when he heard we were a secular community. He’s come to stir up trouble, but
he’ll be hanged for it."
" Yes, he will," Christian approved. He turned to Job, aware of the look of
dread on his face. " We must be off."
"You are a son of God. If not, whose son are you? Who are your parents’
parents? Where did we all begin? You don’t rise from the air, Job. You rise from a
soul, from the soul of a being. And that being was God. He’s not mortal, but
He’s a force sent from Heaven to create us, to begin us. And here we are. But because
He made us, we are to repay Him for it by spreading His words, His love. But not everyone
believes in Him or His image. He’s in everyone, nonetheless, as Buddha, the force,
Mother Nature... We don’t agree on His face or His son, but we know He’s there,
somehow. He is in our faith, our love, our very essence of existence. If we don’t
have a common fiber of life, what’s to keep us from killing each other to be the
dominant one?
"The only way to be superior is to vanquish God. No God, no ultimate ruler. Father
saw that the only way to be superior was to get rid of God. But no one can touch God.
So he ruined His image, His teachings, His legacy. He brainwashed people into worshiping
him and joining his godless world. Then he substituted God’s love in us for
his."
" What happened in there, Job? You looked sick."
Job watched the trees, broken and lifeless, pass by. He had a fear in him that had been
summoned by the announcement of The Mission. Now he had reminded himself what it was he
fought for, and was breathing smoothly. " I just can’t imagine why it was begun
all of a sudden, why we weren’t told."
Christian listened to the tone of his voice closely. " Yes, we are superior
clerics and the first to know everything Father is planing. But maybe this is the biggest
move to be made in this fight against religion. Maybe it’s the one final blow that
will sink the old man to his knees and make him see how foolish this is."
" Do you think they’ll change their minds just because they face death?"
Christian refused to bite. " They will. They may be men of God, but they’re
only human. They will break under pressure."
" But these are some of the most famous papal men in the world. These are
cardinals and priests that have pledged their whole life to Him, through good or bad. A
few threats will not crush their belief that He is with them. If nothing, it will lead
them to believe that He is testing them."
" Why do you say that? How do you know?"
" They would not risk angering the State if they didn’t think they would win
somehow. They know something we don’t and they plan to use it against us when we
force them to."
" And what is this something they have? A weapon, perhaps?"
" Their faith is all the weaponry they need. They have God; that is the biggest
weapon on earth."
" And what of us? Are you saying we’re doomed? That a few old men will defeat
us with words and crosses? You undermine us, Job. We are better than that."
Are we? he asked himself quietly. Aloud, he said, " There has been nothing
that shows how strong they are. We only know they have highly trained Guardians, and even
the stories whispered of that say they are too strong for us. Imagine what else they have
in store."
" Like what, Job? Machine guns? Artillery stocks? They are old feeble men who take
their strength from lies. They have nothing that can go against us."
Job stared out at the Parish Grounds as Christian slowed the car to a halt. Outside,
congregated in huddles and groups, were men, women, and children, wearing plain white
robes and holding up crosses. Something tweaked in Job’s heart.
" Sometimes," he said, almost to himself, softly, " faith is
stronger."
FACE="Vivaldi">public defiance against the clerics. They were the face of religion, the
ones that scowled at the law and who damned Father. They also proved to have the worse end
of the stick. They were the ones thrown in jail, beaten, and the ones who it fell on to be
questioned. They had to be strong to not break under the nodachis of the clerics, for if
they did, the whole Movement was over. They were the ones that received the blows from the
clerics, the ones that were humiliated and tortured. They had to be strong because the
fate of The Movement rested on their tired shoulders.
But no matter how bad the face pilates were treated, they had not as yet leaked out any
information to the clerics of the Hideout, the Pope, or any upcoming protests. They were
quiet, swift, and persistent in their opposition to The System.
The mob they pulled up to was peaceful. They ignored the cleric cars that began to
surround them and continued to hold up the lit candle stubs up high, singing a hymn in low
murmurs.
" Well," Christian said, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut.
" We’ll see who’s right: you or me. These may not be the ones we’re
after, but as Father says, actions are necessary to yell."
Job watched him reach into his sleeve and pull out his gun. He looked up at Job. "
My nodachi’s in the trunk. Get it for me please."
Job stared at him for a minute then took hold of himself and walked around the car. In
the trunk were their two nodachis, and as he looked down at them, he fantasized blood on
the handle of his own.
" Job! Now! Hurry!"
He would have to be strong for the Pope. If he wasn’t, the only hope for the Final
Movement would be lost. He was the secret weapon of the Pope, their final show of faith.
If he messed up or didn’t step up to the expectations placed on him, he would feel
the weight of a thousand lives on his shoulders.
Gripping the nodachis in each hand, he slammed the trunk closed and joined Christian,
who was inspecting the number of pilates and the ranks of the clerics. " I see...
fifty or more."
Job’s eyes swept the congregation. For the first time, he saw the children among
the mass, the women, and fragile old men. They weren’t dangerous. These weren’t
the dangerous sect of Guardians that terrorized The System. These were peaceful men and
women who meant no harm.
And he was going to slaughter them.
" Don’t."
Christian turned his head slowly to look at Job, who was holding his arm.
" Don’t what, Job?"
Job breathed in deeply, trying to keep calm and to hide what he was feeling inside.
" Why do we always kill them? Why don’t we question them? Keep them for
evidence... uh, keep them as prisoners?"
Christian turned his body to face Job, looking incredulous. " Are you hesitating?
Are you crazy? We always slaughter them. We don’t keep them as
prisoners because there are so many. They have never talked in the past and have proven
their point that they will never be forced to spill information."
He made to go and Job sidestepped him, blocking his way. He knew that he or Christian
had to attack first; they were high clerics and the others were immediately under their
orders. For now, he wanted to stall, to give the pilates the time they needed to run...
but he knew they wouldn’t.
Christian stared at him with cold, hard eyes. His voice dropped and he said,
" I don’t want to think of what you’re doing, but I suggest you move so
we get this going. These clerics are here in a hurry; Father has called for me."
He pushed past Job and didn’t see his eyes go wide with fear. Job turned and saw
Christian raise his gun and fire at will into the crowd. There was smoke and more gun
blasts as the other clerics followed suit.
But what made Job terrified was the lack of noise. There were no yells of pain or
voices of the children he knew must have been shot. But there was silence. He knew the
face pilates took their blows with quiet acceptance, but their pain seemed to yell at him
now, seemed to break his skin trying to claw its way to his soul.
He was trembling all over as he saw Christian take his nodachi out of its sheath and
order the other clerics to do so also. He turned and motioned to Job to follow him.
Job’s eyes were locked on the fading cloud of smoke that fell softly to the ground,
and he saw images of past wars and destructions. They were vivid in his mind, echoes of
historic yells filling his brain. He numbly took out his nodachi and watched the other
clerics charge. He felt as if he were dreaming and he was witnessing it all from the air,
from.... Heaven.
Then came a swift pain in his chest, both spiritually and physically, and a cold
searing jab. For a moment, he heard a deep voice telling him to keep his eyes open, that
he would see it if he just kept his eyes open. He felt a hand touch his chest and the pain
turned warm, but by then, his eyes were closed and the voice immediately cut off.
" Cleric?"
The man speaking to Christian immediately shut up obediently and looked past him, at
the man now speaking to him.
Christian turned slowly, to see a cleric he had never met before. " Yes?"
" I’m Cleric Jude Mason. Father sent me to let you know he would like to
speak to you now."
Christian couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with fear and pride. " Me? An
audience with the Father?"
" Yes. Were you not told before?"
" Yes, but what for?"
The cleric shrugged. " I didn’t have the honor of being told that
information. But I’m sure it is good." He smiled handsomely to assure him of it.
" Yes." Christian turned back to the nurse. " I will be the only one
allowed to take him home when he is well again, is that understood?"
" Yes, sir," the nurse said. He bowed with grace and turned to go, but
remembered something and said," His canine is well, now. Will you take him?"
Christian frowned. " Keep it until I come again."
The man nodded and walked off.
Christian smiled at the cleric. " I thank you for the message. Excuse me."
The cleric kept the smile on his face until Christian walked past him. He then turned
to see who was around, and walked towards the end of the hospital hall. Through the glass
on the door, he saw Job lying on a lavish hospital bed, the lights dim, his eyes closed.
He checked to see if anyone saw him, then pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
The IV on Job’s arm pulsed slightly with the airy substance going into his body,
and Jude looked at it longingly for a minute, then walked closer. Job was unconscious, the
oxygen mask humming with the air flowing into him. There was a large bandage across his
chest, where a confused cleric had cut him with his nodachi when he took him for a pilate.
The cleric who had injured Job had not been found, but Jude had been there and he knew.
He stepped around the bed and settled next to Job, watching his chest rise and fall
slowly. The Botticelli face was pale but wonderful, and Jude couldn’t believe he
himself was one of the few clerics who knew the truth of Father’s favorite and most
dangerous man. Looks were deceiving, and Job had been blessed with them.
He smiled to himself at the irony of what he had just thought. Blessed. He
raised a leg and put it across the other one, eyes locked on Job. He looked down at his
watch, then looked back at the patient. " You think you know what you’re
doing," he whispered into the silence. " That you’re silent and sly. But I
know you’re not." Job’s figure remained unmoving, but he continued. He felt
his anger subsiding with the words he was whispering to this unconscious scoundrel.
" But I know what you’re doing, too. You can’t hide from me. You
may have the Father wound around your finger, but not for long. I will make you pay, Job.
And what better way than to have you thrown in jail or, better yet, killed? I will show
you what your mistake was. I will make you regret."
The long eyelashes moved slightly, and Jude rose at this. He looked down at Job one
last time in disgust then walked out of the room, no one the wiser of his visit. He walked
out of the hospital unnoticed, but instead of directing his car to his station, he headed
in the direction of the Role Administers building.
Christian had never before been allowed to speak to Father directly. He had listened
with awe at Job when he spoke of it, but now he was going to go there personally, and he
felt the honor weigh him down with pleasure.
There was a separate wing for Father’s headquarters. It was very different from
the bottom floors, and seemed to scream with privilege. The floors were marble and the
walls painted in brown hues that calmed everyone immediately. He had been asked to take
off his cloak and gloves, and had been ushered into a waiting room that looked like a
Victorian home. There were shelves everywhere full of books and portfolios, and classical
music played from every wall. It seemed the employees of Father all agreed he had to be
relaxed at all times in order to run The System well and efficiently. Not only that, but
he had a whole army of clerics under his power. Everyone knew that what the Father ordered
was done and no one was saved from his wrath.
Because few people knew Father personally, except for his advisors, there was no
telling what was in store for Christian now. He could be going to his doom, and still at
the same time, he could be going to have the best moment of his life.
He was sitting on a lavishly soft sofa, when the only door in the room opened. The man
that stood there was dressed in a tight black suit and had a belt around his waist that
held four small, yet lethal, guns. He had on shades and did not show any expression on his
face when he said, " Are you Cleric Christian Combs of the Third Division?"
Christian rose slowly, shaking his head. " Second Division," he corrected.
The man nodded, satisfied with the answer he gave. He motioned him forward and
Christian raised his hands up to let the man search him. " Any weapons?"
" I have my nodachi under my tunic and two guns on my belt."
He felt the man’s cold hands find the weapons and then pat him free. " Go in;
he will see you now."
Heart thumping with excitement, Christian walked into the room. It was a cozy study,
with a desk in front of a big bay window laced with heavy curtains. The walls were painted
deep red with borders of beige touching the ceiling. Hanging above the desk were two
black, thick chords with tassels on the ends. There were only two pictures in the room,
one of The Last Judgement and another of an archangel holding a scale in his two golden
hands, on opposite sides of the room. He frowned, but his attention was grasped by a
throat being cleared and he turned to see a man rise from the chair behind the desk, out
of the shadows.
" Cleric Combs?"
" Yes, Sir." Christian bowed at the waist, hands held behind his back. He was
surprised at the man he was looking at. He was not even six feet, with disheveled black
hair and piercing blue eyes. His face was worn and tired, his shoulders hanging limp and
not proud as he imagined they should. There were no other guards in the room and he was
surprised at the lack of protection there was by leaving him alone with the most famous
and hated man in the country.
" Sit, please." Father motioned to the chair in front of his desk and lowered
himself onto his seat. He waited for Christian to cross the room, his fingertips held
together in deep thought.
Christian waited patiently for Father to remember he was there. He gripped the arm of
the leather chair tightly, sensing what this was about.
" I was informed shortly after the haul that Cleric Savone was injured
severely."
" He was, Sir. He has a cut in his chest that would have killed him had not I
rushed him to the nursing wing."
" And who did this?" Father asked, not looking as if he really cared.
" A cleric, Sir, that confused him for one of the pilates."
Father looked up with a strange look in his eyes, " Ironic, isn’t it?"
The muscles in his jaw locked. He was feeling offended, but he didn’t know why.
" Why, Sir?"
Father gave him a deep warning look into the depths of his eyes. " Because there
is now evidence that Cleric Savone may indeed be a Sympathetic."
" To who?"
" To religion."
Christian watched Father fiddle with a pen. He clicked it in and out continuously,
watching the tip draw and recede. He then looked up at the cleric and said, " I have
spoken to Daniel. He has expressed his concerns of Savone and I have come to question his
loyalty."
" But he has been one of your best men. You cannot think that he’d be stupid
enough to do this now, do you?"
" I don’t know what to think. It is true that Savone has been my favorite, if
not my closest, cleric. He has won many honors for his valiant fight against religion and
has served almost his entire life in The System. But, as I’m sure Daniel told you,
there are always some that will wander into the garden and taste the apple. They should be
punished, and even though Savone’s imprisonment will hurt me deeply, he is not above
the law of punishment. He has to be made an example of what happens when you defy The
System, if you let old men overcome you."
Christian watched Father closely. An echo of what he was saying was ringing loudly in
his ears. Into the garden and taste the apple.... old men....
" Cleric?"
He looked up sharply. " Yes?"
" I would like to hear what you have to say on the matter."
" If you want the truth, I don’t believe Job has done anything that should
make you or Daniel suspicious. He was a complete expert on kendo at the young age of
seventeen, far younger than any other cleric. He is one of the most brilliant tactic and
strategist clerics in The System. He probably has a plan that is ensuring him the path to
the Pope and the other pilates. You must think twice on any decision you want to make
against him. If you are wrong, he could avenge the humiliation and go against you, this
time doing what you think he’s up to now. What has he done for you to doubt
him?"
Father straightened in his seat, avoiding the eyes of the cleric. " Many small
things that amount to big ones. He has been spotted in the Old Part on off-duty hours.
What has he to do there, I want to know? He has failed in bringing any more men into
justice for the past few months. Why, when his record was awed at by fanatics? What has
made him dwindle in his reputation, shirk his duties? There is nothing I look up to more
in Job than his mind. He has always been one for plans that do not fail, for actions that
yell messages across to the populace. His mind is what got him to the highest rank of
cleric at a ripe age of eighteen. In the seven years he has been in that position, our
fight against the pilates has been amounting to battles that could win the war, that could
overthrow The Movement. But if his mind were to be brainwashed by religious outlaws, there
is no knowing what he can be capable of. We have seen his mind work for us. I shudder to
think of what he can do against us."
Christian drank in the words of the Father. He knew what he was saying was the truth.
Job was one of the most genius of men. He was the one that had planned raids, that had
ruthlessly executed lines of opponents, had yelled the order for the firing squads to
shoot. And then he remembered the way he had stood at the haul with his mouth open, with
his body frozen in fear at the death of the fifty people in the Grounds. He remembered
clearly the way the beautifully deep eyes had glazed over with an aura of realization. The
light of dawn had shined in Job’s eye, and they had to fear it.
" What is it you would have me do?" Christian said, in a small voice.
Father slouched in his chair and a smile appeared across his face for the first time in
the meeting. He leaned forward now, eager, resting his elbows on the expensive desk, and
said, " I would have you be his friend, nothing more. You will keep an eye on him.
You will follow his every move. You are to know where he is at all times. I give you
permission to go Out of Bounds, if need be. But I want to know what he has to do with The
Movement. If our suspicions are right, and he is in league with religion, then don’t
doubt he is the own Pope’s accomplice. Men like Savone are important to the planning
and launching of revolutions like this. There is no need for him to steal any of our
weapons; he is the weapon."
Christian now heard Job’s voice from when they were in the car and he recalled how
Job had made mention to a weapon of the religious men. Now he had it in his mind that Job
had been cleverly referring to himself and the power he would have over The System when he
Go to part:
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Copyright © 2005 Dee Arguera
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"