have the resources not only to overpower our televisor signals, but the surplus to give him a new uniform.” A younger man said. “The Army does not have uniforms of that quality.”

“One uniform does not a surplus make!” the man at the head of the table exclaimed.

“Who are these allies? And what are their capabilities?”

“They have aeroplanes without wings.”

“They have weapons that shoot fire that is hot enough to melt a hole in the Army’s tanks.”

“They can overpower our televisors and broadcast their own signal.”

“Their signal is stronger than ours.”

“We know all this,” the senior man said. “The Scudder wants more than that from this Council! What does the Holy Office say?”

“They say the rescuers were demons, that we should bring these demons to them for exorcism, but beyond that, they have no responsibility.”

“Goddamn it! They know there are no such things as demons! How can they give that answer?”

The men knew the answer: the Holy Office was powerful. Their authority came from the Scriptures and the Inquisitors’ Handbook. They may not have believed in angels or demons, but they operated as if they did. To challenge them was to challenge God.

“How many of those boxy aeroplanes were there?”

One of the younger men spoke. “From the video, we counted eighteen. Survivors reported anywhere from ten to more than a hundred.”

“What do you think?” the man at the head of the table asked.

“Sir, I can only report . . . “

“You can damn well do better than that, if you want to keep your position!”

“Fifty, sir,” the young man said. “The best estimate is fifty.”

“The Scudder wants something to counter the propaganda of the message as well as something to explain the fire over Las Vegas,” the Senior said.

“He said he would refute that in his speech, tonight,” another spoke.

“He will deny it,” the Senior said. “However, he wants more than words.”

“Fatima,” one of the younger men said.

“What?”

“Fatima. A miracle witnessed by 50,000 of the faithful. A miracle involving the sky and fire from the sky.”

“Go on,” the Senior said. He knew the story, but suspected that most of the others did not.

“In the Year of our Lord 1917, in Portugal, fifty thousand pilgrims—perhaps more—saw the sun tear itself from the sky, and come crashing down upon them. None were killed, some were blinded, and the story of this miracle propped up the Catholic Church’s resistance to us on the Iberian Peninsula for a decade or more.

“The best explanation is mass hysteria brought on by stories and instructions to stare at the sun. We know that if someone stares at a light for a while, it will seem to move, although it is only his eyeballs twitching. We know that if someone stares at the sun for long enough, he will be blinded. Put those things together with a good story, and you can create a miracle.”

“I like it,” the Senior said. “Make it happen. I will notify the Scudder.”

After the men had left, the man in green, who had waited in a corner of the room, collected the glasses and carefully wiped the sticky liquor that had spilled onto the table. When he returned to his room, he took paper and pen from a drawer, and began to write.

2009-02-16 USS Charleston

Dropping the veil and allowing the boys to appear on televised conferences and briefings had introduced them to the members of the Task Force. These briefings were classified, and disseminated on a strict need-to-know basis. Therefore, very few people outside the Task Force, Admiral Davis’s staff, and the Fleet Council knew about the youngsters on the Flag Intel Team.

There was something else I had to do. When I recruited Alex, I had thought his father wouldn’t forget him. That was two and a half years ago. I knew that Alex’s father had grown distant from the boy, and that communication between them had dried up. I was resolved to correct that.

I sent a message to Admiral Davis, orders were issued, and within 24 hours, Lieutenant Commander Don Tremaine, then serving as Helmsman of the USS Enterprise, arrived on a shuttle. Alex was the only person waiting on the flight deck.

Lieutenant Commander Tremaine stepped off the shuttle and saluted. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Daddy?” Alex said, and pushed gently. The man’s eyes widened. He dropped his salute and opened his arms, which were quickly filled with an eleven-year-old boy whose eyes suddenly ran over with happy tears.

Alex brought his dad to my Ready Room, where George, Danny, and I were waiting. Seeing the three of us was enough to open Alex’s dad’s memories.

“We weren’t sure, before,” I said. “And we were wrong. Now, however, we’re almost certain that you will not forget Alex. We will, however, monitor your communication and if they become too sparse, will ensure you are reunited more often.”

Alex’s dad nodded. “I understand. I also understand what you did when you recruited Alex, and why. What has happened has been for—how did you put it? For humanity, for Fleet, and for Alex’s brothers.”

He turned to Alex, and said, “I also remember that I wanted you to have a chance to go it alone, and I’m so very proud of what you’ve done, son.”

I had not asked him to forgive me, but with those words he did so.

One-at-a-time, thereafter, we brought to the Charleston those boys’ fathers who were in Fleet, and reintroduced them to their sons. Mothers, brothers, and sisters, as well as fathers not in Fleet would have to come later. I talked to the boys who were affected, and they understood, and then demanded daddy-hugs from me.

2009-02-17 Mt. Zion

The instruments of torture used by the Inquisitors were little changed from those created early in the fourth century by the Catholic Church: thumbscrews, the Judas chair whose point tore the anus of the boy forced to sit atop it, and strappado by which boys were hoisted into the air by hands tied behind their back. These devices required time to be effective. The men who had received the Colonel-General’s tasking found the whip named Gabriel’s Hand to be a simpler way of creating pain, and their own penises as effective as the Judas chair.

Of the seven boys from the _____ Palace Casino, only five had survived the initial interrogation. A minor detail, thought the Grand Inquisitor’s deputy.

“Show them the video,” he said to the Inquisitors. “Find out if they recognize anyone else. When you are sure they are telling the truth, send any that live to the Colorado Springs Sheriff’s Ranch. They will be of no further use here.”

He was not reluctant to kill the boys, but knew it would be easier to ship them to the ranch than to dispose of more bodies.

The tortured boys provided more names, but they were of no consequence. The people who operated the _____ Palace Casino did not keep records. Two boys survived the torture long enough to reach the Colorado Springs Sheriff’s Ranch, but neither lived more than three days after that.

2009-02-17 Las Vegas
Roof of the _____ Palace Casino

The serf climbed slowly. The ladder, bolted to the side of the narrow shaft, was three stories in height. The air in the shaft was hot and dry. The lock on the door at the base of the shaft was probably unnecessary. It was very unlikely that any of the Reverends would want to visit this part of the hidden support systems that they took for granted.

When he reached the roof, the serf opened a door and rolled out a contraption that had been stored in a shed. The contraption was a heliograph, although he did not know that word. It included mirrors, a spring-loaded shutter, and a telescope. After the sun crossed the zenith, the serf aligned the instrument, and began transmitting the message written by the man in green.

On a mountain west of Las Vegas, the message was captured by an agent who only knew which letters to pair with the short and long patterns of the flashes of sunlight. It would take several days before a courier could get these letters to the telegraph station at Camp Santa Ana from which it would be sent to the California Intelligence Agency.

2009-02-18 Las Vegas
Senior Reverend’s Office

The face of the man in green, usually florid, was ashen. He did not relish being the messenger. He knocked lightly on the door to the Las Vegas Senior’s office, and entered.

“Sir, the worst possible news,” he said to the Senior. “Deacon Jerome is dead.”

“Dead?” the Senior asked. “How?”

“I don’t know yet, sir,” the eunuch said. “A doctor is there, now. There was a great deal of blood, sir.”

“Blood? Was he stabbed? Shot?” the Senior demanded.

“I don’t know, sir. May I go ask?”

“Of course, fool! And ensure the fewest possible people know.”

The eunuch bowed his head. A little late for that, he thought. There had been a crowd outside the Deacon’s suite, and much coming and going.

“It appears to have been a cerebral hemorrhage, sir, a ruptured blood vessel in the brain. He lost a great deal of blood in a very short time. Death was likely quick and painless.” The eunuch spoke quietly, and then bowed his head.

“Where is the other doctor, John?” he asked. “Why did he send you?”

“Sir, John is not to be found. He is missing. So are three of the boys.”

“Goddamn it!” the Senior said. “Find out exactly how the deacon died. Cut open his head if you have to.”

“An autopsy, sir? But the scriptures . . .”

“The scriptures be damned,” the Senior said. “Find out what killed him. And then burn the body—or whatever of it is left.”

The eunuch bowed and left the room. The Senior turned to his deputy. “Contact the Sheriff of Las Vegas and the Army. Tell . . . ask them to find the missing eunuch and the boys and return them—alive. Then assemble the council. We need to decide how to tell the Scudder that his son is dead.”

The Senior’s worry about how to tell the Scudder that his son was dead, perhaps murdered by a eunuch, was unnecessary. Someone had already sent a telegraphic message to Lynchburg. It was relayed from there to a town in Illinois that would be the Scudder’s next stop. The local Reverend was waiting on the platform when the train arrived, and handed the message to the Scudder.

The Scudder read the message, and then struck the Reverend who had handed it to him, knocking him off his feet. “Goddamn it! Why did this happen? How could this happen!” he grabbed the revolver from the holster of the soldier at his side and fired two shots at the fallen man.

Other soldiers, startled by the gunfire, drew their weapons. Soldiers with rifles poured from cars at the front and rear of the train. The crowd of serfs who had gathered by the station platform panicked. Two children who held flowers to have been presented to the Scudder were trampled to death.

It was never determined how the Scudder died. Some said of sorrow, some said of apoplexy. No one dared suggest that he had been shot by one of his own guards, even if the guard might have fired in self-defense.

2009-02-19 USF Charleston
Team Australia Reports

Noah was remarkably calm. Remarkably only if one didn’t understand the metas. He was not only well prepared but also linked telepathically with all of his brothers who were offering pride in his accomplishment and their support as he stepped into the limelight.

It wasn’t really limelight—we no longer burned quicklime to illuminate stages, or video studios—but the lights were bright. Noah’s insignia as Ensign, newly won, shone.

“G’day mates,” he began. “I am Ensign Noah Ainsley from Sheep Station Ainsley, Australia. I’ve been privileged to work with a number of fellow Aussies as well as men from as far away as Iceland on an assessment of the Australia of the Fundamentalist Universe.

“First, the initial assessment is correct; the Aussies of F-U—”

He blushed, but quickly recovered. “ . . . from the Fundamentalist Universe are feisty, and while they trade with the Pan Asians, the Aussies are definitely not under the Pan Asians’ thumb.

“Second, they are largely descended from a mix of people from the British Isles, including transportees and refugees.

“Third, they’re restless. We have strong indications that they would like to declare their independence from the Pan Asian hegemony, and go it on their own, including negotiating more favorable trade treaties. Our recommendation is that Fleet help them in that effort.”

Noah paused to allow folks to grasp what he was saying, and then continued. He described the Aussie’s technology—something more than the Reverends, but less than the Pan Asians. He described the people—independent and hardy. He described their political system—a liberal republic that grew out of many of the principles of the Enlightenment. And he described their aspirations—self-determination and autonomy.

“You seem to have a great deal more information than might come from remote sensing,” one of the destroyer captains said when Noah opened the floor for comments and questions.

“We positioned humint resources in Australia,” Noah said. “Their language, including the dialect and vernacular were identical to ours. That plus the continent’s isolation and its people’s isolationism made the risk acceptable.

“We found a sub-culture of young people, mostly in coffee shops and bars, as well as some disaffected adults. More of the former than the latter, but perhaps the adults are not as open as the young people.

“And, speaking of bars, Australian beer is awesome!

“Not that I would have personal knowledge,” he hastened to add.

“What do you plan to do with this information?” That question, from one of the senior planners on Captain Moultrie’s staff, was more to the point. It was intended for me, and I didn’t want to put Noah on the spot.

Noah, tell him that I will answer that question.

We had laid a lot of groundwork with the captains, executive officers, senior chiefs, and other key staff of the ships of the task force. It was time. Noah was more nervous about this than his own presentation. He took a deep breath, and then said, “Sir, Commodore Stewart will take that question.”

I stood and stepped behind the second lectern. Tobor had taken control of the video cameras and network, and was ready for this moment. He zoomed in the camera so that my face as well as my shoulders with the single, wide, golden stripe with a centered silver star were visible not only on the big screen in the auditorium, but on the screens of every ship in the Task Force where people were watching the briefing. Since it dealt with Australia, my guess was that was just about everyone.

The buzz and whisper that had greeted Marty when he had been the first meta to reveal himself was, this time, a babble of conversation that died quickly when I spoke.

“At ease, please, gentlemen. For those who don’t recognize me, I am Commodore Paul Stewart and, like the members of the Flag Intelligence Team who have briefed you recently, I am considerably younger than you expect.

“The reason for our deception will become clear before the end of this briefing.

“For the moment, however, information about me is not to be disseminated outside Task Force Rift until Admiral Davis makes his announcement to Fleet, the Fleet Council, and to the world. He will do that in the next few minutes.”

Tobor as also prepared for that, and had shut down all outgoing communication from Task Force Rift the instant I stood up. We needed to give Admiral Davis time to act.

“Some of you know that Admiral Davis visited the Charleston not long ago. It was his decision that we should reveal ourselves to you and the rest of the world, today.

“However, Commander Sterling’s question about what we are going to do about the Fundamentalist Universe Australia is indeed, the question of the moment.

“I have given the Flag Intelligence and Operations Teams two constraints on their activities on the Reverends’ world: they are to allow none of our people to be captured, and they are not to reveal our technology to the people of what we are calling the Fundamentalist Universe, even though we now know that there are many other cultures than the Reverends’ theocracy.

“Until such time as we are ordered into battle in the Fundamentalist Universe—and I have no doubt that the day will come—those constraints apply to whatever approach we decide to take with respect to the Australians. Frankly, gentlemen, I don’t know the answer to Commander Sterling’s question. The final recommendation will come from Team Australia through the Flag Intelligence Team. On the other hand, I know that neither group has a monopoly on ideas. I will throw the question back to the Task Force: what should we do about these Aussies?

“Now, about the age thing, and about why you thought I was so much older than I now appear.”

Without mentioning telepathy or the push, which we were keeping secret for the moment, I explained that the metas were Earth-human kids, who just happened to be a little smarter than average.

“We’re the kids you used to hate in school, the ones who busted the curve. On the other hand, we learned pretty quickly that people didn’t like that and, for the most part, kept to ourselves.”

“We are your sons and your brothers,” I said. Then, I lied, and told them that there were only twenty of us. “However, we continue to search for others.”

I told them who my father was, and about Alex’s father, now a Lt. Commander and serving as Helmsman on the USS Enterprise. I told them that some of them had been students of Avery’s father, a Lt. Commander and Provost of Fleet School, Cardiff. Bobbie’s father was the Senior Chief of the Venus Terraforming Fleet. There were others, and I felt the men relaxing as they heard familiar names. Even though Fleet had more than 150,000 members plus some 25,000 Marines, it was a close-knit group, and the boys’ fathers were all in responsible and often highly-visible positions.

It was a little more difficult to explain the veil, but I used the analogy of the tiger’s stripes and the zebra’s stripes. “Both predator and prey have camouflage. We are neither predator nor prey, but the same notion applies: because we were hidden makes us neither bad nor good, neither better or lesser.

“I probably haven’t answered all your questions, and we still have time for a few.”

“Sir? I remember you from Fleet School Australia,” an ensign said. “The information in the yearbook—how much of that was true?”

“Everything but the dates,” I said. “I did attend Fleet Schools Edmonton, Cardiff, Nazca, and Shemya; I did serve on the ships listed and in the positions shown. The only things wrong were the dates. My correct record will be available on the Charleston’s web site later today.”

Already up, Marty sent. He also gestured, a thumbs up.

“Correction . . . it’s already there,” I said.

The response from the members of the task force and from Admiral Davis’s announcement to the Fleet and to the Fleet Council were considerably milder than the response from the rest of the world.

Admiral Davis didn’t make a big deal of it. The public announcement wasn’t sent from his office, but from the Fleet Public Information Office, and was buried in a “men in service” press release—the kind sent to newspapers and television stations about local sailors and marines. And, it was sent as a correction to an earlier release that had been sent to the Marfa, Texas newspaper since there was no longer a newspaper in Valentine.

Correction: The press release of 1 January 2009 concerning the assumption of Command of Task Force Rift by Commodore Paul Stewart on that date, listed his date of birth as April 15, 1949. Commodore Stewart is the son of the late Commander Alexander Stewart and his wife, Alice Goodson Stewart of Valentine, and was born on April 15, 1989.

It didn’t take long for someone in Marfa to do the math and contact Fleet Public Information Office for confirmation. The PIO was primed, and sent electronic confirmation—and my current, correct official photo as well as a correct biography. It took Marfa only a few minutes to get the story on the wires to major newspapers, and within minutes of that, the television networks were interrupting their broadcasts. “There’s a nineteen year old commanding the Task Force that’s guarding Earth from invasion . . .” was about the least sensational thing they said.

Admiral Davis made a brief announcement through Fleet Net which was rebroadcast by the commercial networks. It was followed by appearances of members of the Fleet Council—including the President of the USA, the Governor General of Canada, the Emperor of Japan, the Tsar of Russia, and Queen Elizabeth of the British Empire—on networks and stations in their home countries. Their entire tone was “no big deal, we knew this, now let us get back to important things like the Fleet Winter Olympiad, thank you.”

That satisfied the majority of the population. There were pockets of Religious, who demanded I be burned at the stake. Some Luddites called for my forced sterilization and I shuddered at the twists and turns of logic taken by the so-called heirs of Ludlum, the British boy forced to work in a knitting factory who, when told to “square up” his needles, took a hammer to them, instead, and gave birth to the Luddites. There were also calls for Admiral Davis’s resignation, but they came from Survivalists and others who had no say in the matter.