The Apostates (25 page)

“We can ask Ravine. He’s the one who fought her at close quarters that day. He managed to sever her hand, but she disappeared after that,” Hades recalled. Hades looked over in Ravine’s direction and saw that he was sitting by himself in the far corner of the mess hall. He stood up and waved his arms to get Ravine’s attention. Ravine caught a glimpse of Hades’s summons and cursed under his breath, but got up and approached. Ravine stood by the table where Hades and Pale were seated.

“Hades-Perdition—Pale-Silence, hope both
of you are enjoying the festivities,” Ravine said dryly. He wanted to go back
to his corner.

“Hey Ravine, Pale and I were talking about
how you had a run-in with that strange women the day of the Ranger
attack,” Hades said.

“Yeah, what about it?” Ravine asked,
puzzled.

“Good sir, I’m fairly certain that I know
interesting tidbits about this woman. Do you remember any distinct details of
our query that you can recall?” Pale encouraged.

“Well, aside from being a lunatic, she had
a shaved head, and like, a scar on her forehead—in the shape of a cross.”
Ravine had remembered the homicidal lust in the woman’s eyes.

“I honestly can’t recall the woman’s name, but I can tell you with a huge degree of certainty that I remember that cross scar on a Prelate working for the Church.” Pale was dead set on his judgment.

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t be surprised: the
Church would want us dead too,” Ravine shrugged.

“Yes, but this is a confirmation that the
Regime and Church are engaged in an internal conflict. Why? That I can’t
answer,” Pale added.

“Great work gentlemen, now if you don’t
mind I’m going back to my corner to drink alone.” With that Ravine turned
around and walked away.

“That man seems to have a cloud hanging
over his head. What’s the cause?” Pale inquired.

“Oh, I think he’s having girl troubles,”
Hades deduced while watching Ravine walk away.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Ravine had left the mess hall and was strolling out on the weather deck of the Iowa. The weather was cool, and the sky was spotted with clouds that were barely visible in the night. He walked at a slow pace. Ravine had plenty on his mind. Graham had told him details that would take a great effort on his part to keep it secret from the Apostates. Ravine wanted to tell them that he had known that Graham was in L.O.V.E. custody, but he knew if he divulged this that the Apostates would make the decision to deviate from the mission to mount a rescue operation and that couldn’t happen.

Ravine had grabbed a bottle of ale to take
with him on his stroll. He popped the top and took a swig. Ravine heard
footsteps approaching, and he turned his head to find that Blaze-Scorch was
coming upon his position.

“Hey Ravine, You’ve been vacant lately.
Something bothering you?” Blaze asked with genuine concern.

“That’s a tough question,” Ravine replied.

“I mean you’re usually pretty moody, but it’s very pronounced these days. Like, shit, lighten up,” Blaze chastised.

“Blaze, I can’t tell you everything I’m
dealing with right now. But, it certainly doesn’t help my disposition to be
around a woman that I used to have a close relationship with, and then have to
continue to be tortured when she moves on to other men,” Ravine confessed,
taking a drink from the bottle.

“What do you mean? Is she fucking a horny
sailor?” Blaze inquired.

“No, she’s fucking Hades,” Ravine said
without emotion.

“What? No. He’s—” Blaze began to say but got cut off.

“Yeah, I know,” Ravine quipped.

“But why would he? It wouldn’t do anything
for him,” Blaze asked, perplexed.

“Well, maybe he’s bi. Anyway, it happened.
I saw them in his quarters,” Ravine confessed.

“Well—then just move on. You have
her answer. Look elsewhere,” Blaze suggested.

“Where? You? Are you going to take my mind
off her?” Ravine was asking rhetorically.

“God no. I don’t want some guy who is
stuck on his ex,” Blaze said defiantly.

“See, that’s the problem with you girls.
You’re always criticizing men about being emotionally unavailable in
relationships, but then expect them to emotionally detach instantly once you
find a new guy,” Ravine was drunk.

“For Christ’s sake, nut up. There’s that new girl, Angel, talk to her. I gotta go check on Aqua in the infirmary. Listen, sorry you had to find that out about Gale. Feel better,” Blaze offered, then sheheaded off toward the infirmary.

Ravine considered what Blaze had said to
him. He had resolved plenty of times since Gale arrived to focus on other
pursuits and priorities, but then he found himself relapsing. Maybe it was just
as simple as “nutting up”, but what was the secret behind doing that? Perhaps
he would go make a move on the new girl, Angel? He thought that might sound
like a promising idea. But, tonight was his night to feel sorry for himself. He
was going to get drunk. Maybe he would approach her tomorrow.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The sensation was sent through her skull
like a jolting, bad dream waking its host. The alarm signal woke the Prelate
without any external noise. Prelate Inoguchi rose to her feet and gathered her
equipment. She sent a command via her neural implant to her two drones to
follow her. Prelate Inoguchi struck out down the access road leading toward the
Port of Long Beach. The early morning air was cold and crisp. Dew had settled
on patches of grass between dilapidated structures. The sun had not yet climbed
out of its hole to shine once again.

Prelate Inoguchi came upon a sizable
security wall that had been constructed around the port grounds. The two
drones, which resembled two levitating, weightlifting barbells, revealed two
hand-grips on the bottom side of each. Prelate Inoguchi grabbed the drone’s handle
with one hand, and the drones flew higher, carrying the Prelate over the wall.
She dropped from a reasonable height to the ground. The Prelate ran from cover
to cover, following a series of warehouses down to the waterfront. She detected
activity and loud voices originating from the U.S.S. Iowa. She surmised that
most personnel were on the Iowa.

Prelate Inoguchi spied a non-military ship, ‘The Hermes’, and approached the bow of the ship. She willed the two drones to carry her up over the side of the hull and onto the deck of the ship. The Prelate moved swiftly to find an entrance to lower decks. After searching, she found a hatch that led her down. When she looked about she found that ship was filled with medical supplies and hospital beds. She concluded that this was a hospital ship and that it would be an ideal place to lay low until she was ready to strike. The Prelate moved down several decks avoiding the odd crew member and found a large cargo hold. She found a concealed area in a corner near the stern end of the ship behind a deposit of palettes, there she settled in and waited patiently.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

That night, both groups of Apostates had passed out on the Iowa. Some personnel had gone through the trouble of tracking down bunks or had found another body to pair up with. Others had just passed out in the mess hall, on tables or floor space. Some had taken to sleeping on the weather deck, which was where Ravine had found himself. Ravine coughed, with the sensation of cottonmouth and being dehydrated. He also had a piercing headache, which waking up under beaming sunlight did not help. He pulled himself to his feet by the bulwark.

Ravine took a gaze around the ship and
found that others began to stir.

“Jesus Christ, Everybody is drinking
because they are happy about finding allies, and here I am: fucking miserable.
The Second Coming can’t be soon enough.” Ravine was in a bad mood. Post-drinking depression was pervasive for him today. He gazed across the bay at the
other ships in the fleet. They were smoking and warming their engines.

“I guess we’ll be under way soon, and the
new ships will be joining us,” He had thought.

He could see that personnel on the docks were rushing material from warehouses to the ships that were moored on piers. Ravine was rest assured that they would have plenty of provisions for the voyage through the Panama Straits and up to New Megiddo City. He wondered what the Regime would throw at their fleet next? They must be aware by now that his group was in possession of a combat-ready, armada of ships. He knew that the Regime still possessed a formidable navy, so that it was only a matter of time before they would be confronted. He was pretty confident that the Regime did not know their location or their set path. Ravine then thought about the Prelate. He knew she wasn’t dead, and she had warned that there would be “a reckoning”. He just wondered how soon it would occur.

The strange looking man, Pale-Silence was
approaching Ravine on the weather deck.

“Thank you, for your group’s hospitality
last night. The festivities were well received by my camp,” Pale offered.

“Yeah, no problem. Wasn’t really my idea,”
Ravine was nonchalant.

“In an unrelated matter, I am pleased to announce that our fleet possesses a hospital ship. We’ve kept it in good repair and it was well-stocked thanks to Mr. Wynham’s financial contributions. The way forward will be wrought with danger and I believe the ship will be useful,” Pale explained.

“Great, yeah we have a patient, Aqua, who
is in stable, but critical condition. We can transfer her to the ship,” Ravine
said.

“Then it is settled. I will make the
arrangements for the patient to be transferred to The Hermes,” Pale responded.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Later that afternoon the combined fleet
had steamed out from Terminal Island to open ocean. The fleet had sailed past
Santa Catalina Island, which in centuries past had been a tourist trap, was now
a rubbish dump for the slums of Los Angeles. The Iowa had been joined with the
battleships North Carolina, Indiana, New Jersey, South Dakota, and Alabama.
Which brought the count of battleships to eleven. The course had been set for
the Panama Strait.

Inside the cargo hold of the Hermes, the
Prelate Inoguchi stirred. She pulled some jerky from her pack and snapped off a
piece with her teeth. The Prelate still had images of von Manstein flashing
through her mind, but then again she always did in times of high stress. She
had immersed herself in zealous religious worship for all these years with the hope that her rage would be soothed. Her aim was that
events of the past would lose their edge and that she could grant him
forgiveness, but now she had concluded that it would never happen. The Prelate
would not be satisfied until she had exacted retribution; all in good time.
First, out here in the open ocean, she would turn the sea red with Apostate
blood.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

von Manstein’s inspection tour had taken
him from Philadelphia and Baltimore, and now he was headed back to New Megiddo
City and on to the South. Everywhere he had visited there was a similar scene.
The Pilgrimage had started too soon, resulting in massive tent cities springing
up under guard by L.O.V.E. and military forces. von Manstein had done what he
could to allocate more Regime provisions to alleviate the plight of the
faithful camped outside the B.A.G. venues. He had some success dealing with the
Church and pleading with Kate Schrubb for more resources, but it was not
nearly the amount needed.

von Manstein was on his way to Richmond, Virginia, to inspect the old City Stadium. He was told that it was fairly small for a venue, only seating twenty-two thousand people comfortably, but von Manstein had decreed that they would fit twice that number into the space, and then decided to go see the venue for himself. von Manstein figured that he had at least four hours on the road, so he was planning to pop a dose of ‘Database’. It was von Manstein’s way to consume novels that were banned by the Church and Regime. While passing through Baltimore, he had arranged to procure a particular strain of ‘base’ called ‘Lolita’ from the Barksdale Syndicate. von Manstein injected it into his shoulder and reclined, waiting for it to take effect. The words came across him retinal H.U.D., “By Vladimir Nabokov”. A massive dopamine surge occurred in the pleasure center of his brain. von Manstein had spent several hours in this state, writhing around and grabbing the seat cushions as he had read through the words coursing by his eyes. Eventually, he started to come down delved into a bad mood. He also had developed a terrible thirst, he reached for a water decanter, and poured himself a glass and slurped it all down.

von Manstein’s neural implant was being
hailed on an encrypted Church channel. He
wondered what crisis would spring up now? He answered the hail: it was Vice Deacon
Paulus on the other end.

“Vice-Deacon, to what do I owe the
pleasure?” von Manstein inquired.

“Arch-Deacon, grace, Cardinal Zhukov has
been detained by L.O.V.E. authorities! Actually, by Inquisitor Rodrigo himself!
This is unfathomable! I thought we were exempt from scrutiny by L.O.V.E. or
M.O.S.S.?” Vice-Deacon Paulus was distraught and his voice had cracked several
times.

“Well, this is an interesting development.” Arch-Deacon was beside himself. This was the best news he had received in some time. With Zhukov out of the way, von Manstein alone would curry favor with the Reverend Wilhelm. Suddenly he had much clarity of mind.

“But, Grace, are you not worried about
this event? This is terrible!” Vice-Deacon was irate.

“Vice-Deacon, get a hold of yourself! Yes,
I have known about this investigation for some time,” He spun the story.

“Grace? What do you mean?” The Vice-Deacon
was perplexed.

“Yes, I had been contacted by L.O.V.E. authorities and they had suspected that Cardinal Zhukov could be the Apostate’s mole. They had asked for permission to investigate and surveil Zhukov. I gave them my blessing. I apologize, but I could not tell the Church leadership, not even the Reverend or risk jeopardizing the investigation,” von Manstein stated.

“B-b-but, Holiness, L.O.V.E. is going to
tear the Church apart! We have secrets! I—” Paulus was cut short.

“Compose yourself, Vice-Deacon! Are you a
man of God or a little girl? The Second Coming is all but upon us. Do you think
L.O.V.E. would risk putting that in jeopardy? The event that President Schrubb
and Reverend Wilhelm have been working toward for the better part of a century?
Don’t be a fool,” von Manstein made Paulus feel small and he said nothing in
return. “Now, don’t bother me with these matters anymore! Arch-Deacon out.” He
concluded the communiqué.

The Arch-Deacon smiled widely to himself.
His revenge was complete. The upstart Zhukov would be put into place by the
Inquisitor Rodrigo, and most likely submitted to cruel torture. The Inquisitor
was named so for reasons pointing back to the medieval period. Now von Manstein
was free to destroy the Apostates for his own glory. The President, the Reverend,
and Jesus himself would be thankful to him for ending the biggest threat to
Faith.

von Manstein realized that he would need to act fast if he were to claim the credit for stopping the Apostates. He knew that the most effective individual Prelate had been ordained to destroy them, and she was probably hot on their heels. von Manstein would need to pour over Regime reports and intelligence about the current location of the Apostates. He activated his retinal H.U.D. once more and reviewed material related to the Apostates. Doing the research made the time fly by. He was interrupted by his driver who had announced that they had reached Richmond, Virginia. von Manstein had told him that he needed several hours to himself so that he could continue his research in the armored vehicle. At long last, after reviewing mountains of material, he found something of value: there had been a report by a Church devout from the slums of Los Angeles, California, that he had witnessed a massive armada of ships leave the port of Long Beach, sailing south. The report had been archived, but no one had acted on it.

von Manstein thought that this had to be
the Apostates, after all, L.O.V.E. had failed to destroy them at the Great Lake
of California, and that they had been on ships there. He thought about what he
should do now. There were no Prelates left worthy of this cause—Prelate
Inoguchi was working for Zhukov and the Reverend. He needed a wild card. von
Manstein remembered that the Church of New Megiddo had once joined forces with
a Catholic Order to track down enemies of the Regime that had fled to Latin
America. It’s true the Evangelicals had their differences with Catholics, but
at their hearts they were all Christians, and besides, this was an emergency.

Arch-Deacon von Manstein had decided he knew who he needed for this job. He activated his retinal H.U.D. and sent out a ping to the general Church directory, which contained the contacts and allies of the Church throughout the years. After some time, the hail was sent out, but the encrypted hail went unanswered, then, as he was about to give up, contact.

“Habetis vir iniuriam. Placere duplum
conpescuit,” a man spoke in Latin.

“Societatem Pentagram,” von Manstein said
one phrase in Latin. That was enough to peak the man’s attention.

“So, you seek the services of the Order of the Pentagram? Tell me, follower of the Church of New Megiddo, why do you reach across the isle to find us?” the man asked suspiciously.

“Our Lord is coming back very soon. We
have much to prepare for but not enough resources to take care of all our
enemies. There are...Apostates who do not want to see the return of our Lord,”
von Manstein explained.

“So, someone wants to stop your suicide
cult, Protestant? Last time we checked our Lord was not ready for the Second
Coming,” the man mocked.

“You watch yourself! We are merely
accelerating the Lord’s plan. Everyone will still wind up in the same place.
Now who am I talking to?” von Manstein demanded.

“You speak to Monsignor Pietro Carafa of
the Societatum Pentagram. Wielder of the Spear Destiny. Spear Wound of the
Lord!” All the titles were almost too much for Monsignor Carafa to remember
himself. It reminded him of a “fantasy genre” encoded strand of ‘Database’ he
once popped.

“Yes, yes. Listen, I am authorized to transfer
funds should you be willing to be ordained for the mission,” von Manstein tried
to speed up the conversation.

“Well, Arch-Deacon, you seem to have found the Order at the most opportune of times. Tell me what you need to accomplish,” Carafa inquired.

“I am, or rather my Church, is in need of your Order to stop a group of Apostates. Not any ordinary group of infidels, they have been supported from someone within our government. They seem to have fixed up old, derelict warships and turned them into a makeshift fleet. We believe that they are sailing for the Panama Strait. What we need from your Order is to stop them from making the crossing,” von Manstein briefed Carafa about the contract, “Will you accept this ordainment?”

“The enemy of any Church of God is my
enemy. I shall accept your ordainment. Fortunately, I am well positioned to
intercept this Apostate fleet. I am currently in Cost Rica. I do not have far
to travel to get to the Strait,” Carafa explained.

“Most excellent, Carafa. This will work
out well for both parties. By the authority invested in me by the
Lord, God, I ordain you an agent of the Church of New Megiddo,” von Manstein
instructed.

“Then the matter is settled. I will bring
your enemies to judgment!” Carafa exclaimed.

“Let us pray that is the outcome. Keep me posted, Monsignor Carafa. Arch-Deacon von Manstein out,” he closed the channel. von Manstein was elated. He felt that he had ordained agents that could possibly destroy the Apostates and put Prelate Inoguchi out of action. In one fell swoop, his problems would be over.

“Driver, I am ready to tour the venue
now,” he instructed. Now he was in a very good mood and he would enjoy this
tour. Not even the suffering masses of refugees would dampen his spirits this
day.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Inquisitor Rodrigo had a very good week. He had put down a plot by Graham Wynham to overthrow the President. He was just in time to prevent the recruitment of the President’s son into the cabal. Also, he had rooted out the Apostate’s mole within the Church. Inquisitor Rodrigo now had plenty of the accused to begin a proper Inquisition. It’s what he was put on the Earth to do: elicit the truth from the condemned through specialized methods. Rodrigo’s conviction rate was perfect. No one had ever withstood his methods. He had always received his confession.

To potentially receive confessions from
such esteemed and reputable individuals was, to put it lightly, an Inquisitor’s
dream. Previously this class of individual had been untouchable by his
predecessors. Now he, Alfonse Domingo Rodrigo, last Inquisitor of the Church of
New Megiddo would be rewarded by the Lord in the Second Coming, which was nigh. The
end of times required extreme measures so that no power was capable of stopping
what was planned.

Inquisitor Rodrigo had entered a dressing room near the holding cells for the accused. It was featureless metal, save for a rack that supported black robes and accompanying headgear. Rodrigo selected a robe and headgear. He slipped the robe over his uniform. It was matte black, with hints of a darker stain in some places. The headpiece that he put on was matte black as well. It covered the head and terminated in a cone-shaped point. There was an eye slit to allow for vision. He resembled some torturer from a bygone age.

The Inquisitor was now ready to proceed with his grim practice. He and two assistants moved toward an occupied holding cell. They unlocked the rusty, metal door and stepped inside. Within the dank room was a steel rigging that restrained and supported the weary figure of Cardinal Zhukov. Zhukov looked worse for wear. There were signs that he had already been beaten and interrogated by lower level officials. This did not phase Rodrigo. He figured they had used the wrong methods, and therefore, there was still pertinent information to dig up. Rodrigo set down a titanium case onto a roughly constructed, wooden table. The wood lacked a stain and it was pockmarked with scrapes and scars.

Cardinal Zhukov let out a whimper every time he heard a sudden noise. Zhukov could see nothing with his blindfold and his neural implant had been jammed, although the jamming technology was fairly unreliable. He seemed terrified. The Inquisitor opened the latches on the case and revealed the tools of his trade. On one side of the interior was an assortment of ‘Database’ like injectable drugs.. On the other side were strapped more conventional instruments of “enhanced interrogation techniques”. There were pliers, various knives and scalpels, a small jeweler’s hammer, and several other tools. The Inquisitor intentionally rattled the contents together to instigate a reaction from Zhukov. He received a high-pitched plea to God for salvation and a trickle of urine down the Cardinal’s leg.

“Cardinal Zhukov, you had it all: the world in your grasp and were so close to joining your Lord in Paradise. Now look at you,” the Inquisitor mocked, pulling a dose of ‘Database’ from his case and slamming it shut. Zhukov jumped and let out a whimper.

“Please, please, Rodrigo, I beg of you,
don’t do this. I was framed! I am not—” Zhukov was cut short.

“You are not a Cardinal any longer. You
are just the short, fat, bald, little man: Zhukov. Traitor to his religion, and
now in my capable hands,” the Inquisitor snidely mocked under his intimidating
hood.

“Sir, please—I did not betray the Church! I was framed by Arch-Deacon von Manstein!” Zhukov pleaded while he tried to maneuver his head.

“You know, you might be telling the truth.
You could very well have been framed, but you see, that is not my job. My job
is to...entice you to confess to the crimes that you have been accused of by
the Church of New Megiddo and the Ministry of State Security, and boy, do I
enjoy enticing confessions.” The Inquisitor toyed with his victim.

“P-p-please, I implore you. You’ll be
making a big mistake. You’re letting the real culprits go free!” Zhukov
screamed and pleaded.

“Oh no, I will get those names out of you as well,” The inquisitor said calmly, as he stuck the tiny needle into Zhukov’s shoulder, the drug drained out of the applicator and into Zhukov’s blood stream. Synthetic proteins encoded with special data raced through his veins en route to the neural implant. The proteins interfaced with receptors and transferred their data. Zhukov’s vision began to grow blurred and dim. His eyes started to sting and his speech came out slurred. Zhukov experienced faint images superimposed onto reality. Then his blindfold was pulled off by the Inquisitor and the Zhukov squealed once confronted with the nightmarish sight.