" Father? The midnight mass held a week ago has tightened security. I am only a
cleric. I have no power over the clerks. How am I to protect you?" he whispered, his
hands feeling the warm one of the Pope.

" You don’t," Pope Mateo whispered back. " God does."

There was no need to be whispering. The cathedral they were in was big and spacious. It
had once had freshly made benches and pulpits and altars. Now it was stripped of its
beauty by Death itself. They were in the very heart of the dark and forbidden cathedral,
hunched over each other; Job for comfort and the Pope for assurance.

Job raised his sorrowful, tear-stained face. " I don’t care if He hasn’t
helped us yet, but He better not let you die. You’re the only reason I’m sane,
Father. Where do I find the strength without you?"

The Pope reached gently with his other hand to touch Job’s chest, clothed in the
garments that meant for him to be the enemy. He was assured that the heart beat. He could
see Job’s piercing green eyes twinkle with moisture. The place around them was dark,
the dim light of dawn faintly entering through the grimy colored glass. " You do it
by following your heart. It is a good one; it will keep you alive." He didn’t
want to tell Job that his own heart was getting weaker with defeat and pain of the
injustice it had seen.

The silence was broken by two beeps coming from Job’s watch. Before he could begin
crying, Job stood up, releasing the baby soft hands. " I must go. I can’t risk
you getting caught because of me."

The Pope raised himself from the bench, his wrinkled hands clutching the fading wood.
" Let me bless you." He raised his hand, the fingers in the shape of the cross.
He crossed it over Job, letting Job kiss the makeshift cross in the end.

" Ti amo, Padre," he whispered into the soft flesh.

Out of the shadows came two men dressed in black gowns. They had been there the whole
time, watching, noticing, but to Job they brought comfort. " We’ll take him. He
will not get caught," one said.

Job nodded hesitantly. " Proteggalo."

The two Guardians gently took Pope Mateo by the arms and guided his feeble frame into
the darkness.

Job looke after them, feeling the atmosphere of faith recede with the Pope’s
exit. He looked down at his own beige gloves in his hands. He turned, his beige cloak
swirling behind him, and walked to the arched doorway, his shoes clicking the grimy floor.

He stepped out to see the sun rising from the mist. But there was no sunrise, no
lighting the sky with yellows and oranges. He would’ve liked the sun come up the way
the Pope had described it as: God’s eyes opening.

Job got into his black car and drove quickly out of the old part of the city. If he was
seen there, he would be most assuredly killed. The Old Part was forbidden because it was
concentrated in churches and chapels and enemies of the state: religious outlaws.

A few months ago, Job had satisfied his curiosity of the City. It was then that he was
ambushed by pilates under the Pope’s order. He had spoken to Pope Mateo in a
confession booth and his mind had been exposed to God and Jesus. Under the Pope’s
magical spell, everything Job had been taught as a cleric began to unwind. He questioned
life and humans and began to notice the wrongs of the clergy.

And now he was Catholic.

The New Part of the city was covered in gray mist. Everything looked dull and sucked of
its color. The gray suits and cloaks of the clergy blended with their environment.

And Christian couldn’t help but notice proudly he was one of the few that was
allowed to stand out. He wore the black throat suit and pants under the beige cloak,
shoes, and gloves.

Christian Combs was a cleric whose duty it was to make sure there was order in the
city, to make sure it was pure. To do that, Elohim wanted no religion. Religion
brought chaos, disorder, and falsehood.

How was there to be peace if different groups wanted different religions? How were they
to be satisfied if they wanted their religion to be dominant?

Easy, Christian thought, watching clerks file in and out of Altar Prime. You
banish them all and make God mortal.

And Elohim had done it. By using clerics, all religions were outlawed. No more
Christians or Buddhists or Muslims or Jews. No more Gods or Buddha that no one could
touch. No more Bibles or scriptures, rosaries or crosses.

No more lies of a man that walked on water or a goddess of fertility. Elohim is God,
now. And he’s real.

Elohim. The Father. The mortal God. He was religion now. People worshiped his
system of cleansing, and, if they wanted miracles, they spoke to a real man, not the empty
air.

Christian, after finishing his mandatory cleric studies at The Monastery, had joined
and risen in the cleric system. His skills grew, his sixth sense overpowering. He could taste
a religion, touch the words people thought to God. There was no one that escaped him when
he thought they were in touch with a supernatural force. He was their judge and he
sentenced them all to Hell. He was ruthless and a believer. And loyal.

" Cleric?"

Christian turned to see Daniel, his superior clerk, joining him at the top of the Altar
Steps. " Yes, sir?"

" Where is your partner?"

Christian’s hands clenched behind his back. " I’m not sure, sir."
His jaws locked.

Daniel’s face set. " He is your partner, cleric. He has been for six years.
You’re supposed to read his mind, to know his habits. Do you?"

Christian hesitated. He hung his head, feeling his face going hot with humiliation.
" I try to. Sir."

" Well, try to tell me why he is never on time to inspection lately. And
why he has caught no pilates in the past few months."

Christian bit his lip, eyes wildly searching for the beige cloak that would save him
from this humiliation. But Job was nowhere in sight. Defeated, he raised his head high and
looked into Daniel’s eyes. " I wouldn’t know what to tell you."

Clerk Daniel looked closely at Christian. He tried to read the deep dazzling eyes, to
try to catch a tremble in the straight frame of his body. But nothing was out of order. He
knew from years of being a clerk, that this was the perfect cleric, the kind that did
their work without question and was lenient on nothing.

He stepped closer to Christian, secluding the conversation from the flow of clerks and
civilians. Face inches from Christian’s, he said softly, " I think you do. It is
your duty to know."

Christian’s face was unmoving, but he allowed himself to look confused. "Sir?"

" This is nothing new to The System. Not everyone believes in its vision. The
largest opposition is, of course, the pilates. They are growing in number because they
think that if they are larger, their cause will be successful. They scourge wherever they
can. And that is why there have been times, few, mind you, when some of Father’s most
loyal clergy join them and go against him. You just have to know how to catch it in
time."

" Sir, are you suggesting that Cleric Job is a - a proselyte?"

Daniel glanced around them. He would hate to have this discussion heard, for someone to
hear them speaking of this disgrace. " It is sometimes a phase they go through,"
he said quietly, looking deep into Christian’s eyes to make sure any meaning was not
lost. " They are children of The System. And as children, they sometimes wander too
far off when their daddy is not looking. They are just curious and full of wonders. And
when they are caught, they repent." His face showed he had dealt with such children,
that he knew what he was talking about. But he suddenly leaned in closer, exhaling on
Christian’s throat, and hissed, " And sometimes they don’t, it goes too
far. I would hate to embarrass Cleric Job in front of Father by questioning his loyalty
and actions. It may all be a simple mistake. Or it may not. But that is your duty to find
out."

Christian felt disturbed. " Sir, Cleric Job is one of Father’s most prized
and loyal men. Are you sure in what you say? This is a very serious accusation."

" I accuse no one, Cleric, but no one is immortal. And some of us believe in the
wrong thing. Some of us pretend to be loyal but worship God. It is curiosity, it is human
nature. If Cleric Job has been raped by religious fools, we must help him. It must be
undone. But if not..."

The idea lingered in the air. If not, any cleric would be put to death, no matter how
favorable he was in the eyes of Father. It was a crime and everyone was under the law.
Clerics were chosen with strict guidelines and requirements, and one was showing blind
acceptance for many years. Of this Christian was sure Job had done. He would not accept
the ideas Daniel was now putting forth. But there could be a possibility...

" I’ll make sure he’s not on the wrong path."

" Keep an eye on him. For his sake." Daniel distractedly patted the lapels on
Christian’s cloak, glancing around once more. But no one had noticed their secrecy.
" Very well, Cleric," he said more loudly, stepping away. " Your shift
begins on the Parish Grounds."

" Thank you, sir." Christian stood to attention, faintly aware he was
watching Daniel’s figure leave. It was a blow to hear Job was suspected of being
religious. Job was Christian’s hero, the successful person he would be when he
reached that level.

It must be a mistake, he thought. It has to be. There is no one more loyal
than the Second Cleric in command of The System. But there is also no one more valuable to
have against Father than his right hand , the one that knows the very mind of The System.
If they had Job under their command...

No. He would not allow Job to ruin himself and the State by being hoodwinked by a group
of liars and fascists. If it wasn’t a mistake, and Job was indeed involved with
pilates, Christian himself would bring him down. It would boost his career to catch and
prove The System’s most valuable cleric a traitor.

In a fluid motion, he whirled and descended the steps of the Altar Prime. His car was
at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t notice the world around him, didn’t see
whom he passed. On his mind was the intent to find Job, to find out why he had not done
his duties lately the way he had to.

He reached his car and flung the door open. He got in, the engine roaring to life after
it scanned the fingerprints on the steering wheel. The car tore down the empty street,
speeding past the Judgement building and Altar Templar. His mind was free to worry of Job,
for the only ones allowed in cars were clergymen, and there weren’t many that left
their desks.

Eyes glued to the blurry road, Christian reached for the phone and dialed the
connection.

" Role Administers."

" This is Cleric Combs. I wanted to check to see if Cleric Job Savone logged out
where he is now."

" One moment."

He heard automatic typing. Impatient, he gunned down on the accelerator, his pulse
rising as he saw the Tenement Complex loom into view.

" No. Cleric Savone has not specified where he was to be today, but you are
scheduled on the Parish Grounds for the uprising."

" I know that, but are you sure he is not in the Roster?"

" I am quite sure. If you can, tell the cleric that a few more missing
attendances, and he will be jailed."

He didn’t bother thanking the man. Knowing what he did was enough to worry him.
Not checking into the Roster when not on duty was taken for illegal actions being done.

He pulled up to the domed Complex, leaving his car, that turned off as soon as his
fingers left it, in the front. He got out, approaching the Sentry at the bottom of the
narrow entrance staircase.

" Is he in?" he demanded.

" Yes, Cleric."

" Where has he been?"

" Not sure, sir. Went in very fast, to avoid me as not."

In a fury, he mounted the steps, flinging the glass door open. He marched down the
whitewashed hallway, down a short flight of steps.

Where are you, you son of a bitch? Can I possibly have been fooled by you? But how?!

He locked eyes on Job’s door at the end of the hall and approached it. He stood in
front of it and with a passionate kick, disarmed the locking device. It sizzled and
hissed, then subsided in silence. He yanked open the sliding door, stepping into the
traitor’s lair.

The hallway he was in was bare. He walked in slowly, hand resting on the gun at his
wrist. There was silence. Not even Ezra was heard.

Cautious, he reached the end of the hall and turned into the sleeping quarters. His
dress shoes treaded the carpet silently, softly. The place was dimly lit, but
Christian’s sharp eyes saw through it. The end of the hall was unnaturally darker and
he recognized a shape among the darkness. He hunched down to inspect it.

He was peering into Ezra’s muzzle. The dog sat obediently still, muscles locked,
not making any noise.

" Where’s your master?" Christian whispered.

There was a click! and Christian’s body stiffened in response. The hand
resting on Ezra’s head had the gun strapped under the cuff of his sleeve. He slowly
turned and found himself looking into the barrel of a gun.

" Name yourself," Job’s chillingly calm voice ordered.

" Christian."

Lights snapped on and the room was flooded with bright light. Christian was squatted by
Job’s feet, in front of Ezra. Job’s body relaxed out of the firing position and
he put the safety on his gun. " What are you doing here?"

Christian rose and snapped off his gloves. " I came to find you. Didn’t your
watch beep?"

Job inspected his gun, not looking at Christian. " Of course."

" Then why didn’t you come?"

Job raised his head to look him in the face. " Ezra got sick."

Christian was momentarily taken aback. Job was walking to the living room, but
Christian didn’t follow. " Sick? Cleric canines don’t get sick."

Job settled into a chair and said softly, " Here, Ezra."

The motionless dog now sprang to life and flashed past Christian, settling into
Job’s lap.

" How did he get sick?" Christian demanded, disturbed by the display of
affection between master and beast.

Job busily stroked Ezra’s fur. " Something he ate."

Christian didn’t buy it. Cleric canines ate the same ration of beef three times a
day and a capsule once a day. But he could see in Job’s expression that the topic was
closed. He would let it go this once.

Christian approached him slowly. Job’s cloak, gloves, and shoes were sprawled on
the sofa. Apparently, he’d been here for some time. " Is he... well, now?"

Job took his time to answer. " Yes. Where is our shift?"

" Parish Grounds."

Job stood, Ezra landing expertly on his feet. He fastened on his cloak and shoes, his
gun disappearing up his sleeve. " Let’s go, then." He didn’t look
twice at Christian, making his way to the door.

Christian swept his eyes over the room before following Ezra out.

They came out to see choppers in the air, silent and in V-formation, heading to the
landing site. " No hauls yet?" Job asked, pulling on his gloves.

" No," Christian said, climbing down the steps slowly. " But we’re
getting closer to the Hideout."

Job felt his skin rise with fear. " Really? How close?"

" Close enough."

" And... and the Pope?"

" We get the Hideout and we get the Pope, too. It all depends on the
Hideout’s location. He would be the biggest haul The System needs to prove it’s
serious. Catching the Pope is like catching the worm that temps the fish; it would destroy
The Movement."

" Yes," Job said, thoughtfully. " It would."

Christian watched him carefully, trying to see what his reactions would be. But even
though Christian was famed for sniffing religious hypocrites out, Job was a tough man. He
was one of the biggest clerics in The System history, known for his cold countenance when
it came to sentencing pontius’ or killing them at their places of illegal works.

" Do you think we’ll do it? Are you happy for it?"

Job looked at him sharply, halting in his steps. " Yes. Why?"

Satisfied in his reaction, Christian stepped toward his car. " I just can’t
believe we’ll catch the biggest group of papacy outlaws so soon."

" You really think it’ll be soon?"

" The law does not hesitate," Christian said, allowing a smile to creep into
view. " And we’ll catch that infamous pope before he knows it."

They got into the car, Ezra sitting quietly in the back seat. " When I called at
Role, they said you hadn’t logged in. I’m taking the liberty of going
there." He could feel Job tense up, but he refused to see it with his own eyes.

Job flinched, feeling his jaw tighten. " No, it’s fine. I forgot to go
because I was busy with Ezra. We should go."

Christian glanced at him, starting the engine. " I hadn’t thought we
shouldn’t."

The Role Administers building was the biggest and most important one in the city. It
was the center of the government and Father. Offenders were processed there, records kept,
and the offices of clergy located there. Once before, the punishments of crucification,
stoning, and burning had been held there, but Father had decided punishment deserved its
own building. No one in the clergy but his advisors were allowed to see him and know him
personally.

It was beautifully furnished. The floors were sparkling marble, and portraits and
chandeliers hung everywhere. The staircases were grand and spiraled up to never-ending
levels and floors. It looked like a hotel, but the things that went on in there were not
pleasant.

Christian and Job walked up to the front wood desk and flashed their I.D.’s.

" We’re here to fill in missing attendance roles."

The clergyman behind the desk first logged in their visit, then passed over to them a
leather-bound book. Christian went first, recording where he had been before his shift had
begun, and who he had been with. He then passed it over to Job, handing him the fancy
black pen.

Job took the pen with a trembling hand. He was aware that what he was going to do was
lie. But he had to do it to stay alive. Fighting The Oppression meant making sacrifices.
He knew God would allow them a few sins if it meant doing His work.

He looked down at the book, and in his mind flashed a black book stained in blood,
handed to him by the Devil.

" Write your name," a voice echoed loudly in his ears. " That
is the only thing you can do. Write in Father’s Little Black Book and give your soul
away to him. It does not matter who you believe in. What matters is who you obey."

" Job?"

Christian’s voice sounded distant, fake. Job forced himself to press down on the
pen, forming his name.

Suddenly, the Pope’s face appeared before him, full of glow and light that seemed
to shine down on him only. He was in a church, a beautiful church full of promises and
glory. The windows shined with color, the candles burning bright, the voices of a thousand
angels letting a song echo in the splendor of His home. But only the Pope was there. Where
was everyone? Where were the altar boys, the priests, the Guardians?

" I’m the only one left," the Pope’s voice said weakly.
" No one else accepted the challenge. I stood up to the heathens and the Devil
himself. But I was not strong enough and I shall hang for it. They know not what you did
for us. Leave them in the dark, don’t let them posses your heart or mind. Especially
not your soul. Fight it, Job. Fight them."

" Father," he gasped softly, suddenly.

" Cleric? Are you well?"

Job looked up to see the clerk and Christian staring at him intently. He looked down at
what he had written. It was not his name; it was the Pope’s. He quickly crossed it
out and wrote he had been at home, but he could feel Christian’s burning gaze staring
him down. " I’m fine. I just wanted to know where Father is at the moment."

The clerk turned to Christian in surprise to Job’s question, trying to figure out
if Job was serious. Christian’s expression didn’t falter, and he turned back to
Job. " Well, I believe he is currently in Council, I know not of what."

" Express my love to him," Job said without feeling. He turned to leave.

" Job? Aren’t you going to report Ezra’s sickness?"

Job’s eyes locked onto the door, his one and only escape. He felt Christian’s
smoldering eyes bore into his back, willing him to turn and face him. But Job was out of
energy. He needed the Pope’s energy, his love, to feel secure that he was doing the
right thing, to make sure he wouldn’t mess it up for everyone.

" Job? Tell the clerk of Ezra’s sickness. Maybe they will make sure it
doesn’t happen again."

Job willed him to be quiet, to shut up, but the clerk’s voice was now asking,
" Who is this Ezra?"

" It is the canine assigned to him. It was sick this morning; that is why he
didn’t log into Role."

Job turned slowly, tearing his eyes from the entrance. He faced the two men and said,
" I’m sure it was something to do with the weather or the air."

" Canines are programmed to stay healthy on the rations they are given. Did you
feed it?" the clerk asked.

Job glanced at Christian and couldn’t help but notice the smug look he was given.
" I forgot to this morning and had the food out in the open before I gave it to him.
I still say it was the air."

" Well, I do suppose. You know The System demands strict health guidelines, but
those outlaws do not bathe at all." The clerk snapped his fingers and an assistant
came to take Ezra away. The dog obeyed, but there was a look of sentiment in his eyes and
Job’s.

Christian was nodding in fake agreement to Job. " Well, Job, you forgot to mention
that to me." He turned to the clerk. " That is all we had to do today, thank
you. Any news on The Mission?"

" Mission?" Job said, alarmed. " What mission?"

The clerk once more looked as if Job was the stupidest cleric he had ever met. "
The mission begun to infiltrate the papacy with an undercover cleric."

" Undercover cleric? When was this agreed on?"

" A few days ago, not too long ago. It’s to stop The Movement once and for
all, to capture th Pope. He mocks us, sir, and I wish him ill for it."

" Mocks us, how?"