System Seven (55 page)

From the shade of
surrounding thought, Clare emerged, a single light, small and subdued – used to
being overlooked, careful not to shine; survival minded. She approached, gaining in size but dimming
to compensate. Dozens of hair-thin probes unfurled, stretching outward, seeking
communion. At contact, a flow began and they entered a new space defined by
three instead of two.

Anki faded to a point
just behind him, shifted to become an observer. He pushed forward into Clare
and affronted all convention to slip between the structures that shielded her
core. Blinded by the rush of foreign assemblies of thought, Anki shuddered and
shielded herself in Johan’s strength. Glimpses revealed molecular-scale
representations of her mother’s memory, piercing and overriding in their
proximity. A single unit’s intense loneliness stole her attention and nearly
ripped her free. Johan pulled her in tighter in response.

He navigated by
intuition, shifting perception gradually until he encountered memories tinged
with Maria’s feel. Those few already turned by Clare and Steffan lay exposed
and familiar. The rest needed attention and interpretation. One after another
Johan and Anki engaged them, untangling associations and repressed meaning
until the granular experience of each memory lay bare.

Clare was right.
Taking without regard underlay everything Maria did; it was what every Comannda
believed their right. Humans were in fact the feed nourishing their version of
mankind’s Earth, their empire.

So fundamental was the
realization that it proved staggering, threatening to stall their focus and
effort. Johan shifted twice to achieve enough clarity to proceed. They
continued to scavenge through memories imprinted by Maria, sharing
interpretation duty until they uncovered a complex knot unlike any before. Had
he not been so neutrally tuned and Anki not so sensitive, it would have been
missed as intended. He drew it in and together they probed it.

As if stored in the
darkest of holes, shaded to blend with the space between all other memories,
the knot had been crafted to defy recognition. Detail lay just under the
stealthy non-ness of the memory cluster. Latching onto any aspect of it was
like picking up a lively worm with wet fingers. Somewhere in the knot, Maria
kept a very personal sense of self. He tried continuously but could only manage
strong impressions.

They emerged from the
deep scan and relaxed in the shared space again. Johan played through the
samplings of Maria, building a profile of vibration to use as their guide. He
included Steffan’s memories and his own latest sensation of Maria being
trapped.

Is this really enough?

Agreement came. It
would have to do.

We’re ready then.

Together, they pushed
forward into the wash of Saoghal.

Finding a match for
the profile didn’t take long. Centering on the vague, trapped feeling of Maria,
he approached slowly, trying to understand what surrounded her. A dizzying
array of expressions washed over in the natural chaos of Saoghal. Some part of
it, some reflection, might be a trap. He worked with Clare to understand scope
and scale, to track position and intention. Emotions and imagery lathered and
mixed until slowly clarity emerged.

Maria was held
alright, bound and muted in a frightening state of existence. Seen and felt as
through a looking glass, she seemed to want to communicate. Suddenly their
proximity was too much, as if they’d entered a tunnel without knowing it. The
feeling was all the warning he had before a piercing jab shattered reality.
Like the moment you kick yourself awake, the next moment saw a new dream world
forming around him.

His last willful act
was to set Anki and Clare free.

• • •

Anki slammed her elbow
against the door frame and stifled a cry. She pulled on Johan’s arm, helping
Sean drag his body from the room. Sean’s meta flow coursed to keep the heart
and lungs pumping. Cathbad stood in the front doorway as they came down the
hall.

“The driver’s here. Be
careful, Sean.”

“
Teicheadh ort!
Go already!” He handed Anki the keys. “The blue
Renault. Open the rear door and start the car. Remember, stay completely to
yourself, do nothing in Raon.”

Whatever had taken
Johan sliced through the covering bràthair and retreated without being felt or
seen. No wall of korjé descended, no hunters popped in the grid. It didn’t make
sense.

Outside on the stairs,
Anki helped Cathbad down. “What happened?”

“I can’t be sure. G2
are deploying to find his body, which means it must have been a strike from
Saoghal. Bràthair are doing their best to protect us.”

“You’ve sent for Austin?”

“Not yet. If Johan
can’t break free then it’s too dangerous for Austin. If they swarm, the
bràthair won’t be able to shield him.”

She wanted to ask,
“Then what about us?”
The past pummeled
like a hammer, amplified now and ringing in her ears. She’d known joining with
Johan would mean danger. It was happening now far worse than she could have
ever imagined.

The stairs shook as
Sean descended with Johan hefted over his shoulder.

“Hurry!” he called
down.

They reached the
driveway. The old druid said to Anki, “Clare is key to helping the Change. Stay
safe, listen to the family, work with them.” He softened, easing back from
urgency. “No regrets.”

He was right, of
course. She nodded. “No regrets.”

The driver came
forward and guided Cathbad to a darkened sedan while Sean dumped Johan in the
back seat of a blue compact and climbed in after him.

“Drive, Anki!”

• • •

The two cars left in
separate directions under the scrutiny of the pub’s bartender and his three
patrons. They each shook their heads at the Mafioso.

Some things would
never change.

• • •

“I’d hoped you’d screw
up at some point but wasn’t really sure you would,” Jesus said. “Seeking Maria
again was reckless.”

Blue skies shimmered
with depth around him. Sand flowed above the desert, carried by a wind that
tossed the man’s robe. It was Bastion-as-Jesus, a suitably perverse avatar
selection. His presence burned as intense as the sun overhead. Johan cast out
to the horizon in all directions. It was bone dry and nothing – no exit, no
seam.

“The Empty Quarter,”
Bastion said, following his thoughts. “They call it that for a good reason.
Nothing lives here. Nothing wants to. No one remembers anything out here, just
as no one will remember you. They convinced you that you were a druid’s son,
yet here you are, abandoned to fend for yourself. Do you feel it now? The
truth? You were used, Gerrit, made so dangerous that we have no choice but to
send you on. They gambled with your life, knowing the odds.”

The words cut deep
when they shouldn’t have. Mind games were to be expected, but here, in this
space, it felt games were impossible, that only truth could exist. It was a
mind fuck of a tweak employed to put him at a disadvantage. But why? The
framework had to require an army of skill-adapted korjé working together to
form and hold it. He remembered then. Maria had mentioned combining. It had to
be that.

The wind gusted and
sand stung his face. Cracked lips burned. Thirst pressed in. Leather armor
pressed the sweaty robe to his chest. A sand-infested linen loincloth etched
his inner thighs. Definitely all distraction, meant to keep him from processing
anything other than pain and discomfort.

“What did you do with
Maria?” he asked Bastion.

“Nothing you’d approve
of. Oh I know, I know. From your point of view, I understand why you wouldn’t.
You, the poster child for a new beginning in humanity’s evolution. You, burning
holes in the structures made sacred by the Creator, stepping through them like
you know a better way.”

“It’s okay for you but
not for me?”

“I am the leader of an
ancient race given the responsibility of mankind’s survival. You are not.
Without the Comannda, humanity would have imploded and destroyed itself
countless times over by now. Your problem is that you lack the history and the
context of Comannda rule. Without it, you have no vision and no regard for the
structures we’ve created. You’re a sharpened tool, nothing more. An instrument
of power wielded by the priests. They would use you and Austin to break down
the system until it collapses under the weight of what keeps it together. You’d
bring that kind of change if we let you. Rest assured, we will not.”

He spoke to an unseen
audience, his confidence high, much like the general in the clearing in Epping
Forest. Unlike the clearing, this stage had been properly prepared: it lacked
possibility. Change was an abstract and unactionable concept. Johan was a child
again, helpless – the stuff of nightmares.

But he wasn’t eight.
He still had his core, most of his memory, and the ability to think. Pacing
Bastion and paying attention to detail was the best strategy, even if the only
strategy.

Bastion continued to
rant. “You must know, Gerrit, of the incredible insights you’ve provided our
most skilled rangers. Our units gained more effectiveness this past week than
they have in decades prior. Thank you for calling us out to a higher game. I
hadn’t considered we could become this powerful or that we would ever need to.”

Johan fueled the
interaction, drawing it out for a chance to understand the framework. “What I
really want to know is, what took you so long? With centuries to practice, I
expected better. Hell, I just used a bit of creativity and intelligence and
overpowered you all. Obviously you and your twit of an army didn’t have much of
either. How long before others come along and overthrow you altogether?”

It was the right mark
to keep him talking. Refusing the bait to anger, the Comannda’s leader calmly
started defending his korjé. Such was Bastion’s confidence that he offered
Johan the time to pry and plot, knowing full well the design of his remarks.
That was troubling in itself: he was sure Johan was stuck and stuck good.

Forming such a strong framework
would require combining, which was a group effort. That meant there would be
seams – one of the korjé represented the weakest link. He had only to find and
overcome that one in order to tear an exit in the fabric. But pressing,
shifting – all manners of flux and reorientation – yielded nothing, not so much
as a ripple in the continuity of the dream.

Bastion paused. “I see
you’re realizing you’ve come to the end of your game, Gerrit. That’s your ‘bit
of intelligence’ working for you, isn’t it? It tells you your ‘bit of
creativity’ is no longer enough. It tells you that you’re screwed, if you listen
to it. There is no weakest link. That’s not how it works.”

The wind whipped sand
in his face, shunting any reply.

Bastion chuckled.
“Well, enough. I’m off to watch the capture of Austin and your girl and Cathbad
and all the rest of the priests. So for now...” He nodded a goodbye.

Then Johan was alone,
a stick figure in the sands of an endless desert, squinting against the sun.

He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.

- John Dryden, 1631-1700, British Poet, Dramatist

Cathbad cursed
traffic, careful to keep to himself.

Tourists crossing the
boulevard straggled well after the green light. His driver appeared bored
despite a pair of municipal police officers on the corner just meters away. He
knew only they might be stopped for questioning.

“Definitely looking
for someone,” Andre said casually. The number of police increased the closer
they traveled towards St. Peter’s Square. Tour busses edged the sidewalks to
take on passengers with arms full of shopping bags. “Some kind of special event
in the square, I’m guessing. News crews up there. Two of them, looks like.”

Cathbad didn’t like
chattiness, especially when it implored a response.

“I’ve no idea.” In
fact he knew it was a prayer flash mob, aimed at soliciting God’s intervention
on behalf of the world. Ahead, the dome of the Basilica loomed in the hazy
mid-afternoon sun.

The driver cracked his
window. “Mm. Smell the coffee. What I wouldn’t do for a cup right now.” He
looked in the side mirror. “Uh, rolling inspection. Motorbike.” He glanced in
the other mirror. “Two.”

“Nice day for a ride.”
Do nothing different
.

Traffic pulled ahead,
allowing them to cross the intersection before the light changed red again. The
two riders stopped while side traffic flowed across the boulevard. Some cars
made the turn and tucked in behind them at odd angles, adding to the
congestion.

“Should I plan to
evade?”

“God no. Please relax,
Andre.” Bràthair would have to handle it, provided they were still covering. He
didn’t dare extend. His was a purely physical experience for the time being,
the best cover.

“Of course, sir.”

The light turned green
and the riders maneuvered into the lanes again. Cathbad felt it nearby, the
stealthy extension by bràthair as each rider neared.

They passed, scanning
vehicles as they went.

The driver exhaled. “Nice
day for a ride, yes.”

Cathbad watched the motorcycles.
“Change lanes when you have the opportunity. We’ll go left at the square.”

The crosswalks ahead
cleared, allowing the flow to advance. The driver passed on two chances to move
to the left because of police standing along the sidewalk. Cathbad approved.
The druid glanced down a side street and spotted a police rider circling around
for another pass. Traffic picked up again and then they saw the reason for the
slowing – blue police cars lined the safety lanes leading to the square. Police
stood in the street, now waving cars on, not allowing anyone to disembark. The
news crews were being hassled by dark-suited officials.

The driver signaled
and merged to the left lane, accelerating to follow the curve past the massive
pillars guarding St. Peter’s Square. Pigeons scattered when a gang of youths
ran across the street and up the stone steps. The road led to an ornate four
story building and veered left. Broad pedestrian stripes demarked an area to
the right where gray steel gates blocked off a parking lot. The cathedral rose
just beyond.

“Slow. Now go right, towards
the gates,” Cathbad advised. “Don’t startle anyone. Good.”

They cleared a river
of pedestrians and approached the gate. Colorful uniformed guards paid every
attention to their arrival. One approached the car. Cathbad rolled his window
down and presented a card.

“Passaggio protetto,
per favore. Comunica Padre Septimus. E ‘di grande importanza.”

The Swiss guard
produced a pen and ran it over the card. The pen flashed green. He returned the
card and waved them forward. “
Procedere
direttamente al Palazzo del Tribunale
!”

“Oh mio,” the driver
said as they rolled through the gates and onto the grounds of Vatican City.
Another guard halted them. Cathbad noted a dark blue armored van with viewports
just inside the gates. Dogs were used to sniff the car while guards checked
every part of it. They were finally waved on.

“Keep straight,
towards the arch.”

A guard there worked a
radio and waved them through, as did a guard at the next arch. The Basilica’s
walls towered over them. Ahead, a bloom of color spilled from a building as
papal guards formed a U-shape under an expansive red canopy.

“Park there, within
their ranks.”

Alongside their
ceremonial sabers these guards also wore compact machine guns. As soon as the
car stopped the doors flew open and Cathbad was whisked inside.

“Signore Esposito. I
thought I’d never see you again.”

The guards wheeled
Cathbad into the offices of Danilo Moreno, the Cardinal Secretary of State. The
narrow-faced official sat at a cherry wood desk, as passive as the Zuccari
portrait of Pope Sixtus V on the wall behind him. His spectacles hung low on a
pointed nose to accentuate eyes sharp as blades. The second most powerful man
in the Vatican presented as civilized but otherwise unreadable. The druid stood
and moved to a chair.

“I am not sure why you
thought that, Cardinal, but I am no less pleased to see you. You look well.”

Danilo nodded, also a
dismissal to the guards. “You are aging gracefully, signore.”

“Grazie.” Waiting for
the guards to leave, Cathbad looked to the painting of Sixtus V. “Ah, the great
Sixtus, rebuilder of a church in shambles. Cleared Rome of brigands, rebuilt
the city, refilled empty coffers through taxation, and restored the church’s
authority abroad.” The office doors closed. He exhaled. “May I speak candidly?”

“Please do. Start by
telling me what you have begun.”

“Not I, Dani. The
Change has come.”

The cardinal pursed
his lips. “Legend? You’re acting on legend?”

“Prophecy, not legend.
You must have heard what’s happened.”

Danilo laced his
fingers and rested them on the desk. “I heard the unlikely rumor that the Korda
were threatening to reveal secrets. Then the nuclear bombs went off. Then the
terrorist campaign began. Now the world is in chaos. Moments ago, I learned the
army launched helicopters from Viterbo and are scouring Rome for a terrorist
cell targeting Vatican City. I’m told evacuation is necessary and that forces
will need to search the Holy See end to end. That is what I’ve heard.” He
stared quietly. “Make this worth it, Cathbad. Tell me more about the Change.”

Cathbad frowned. “I
cannot accept you don’t know of what’s happened. Allegiance to the Comandanti
brings more in the way of information than that.”

Danilo did not ripple.
Instead, he turned and gestured to the painting behind him.

“Sixtus helped the
church survive. Against the designs of those you mention. He leveraged what he
could to help preserve the integrity of the church and the spirit of God in man
despite the occupation.” He turned back. “Those efforts continue today. I need
say nothing more. Trust or do not. Now, why have you come?”

“You agree that without
our solidarity in those days things would have become much worse. But that was
then, Danilo. The church has weakened and become complicit in the
transgressions of the Comandanti. Inaction can be as much a stroke of approval
as deeds. I question if you could even manage a coherent message of revelation,
now.”

“The authority of the
church–”

“–is nothing if its
people are in fear for their lives. As it is, a declaration describing the
Comandanti would be an admission of centuries-long guilt of that inaction. You
would only remove the last restraints from their plans and throw the world into
chaos.”

Danilo shook his head.
“And what are you doing? Have you not noticed the world coming apart at the
seams?”

Cathbad grunted. “The
world had precious little in the way of seams before this began and you know
it. I’m following the path to restore what ought to be. To sew new seams in
stronger material.”

Danilo nodded. “Yes
yes, of course. The trackways. You’re following the trackways, dragging
everyone with you. Damn them if they don’t like it. Who cares if the trackways
lead to the end of what little remains?”

“The time has come,
Dani. I cannot choose to ignore it any more than you can choose to abandon your
beliefs. I need to know that I can count on you to help the Change.”

The cardinal removed
his glasses and set them down to rub his eyes. He withdrew, once again passive
but Cathbad suspected holding back a storm beneath. “What is it you want from
me? What can I do for them that you cannot?”

Cathbad hesitated. “‘Them’,
Danilo?”

Their eyes caught. The
cardinal looked away and slowly replaced his spectacles. When he looked back,
it was with sadness.

“You had to know,
Cathbad. Why did you come?”

The doors opened and
meta-strong Swiss guards entered, followed by half a dozen priests of greater
power. Cathbad made a last push to reach Johan but it ended in an arcing call
of distress. The violent backlash of meta by those subduing him nearly knocked
him free.

“Don’t,” Cardinal
Moreno warned. “Don’t do that again. Not if you ever want a chance at reaching
heaven. The rules have changed, my friend. They have well and truly changed.”

• • •

The whine of a
helicopter’s turbo shafts passing low overhead drowned out the television’s
report. Instructions scrolling across the screen prompted citizens to call 113
to report any unusual or suspicious individuals that might be related to the
terrorist plot against the Vatican. The small bedroom smelled vaguely of cat,
unwashed laundry, and the dissipating odor of human feces, all of which would
soon be overpowered by the smell of parmigiana baking in the adjacent kitchen.

Sean sat beside an
unconscious Johan and watched Anki and Cristina finish cleansing his body. The
old woman helped pull oversized pants up over the bulky diaper while Anki stood
on the bed and lifted at the waist.

“Franco! Get the
wheelchair!” she called out.

Her nephew leapt to
comply.

“We’ll download his
new metrics to a deck then wash his hair and dye it.”

Sean dabbed his own
cheeks with a wet towel. “Cristina, what of relief?”

The heart beat. Lungs
rose and fell. He’d been running the life system for over two hours, refusing
to let lesser experienced take over. Too much meta and korjé would notice – too
little and the brain would starve of oxygen and suffer damage. He needed a
break and soon it wouldn’t matter who took over as long as they did. He was not
trained for the sustained effort.

“Si, Terenzio is on
his way, just over the river. Franco!” She turned to Anki. “I will download a
new face for him. Have Franco help him into the chair.”

“Okay.” Anki looked at
Sean. Only the faintest feeling indicated he was tied to Johan in any way.
“Tell me
before
you wear out, Sean.
Cristina can help.”

He nodded. Seconds
later he cringed.

“Sean! What?”

Eyes closed, he sorted
through information. “No. No...
madre mia
,
no...”

Anki knelt before him
and gripped his knees. “What is it, Sean? What? What?”

“Cath. They’ve taken
him, too. At the Vatican.”

“No! Why would he go
there?”

The shine of tears
lined his eyes. At the door Cristina crossed herself and muttered in Italian.

Anki stood and backed
away, afraid her panicked emotion would distract him from giving to Johan.
Questions and fear had to wait. Instead she busied herself with putting shoes
and socks on Johan, imagining his return. She wanted him ready to get up and
walk with her. Franco appeared with the wheelchair and together they loaded him
in it. She pressed her hand to Johan’s chest just to feel the faint beat.

A bustle from the
front of the house turned out to be Terenzio. He called for his aunt.

“In here, Terenzio!”
Anki cried.

A tall, handsome
fellow with a mop of dark hair came in and immediately put a hand on Johan’s
shoulder. He gestured to Sean, who visibly relaxed.

“Thank you. Anki?” He
stood and left for the back screened porch. Anki followed.

He sat heavily on a
padded wicker couch. Parakeets tweeted from a nearby cage. Rose trees lined the
small backyard’s fence. The thud and whine of another helicopter sounded in the
distance. The news had reported twenty-one of them in the skies over Rome.

Anki leaned against a
post. “We are at risk then.”

“Of course. If he
hasn’t cut loose, they have a chance at his meta store. The families have been
alerted. I’ve work to do.”

She felt his fear but
also the complexity of something stirring. “Maria must be found,” she said.
“Who can I work with?”

“A moment, please.”

Sean leaned back and
rubbed his face, a new effort beginning. His vibe began to shift as he worked
internally to forge a new identity – a disturbing feeling. Glitches and gaps
signaled he’d become morphic. When he leaned forward again, the new meta
arrangement was in place but still changing subtly, as if settling. He vibe was
that of a stranger.