Two goons in black suits escorted me through the underground tunnels, boasting to each other about who had won money betting on the live sports the night before. Condemned criminals of the violent sort were regularly pitted against each other in prime time fights to the death. Usually a series of one-on-one matches was followed by fights of pairs, each combatant armed with a different set of weapons, defenses, and – depending upon the crime – handicaps. On special occasions the local Senator or governor was expected to sponsor a whole series of battles, lasting well into the night. Murroughs the Younger was the first President to organize these sports at his own cost. He did so annually on the Fourth of July to celebrate some long forgotten event, but the date was hallowed by tradition and anyway the competitions proved immensely popular. The Presidential shows were always the grandest and most elaborate. Sindhra discontinued the practice, finding it distasteful, but her successor Jimenez revived it. Judas, masterful politician that he was, added Christmas Eve besides.
We travelled a long way, even farther than I had the night before, climbing up and down creaking stairwells and threading through the twisting, half-finished maze of corridors. Finally we arrived at a large, heavily barricaded door. One of the goons pressed her palm against the wall before reaching out and pulling it open. A sudden world of noise and light tumbled upon us. With a rough push, I was thrust into the middle of it.
The load roar of a great mass of people washed over me. A rock band had been playing, and at my appearance the heavy, raucous chords began to subside. I stood blinking uncertainly in the sudden sunlight, trying to get my bearings.
I was standing on a large, temporary platform, the extension to a small, cement balcony – now partially dismantled – built into the thick, assuming walls of the White House compound. Not far away, a large section had imploded and was cordoned off by massive cement barricades. Large chunks of rubble still lay strewn about the street below. Normally grey and unadorned, long, narrow banners now hung from the top of the walls, stretching all the way to the ground. The bright and familiar stars and stripes somehow lent the air a festive mood, streaming grandly in the biting, early spring breeze. A gargantuan flag, too, towered above us, a single stripe as thick as I was tall.
At one end of the platform were two large, ebony chairs, exquisitely carved. Judas sat in one, artfully constructed to make him look taller from a distance. Next to him was his wife. Each had an arm extended into the space between and were holding hands in a public display of unity. Both were looking at me now, Jewel cool and inscrutable and Judas with all manner of emotion scrambling for room on his face. In a smaller, plainer chair, tucked almost invisibly into the corner, slouched their son, Davey. He was wearing some kind of thick sweatshirt with the hood up. The visor of a baseball cap protruded. Tina Martinez, the Secretary of Justice and the Interior, clad in her bright red dress and equally bright high-heeled shoes, was standing in front of Judas. They had been speaking. The Dutchman was leaning casually against the back of the President's ebony chair, notebook clasped tightly to his thin chest, listening to their conversation.
In the center of the platform was a table with snacks both hot and cold and bottles of fizzy water. Behind it sat six people I recognized from my days as Secretary of the Environment: the ambassadors of China, Russia, India, Brazil, the Mediterranean Union, and the African Federation of States. These were the representatives of the world's last remaining foreign governments. Judas had important dealings with all of them. Directly in front of the table was a break in the railing that surrounded the edge of the platform. A little gate let onto a set of stairs that descended into places I could not glimpse. Two heavyset goons stood on either side of it, arms folded stiffly and loudly chewing gum.
At the other end of the platform was an ugly, iron cage. I was pushed towards it.
The roar of the crowd intensified.
Tina Martinez detached herself from the Presidential pair and approached as I was being locked inside. One of the goons rattled the door to make sure it was secure, and then both quickly retreated back into the compound.
Tina Martinez was shaking her head as she came to a stop next to my cage. “Are you alright?” she wanted to know. Her face was creased with lines of worry.
“You're the prosecutor?”
She nodded her head sympathetically.
“I know you never liked me, Tina,” I implored, “but I'm no danger to anyone. Least of all you.”
Tina Martinez pursed her lips gravely. “It's for your own good, dear.” A tiny hand slipped between the bars and patted me consolingly on the arm.
“Tina!” Judas roared from his ebony throne. “Let's get a move on! You're almost up!”
Tina Martinez shrugged her shoulders and gave me a look as if to say, What can you do? “Candy?” she offered, digging around in her shiny, black pocketbook.
I shook my head.
The pocketbook shut with a neat, little snap and the Secretary of Justice disappeared through the gate and down the stairs.
I could see we were some twenty meters above the ground. Through the aluminium bars of the low railing I could see that we overlooked a traffic circle. The area had been cleared of commercial and passenger vehicles. Ten heavily armored tanks from the national guard had taken their place. They were parked in even spaces, thin cannon pointing over the crowd like long noses. A squad of combat helicopter circled overhead. Surrounding the traffic circle were a number buildings, but it was hard to tell what kind because they, too, had been plastered over with long, thin American-style banners. A whole, gaping block on the left was empty, its contents apparently pulverized during the war. The wide open space around the traffic circle as well as the side streets and the empty lot to the left were crammed with eager, jeering onlookers. A single corridor was kept open by rows of guardsmen, wrestling testily with the onlookers. A clear, wide path led from one of the side streets on the right directly into the thick of things.
There, in the grassy area at the center of the traffic circle, stood the hulking stone statues of the last three Presidents in a solemn line – Sindhra, Jimenez, and Judas – all gazing calmly and reassuringly away from the compound. As I looked, I saw the crowd spit out a tight ring of national guardsmen near someone's gigantic, stone feet. In the center was the brightly clad Tina Martinez, who took a moment to brush herself off. Standing nearby was another, familiar figure. It was Sonya Ericsson, the studded and pierced Secretary of Public Diplomacy, looking dour and unpleasant as always. When Tina Martinez caught sight of her, she smiled warmly and happily struck up a conversation.
Nearby, a large, rectangular platform similar to the one attached to the wall of the compound had been constructed. To one side was a witness stand, and on the other a raised bench for the judge. Both were currently unoccupied, and both were adorned with fancy, American flags, bunched up to look like hand-held fans. Two sets of stairs bedecked with red and blue carpets were set at opposite corners.
Behind the platform, about a hundred prisoners cowered in a large pen hastily constructed of chicken wire. Crude, hand-painted wooden signs slung on each side of the fencing identified them only as “TRAITORS”. These were a selection of people that had been processed through Sonya's “I'm Watching” program. What happened is that the Office of the Secretary of Public Diplomacy would present accusations against someone and then solicit anonymous reports of any co-conspirators at a special location on the link. A whole slew of people would then denounce their neighbors, family members, and co-workers – anyone they didn't like or had a grudge against. It was discovered that these people when questioned – especially using the enhanced techniques – were quite willing to name others, and a whole new round of arrests would take place. The charade would continue for a few days before Tina Martinez' interrogators had finally saturated their thirst for a good, solid conspiracy, which was usually pretty apparent by then.
Set apart from the prisoners and the statues towards the back of the traffic circle was a curious thing. It was a wooden gurney with four sets of restraining straps, one for the head, the upper and lower waist, and the feet. A three meter high, heavy curtain ran along one side of it, and a narrow plank about the size and shape of an arm extended from the gurney through the curtain. A multitude of thin but sturdy straps lined this plank till its end. A little table with instruments and tiny bottles that together looked like a child's chemistry set could be seen just where the narrow plank jutted from the curtain. Several narrow tubes attached to needles, too, sat there in a little pile. A fat, ghastly man was sitting there, picking them slowly apart. At the foot of the gurney was a metal nameplate: “M.A. Ferguson”.
I couldn't see the rock band hidden amid the jeering and hooting crowd, but I could certainly hear them. They hit a few loud, ear-splitting chords as Tina Martinez mounted one set of stairs and took her place on the platform. The crowd roared in response.
As if on cue, two persons suddenly materialized between myself and the foreign ambassadors. Both were familiar. One was a smallish man with Oriental features and neatly parted hair. I had seen him once before in my dreams. He was wearing a purple suit with a yellow handkerchief protruding from the left breast pocket. An ugly, gaping gash marred one side of his face. It looked horribly painful and infected. The other was a thin, gaunt, young man dressed in a nondescript, grey suit obediently holding a briefcase. The face – sharp nose, sunken eyes, freckles – was familiar. It was the Chief Acolyte.
“You won't escape so easily this time, Gyges,” the Chief Justice declared ominously, grabbing hold of one of the bars of my cage and shaking it violently.
“Ah, Xiling! Finally.” I peered at him curiously. “I was beginning to wonder if we'd ever meet in person. You were always sending your pet.”
A harsh smile spread over the Chief Justice's face. “Hear that?” he taunted over his shoulder.
The Chief Acolyte shrugged. “He can sneer all he likes. After all, he's the one in a cage. Anyway, he has his own master.”
“Oh no, he doesn't!” Xiling crooned and turned to grin at me terribly. The gash on his cheek seemed to throb and pulse. “Didn't you know? He sent his angel away.”
“I didn't send him away,” I retorted, suddenly surly. “And too bad for you, too, because he's prepared me well. Your cheap, parlor tricks won't do you any good.”
Xiling's face twisted in sudden anger. “You have caused me much trouble and worry over the last two years, Gyges. I assure you, you will pay for it dearly.”
“I have nothing to fear from you.”
“Oh, but you do!”
“Hey, Xiling!”
The Chief Justice turned his head.
Judas was looking over, brows furrowed suspiciously. He gestured conspicuously with the hand that was wearing the ring. I could see that he was wearing a cheap, white T-shirt. On the front in big, red letters were the words: “I WATERBOARD FOR FREEDOM”. In the place of the letter “O”, there were three red hearts. “What are you doing?” he called out. “For Law's sake, get away from him!”
Xiling turned back to me, his face a mask of malice and cruelty. “You may have fooled Epstein,” he hissed softly. “But I know your little secret.”
A chill ran up my spine. For a brief moment, I tasted doubt. Could I have made a mistake walking blindly into Judas' vengeful hands?
The uncertainty must have shown on my face, because Xiling suddenly exploded in a hideous laughter. Together with the Chief Acolyte, he withdrew towards the other end of the platform. Judas, still scowling, welcomed him and began in earnest to speak in a low but energetic whisper.
Very soon afterward, a gong sounded. The rock band hit a few chords and the crowd gave a shout. When the electronic thrumming died away, I could hear drums. Judas perked up, said something smart to his son who grudgingly sat up, and leaned eagerly forward.
My trial had begun.
Coming from one of the side streets, I saw Icarus, Jennifer, and Maya. They were wearing orange jumpsuits and had been chained together at the ankles. Their arms, too, were fastened behind their backs. A thin, plastic line attached them to Harvey Cash, who was following at a comfortable distance. Half his shirt was hanging out of pants pulled too far up his waist. He walked slowly in the center of the lane, arms spread out wide and cutting at the air as if conducting a symphony.
Behind him in evenly spaced rows of five or six came the provincial ambassadors. First came the Europeans. Hair grown long and wild, faces and chests painted with strange, ominous symbols, their bodies twisted rhythmically as they marched half-naked across the cracked and worn pavement. They were dancing. One would spring forward while his neighbors darted back. Now he was leaning over, swinging his head madly from side to side, swollen tongue dangling from an open mouth. Then, in a sudden flourish and twirl, he leaped into the air as the others caught up and swept him along. It was a dizzying display. Following closely behind marched their Latin counterparts, chanting woefully. Each carried a percussion instrument – congas and bongos strapped around the shoulders of the men, maracas and cowbells in the hands of the women – which they pounded on or rattled in accompaniment.
Taking up the rear were two rows of ambassadors I had never seen before. They wore foreign garb – Turkish, Farsi, Bedouin, and other styles I did not recognize. None of them seemed to know what to do with themselves. The newest additions to the Empire, I guessed, learning their place in the new world order. The Greeks, Serbs, and Albanians were conspicuously absent. I knew that during the civil war the Mediterranean Union – with the timely help of their allies, the Brazilians – had managed to reacquire and hold onto those territories. I imagined it was one of the urgent affairs of state their most beautiful and compelling ambassador – the slender, captivating woman with silky, long legs and green eyes sitting at the table next to me – had come to discuss.
The crowd began to jeer as my friends entered the cleared pathway leading into the center of the traffic circle. They walked slowly and awkwardly, the chains around their ankles not affording them much slack. They were using all their concentration not to fall. Then I saw a splatter on Maya's jumpsuit. Someone in the crowd had thrown something. Whatever it was, it must have been rotten because she looked appalled. Others followed suit. Soon a whole smorgasbord of rotten vegetables, meats, and eggs was being hurled at them – even feces – clinging to their faces and hands and clogging up their hair. Icarus stumbled once and fell, nearly bringing Maya and Jennifer down with him. The guardsmen separating them from the unruly crowd stood by and watched, smirking slightly as Jennifer spat a loud, fluid stream of curses at him.
The procession made its slow way down the lane. The crowd bubbled with excitement. Those in the back stood on the tips of their toes for a better look. When they arrived in the center of the traffic circle, Harvey Cash herded the prisoners and his ambassadors into the space between the witness platform and the Presidential statues. Once they had taken their places, he gestured sharply over his head. The drums fell silent. The Northern Europeans scowled, but they stopped their dancing anyway.
Xiling stepped away from the President.
Judas stood up and solemnly approached the edge of the platform. A tall wooden box had been placed there for him to step onto.
The crowd quieted down.
Judas did nothing at first but gaze imperiously down at his audience. Out of sight below there was a massive gang of journalists, holding out their picture tubes and microphones and scraping the air like needy children. They held their breath and waited. They didn't know what for, but they were waiting for it anyway. Suddenly, he thrust his arms high above his head and opened his mouth. “Freedom!” he yelled. The voice was magnified somehow and sent hurtling to every distant corner of the traffic circle.
The crowd went wild. The Northern European ambassadors, too, started convulsing as if with ecstasy, eyes rolled up into the back of their heads and gurgling with fanatical delight. The Latin ambassadors began to hit their drums and shake their maracas, too. The rock bank, lost somewhere in the tide of people, struck a few echoing chords.
“Freedom!” they all roared back in one great, terrific voice.
Unnoticed in all the din, I saw the ambassador of the African Federation lean over and comment dryly to his neighbor, “It always sends a chill up my spine when the Americans talk about freedom.”
The Chinese ambassador nodded. “And free trade agreements,” she added with scarcely concealed admiration.
Judas brought his arms down to his side. The crowd fell obediently silent. And he began to speak. I had never before heard him speak like that, except back in the days when I was just an ordinary and only saw him on the link. I had forgotten he could do it so well. Even though I was the target of much of what he said, I was enraptured by it anyway. The lazy, Texas lilt was still there, but he spoke like an educated, intelligent man. I can convey the words to you now, but they are hollow and empty without the spirit that animated them. Still, this is what he said:
“My fellow citizens! For sixteen years I have served you faithfully. For sixteen years I have guided the affairs of this great nation. It is not a burden I sought, but it fell to me anyway. I could have let it pass to someone else, but I didn't. I couldn't trust that God would find anyone better suited to the task. I hope I don't come off sounding arrogant when I say it, but the fact is, if I had gone and stuck my head in the sand and someone else let you down – well, how could I have looked myself in the mirror? There are times in life when there's nothing for it except rise to the occasion, and that's just what I did.
“Those of you listening to me this morning – maybe you don't realize how lucky you are. Not a care in the world! Well, there are the cares of the whole world weighing down on these shoulders. Never a free day. Can't ever sleep in, and they only ever come with bad news. But I wouldn't have it any other way. If I can manage to protect you from the many evils that gather on the horizon, if I can screen you from worry and care, then it is a sacrifice I'll gladly make. How it pleases me to be able to stand before you today and call out that word which we cherish so much!
“But rest assured, I am not alone in my responsibilities! Behind me, you see my beautiful wife, Jewel. What a blessing! She is my partner in all these labors. You remember back at the beginning when there was some uncertainty as to who would move into the White House after President Jimenez died? Yes, yes, I know it's taboo to speak of those events. But sometimes in the way of a father a President has to take certain decisions. They may seem mean-spirited but they're always in the best interests of everyone. Well, enough time has passed. Let's talk about Jimenez. Let's talk about General Margolis! Because at that time, my wife was his wife. She could have stayed with him, but she didn't. She came over to me and chose me as President, and then she convinced her ex-husband to be my Chief of Staff! The man served me loyally. He served me well.
“Of course, General Margolis is dead now.” Judas paused for a few dramatic heartbeats. “As you can imagine, it is tiring and difficult to be the steward of a great nation such as ours. You must constantly be on your guard. There are enemies everywhere!” Suddenly, turning in my direction, he thundered, “But only the most shameful kind of viper strikes from inside your own home, after you've invited him in as a guest!”
The crowd began to boo and jeer, but Judas cut them off. “I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. One of my most trusted generals is dead. He can no longer be of service to you. Another of my generals has been turned against me. The shipments of water, the valuable ores that fire our industry, have stopped flowing from the moon. You feel the effect every day in your wallets and your pocketbooks. The water quotas have only been tightening. You think I don't know? You think I can flush and splash and drink as much as I want? Even here at the White House, we live under the quota system. Anyone who says we don't is a liar and a terrorist! A liter of water costs twenty credits at the supermarket down the street. Even here at the White House, we're counting our pennies!
“And when did the prices start skyrocketing? After you ostracized Gyges, that's when! At the time I was sorry for it. I thought, why would the people relieve me of one of my most able servants? But the American people is a superior people! You have no match anywhere else in the world! You saw through the tricks and the lies of this sinister doppelganger! You sensed that there was something rotten at the core of the nation sapping its strength, and you sent him away! And what better proof is there of how vile and corrupt this creature is than that as soon as he arrived on the moon he stirred up trouble between myself and General Munib? Their madness went so far that they even tried to declare our lunar territories independent states! This Gyges here was to be governor! They wanted to rob you of your national treasure! Well, now your most popular military hero is a traitor, and there's nothing for it but to treat him like one.”
More jeers arose from the crowd. Judas, though, shook his head and plowed on relentlessly. “Fellow citizens! I haven't finished yet! I haven't even got to the worst part! Because despite all I've told you, there is still a worst part!” Again he turned and this time jabbed an accusing finger in my direction. “This monster here tried to steal my precious Jewel from me. And then, as if that wasn't enough, he was planning to murder me in cold blood just like he's murdered so many others. God only knows what he would have done with my precious son, Davey.”
The crowd emitted a vicious snarl.
Turning back to his audience, he covered his face with his hands and lowered his head. His thick, red beard wagged pitifully. “Do you know how much it shames me to stand here in front of you and reveal the sordid details of my private life?”
The growls from the crowd strengthened and turned into howls. I could hear people calling for me to be lynched on the spot.
He remained standing as he was for what seemed a long time, allowing the crowd to work itself into a simmering frenzy. Finally, Judas stirred. Lowering his hands from his face, he slowly shook his head. When it became apparent he was about to speak, the noise from the crowd dropped to an agitated buzzing. “No, no, my fellow citizens,” he admonished them gently. “I cherish these warm feelings of yours, but we cannot make rough justice, not even for my sake. Ours is a civilized nation. Everyone here has the right to a fair trial, even vile terrorists such as this one.
“His trial is about to begin. But before Secretary Vasquez starts reading out the charges, before she calls the witnesses, I want you to know how I personally, your President, have suffered at the hands of this terrorist, Marcellus Gyges. I want you to keep it in mind as you listen to the testimony of very reliable witnesses. The charges alone will be enough to convince you. Murders, plots, conspiracies. It's a despicable story. I know it's not a crime to lie your way into another man's house and try and lure his wife into the very bed he provided you with as guest. Perhaps it should be, but it isn't.
“As jury you must decide whether he is guilty or innocent of the charges against him, and you alone. I won't interfere in your decision. You are free to decide as you will. But I just thought you ought to know what kind of man you're dealing with. That's all.”
Judas turned, stepped off his box and out of sight of the journalists below, and returned to his ebony chair. As soon as he had seated himself, his wife stood up, gathered up both his hands into hers, and pulled him to his feet. She nudged him back towards his box. Feigning surprise, he climbed onto it. Jewel stood tall and radiant and proud next to him, and together they heaved a single pair of hands into the air above their heads, fingers tightly intertwined.
The crowd roared its approval.
The two stood, beaming, turning slowly from side to side so all could get a good look and basking in the thunderous approbation of the nation. It was a triumphant moment.
Later on, after the Presidential pair had settled into their ebony chairs and the crowd had quieted down, Tiny Martinez began to read the charges against me. I won't bore you with the details because it was a long list, but needless to say I was accused of violating the terms of my ostracism, treason, slander, and the murder of various individuals, including General Margolis. It was also announced that the chief witness against me would be my political commissar, Eddie. Not only was he in a unique position to confirm the various treasonous utterances and activities I had allegedly committed during my tenure as Secretary of the Environment, but he had been up on the moon during my banishment as well.
The Chief Justice had blipped over to the platform below while everyone's attention was focused on Judas and now sat presiding behind the judge's bench. He had, however, left his acolyte behind. As the trial proceeded, he edged his way closer, until after some twenty minutes or so he was standing next to me.
Something seemed to be vexing him. “Aren't you afraid of what's going to happen to you?” the Chief Acolyte finally asked, nodding in the direction of M.A. Ferguson.
“Death?” I shrugged. “No. It's not what I want, but I see no reason to fear it, either.”
The Chief Acolyte chewed on his lower lip. “I don't believe you,” he finally declared and stood up straighter.
“You have a master,” I pointed out. “Doesn't he teach you?”
The Chief Acolyte spun about and pinned me with hawklike eyes. “Not to rise above death!”
“Oh,” I said softly. “Then it would seem he doesn't teach you anything at all.”
The Chief Acolyte did not say anything more, but he did not retreat, either. He hovered nearby, as if in the hope that whatever I was suffering from might be contagious.
The trial wore on. Eddie was behind the witness stand for quite some time, answering the questions Tina Martinez posed to him. It was somewhat disconcerting to hear the kind of reality they were painting about me. They must have thought about it a great deal because their story was incredibly consistent. At times I found myself scouring my memory, because they artfully mixed fact with fiction, knowing full well that whatever was said here today would be examined and picked apart by people all over the country.
It was because of this intense concentration that I did not notice Judas until he had shoved the Chief Acolyte out of the way and taken his place next to my cage.
“Hello, son,” he said gruffly, staring out over the top of the railing as if it were perfectly natural to be speaking to me at all.
From the tone in his voice I could tell he wasn't in a combative mood. I was glad, because I wasn't in one, either. “Nice speech,” I told him.
“What?” He glanced darkly over at me before the hint of a fresh smile flashed across his face. “Yeah, well, acting's part of the job. Glad you could be such a sport about it.”
“What do you want, Judas?”
He turned and faced me. “It's time to call things by their names, Marcellus. This farce here don't have to end with you keeping your appointment with good ol' Miriam Amanda down there. You hear?”
I frowned. This isn't at all what I had expected. “No, I don't hear.”
“Aw, shucks,” Judas muttered and lowered his gaze. “I always liked you, you know.” Suddenly, he looked me squarely in the eye. “Even though you did show up unannounced intending to ride roughshod all over me and my own. Come on. Fess up.”
“Yes. It's true. But somewhere along the line things changed.”
“I'll bet that big oaf of a friend of yours kept goading you to do it.”
“Jango?” A moment of sadness washed over me. “Yeah, he did. Said you were my daddy.” I laughed even as tears welled in my eyes.
“I hear he's passed on. I'm sorry.”
It was then that I saw the Dutchman approaching. A worried expression was on his face. “What are you doing, Judas?” he asked, looking quickly from his boss to me and back again.
“Just having a chat,” the President answered evasively.
The Dutchman raised his eyebrows skeptically. “A chat? With public enemy number one?”
“I know what I'm doing!” Judas growled. “Now get on back over there with my wife and leave me alone.”
“But, sir –”
“Time to paint your butt white and run with the antelope!” Judas suddenly barked. “You hear?”
Throwing a biting, acerbic glance in my direction, the Dutchman hastily retreated.
“You know, you sure are a curious fellow,” Judas observed, forgetting about the sudden intrusion. “Something's happened. I can't quite put my finger on it. You don't curse like you used to.”
“Curse? Me?”
“Yeah. Someone must have washed your mouth out with soap.” He turned back to the proceedings, lost in his own thoughts.
At that moment, the door in the wall of the compound opened and out stepped Betty in her maid's outfit, holding a heavy, silver tray tightly with both hands.
“How could you back out after that speech you just made?” I asked him.
“Oh, there are ways. The ordinaries usually appreciate a display of mercy, as long as they still get a show.” He jutted his beard in the direction of the pent up prisoners. “Makes them feel good about themselves. Don't you remember the trials we had after Jimenez died? We held a whole series of them.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Not really.”
Judas seemed genuinely surprised. “But you must have been a teenager at the time! Certainly old enough for that kind of thing.”
“I don't know.” I thought back. “My parents were still alive,” I finally said. “But my father never approved of political sport.”
“Really? Smart man. What happened to him?”
“His factory blew up.”
“Hi, Red!” It was Betty. She was approaching, silver tray extended invitingly before her. “Want some tea?”
“Mind being a doll and leave a cup over there with my wife?”
“Sure, Red. Anything you say.”
While the two of them were bantering, I noticed that the Dutchman had managed to catch Eddie's eye all the way in the center of the traffic circle. His testimony had faltered and then stopped. Some kind of unspoken warning must have passed between them, because when I looked I saw Xiling staring fiercely into my own eyes. I blinked, and he was still staring into my eyes, but not from two hundred meters away any more but rather one. A strangled gasp rose up from the crowd.
“What's the meaning of this?” the Chief Justice demanded furiously.
There was something in the tone of his voice that made Betty hesitate to leave.
“What's the meaning of what?” Judas retorted.
Xiling's face twisted in a sudden rage. “If you try and double-cross me, Epstein – ”
Judas cut him off. Flapping the hand with the ring provocatively in front of his face, he thundered, “I'll have dealings with whoever I like, you mealy-mouthed cur! Now get back down there before I have you thrown down!”
The crowd below buzzed excitedly as the people tried to figure out what was happening. Both Tina Martinez and Eddie, however, had their eyes fixed on the knot of people gathered around my cage.
“You think you can tell me what to do?” Xiling leaned his head back and laughed cruelly. “You are a fool, Epstein! That's nothing but a cheap hunk of metal. The real ring was destroyed!”
“Destroyed?” Judas echoed uncertainly. He glanced at me, sudden fear rising up behind the whites of his eyes.
I nodded reluctantly. “It's time to call things by their names, Judas. I'm sorry.”
“By all the bells of Jezebel!” Judas cried out and stamped his foot. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
“I thought you were going to have me killed!”
“I just wanted to scare you a little bit!”
“Well,” Xiling hissed cruelly, “the cat's finally out of the bag.” Training his eyes on Judas, he said, “The time has come for you to die, Epstein. You've outstayed your welcome.”
At that moment, a lot of things happened at once, not the least of which is that I achieved enlightenment.
If I were to try and describe it, I would start by saying it lasts just a moment, a single, profound instant when the self has completely dropped away and there is only the One. After that, the self begins to drain back into the illusory vessel that is the mind and the experience of life as an individual separated from other illusory vessels resumes. When one strikes a crystalline chime, the tone that sounds is at once bright and clear and penetrating. Thereafter, it begins to fade. But unlike the sound emitted from a chime, the residue of enlightenment never completely gives way to silence. Even now I can hear it ringing, and even if it is softly, I know it will sustain itself until the death of this particular body and this particular existence.
The practical consequence of enlightenment is understanding, for at the instant it occurs there is unity with all that has been, all that is, and all that will ever be. The secrets of the world are laid bare merely by attending to them. There are only reasons, no questions. It is a very reassuring and comforting experience. As the tone fades in intensity, as the ghost of self reasserts itself, one must expend more energy, focus more intently, and then after a short while, the scope of understanding begins to shrink. But however one chooses to use the opportunity, the knowledge gained remains forever. Those few moments have been engraved on my soul. I will never forget them.
I knew, for example, that Judas would die and I would be President. But I knew more than that.
I knew why Neptune and Uranus had swapped places. Or why Mars was a dead planet and not ours. I knew why water is the only compound that expands when it cools and what the appendix is good for. The patterns in history stood out like clearly defined maps, wispy etches of the human condition. I could recognize the stuff that thoughts are made of. I observed it flowing like a single body throughout all of time and space, gathering up in knots near our heads. I could look back and forth in time in the same way one looks up and down the street when about to cross. I did so. I caught a glimpse of the next, immediate forms that evolution would bring to the human species. But there is never anything as interesting as the present moment, so I returned to it.
The young lady standing at the edge of the crowd directly in front of me was in love with the neighbor. The neighbor had no idea who she was. Her husband was annoyed at the booming and crashing outside his bedroom window every morning. I could have told him there was no end in sight because the city and the contractors were skimming off the top. And yes, he was right, the crew really did enjoy waking people up at the crack of dawn.
The ambassador from the Mediterranean Union thought I was a handsome man and it was a shame that I was going to die.
I saw Jango's coffin burn away as it neared the sun.
I understood many other things besides, but I'm not going to tell you what they were, for there is some knowledge that ought to be gained by experience alone.
I knew what was happening around me and what would immediately happen next. I saw what those around me would do and what I would do. It did not matter that it was not the world I had wanted. It just was.
Mere moments they were, but the way I experienced them, they could very well have been ages. As they wore on, I became more and more aware of the outside world as it was perceived through my own eyes. At first, all I could make out were mere shades. Events seemed to be unravelling very, very slowly.
Betty – in a fit of rage inspired by loyalty – was swinging her heavy tray at Xiling's head. The Chief Justice had forgotten about her, so intent was he upon the final destruction of his most bitter enemy. It took a long time for the tray to make contact with the back of his head, but it did. Xiling crumpled slowly to the ground in a twitching heap. Betty, panting, stood over him, and let the tray slip from her hands. It floated gently towards the ground and finally struck with a heavy, echoing clang. Judas, stunned, stared down at his defeated nemesis, racing to absorb the sudden and momentous turn of events.
Alas, he would have but seconds to savor his triumph. Eddie, still standing in the witness box, saw his chance slipping away. Judas rarely ever appeared in public surrounded by so many of his minions. Throwing out the script he and the others had so carefully crafted, he drew a pistol from his pants, aimed it at the President, and fired.
Samuel Judas Epstein, the fifth President of our Freemocracy, collapsed on the ground next to the body of his foe and was no more, felled by a single bullet placed carefully between the eyes.
The conspirators knew that the success of their plan depended primarily upon its first few minutes. Eddie trained his pistol on more targets. There were others in the crowd helping him. One by one, I saw them fall. The Dutchman, Tina Martinez, Sonya Ericsson, Harvey Cash. The goons in black suits. All of them dead or dying. It happened so quickly.
There were shouts from the crowd. The helicopters above began to descend. One of the tanks swiveled its nose.
A battle would ensue.
Without knowing what I was doing or intending, I reached out my hand and touched one of the bars of my cage. It vanished. The act and its consequence felt entirely correct and natural, as if the cage ought to have done that.
The Chief Acolyte gasped in awe and stumbled forward when he saw what I had done. “You are my master now,” he told me, eyes wide with a curious mix of fear and admiration.
I fixed him with eyes that were still looking partially through him. “Then you know what you must do.” The words were mine and yet the were not. I was acting and yet I was not directing myself.
Nodding his head, the Chief Acolyte vanished much the same as my cage.
The door into the compound banged open and spat out a detachment of men and women in plainclothes bearing laser tubes. Jewel, Davey, and Betty were placed under immediate arrest. The foreign ambassadors were hustled back inside.
Four of the conspirators approached me. “Come with us, Mr. President,” one told me firmly. “It's dangerous for you out here.”
Indeed it was.
As they whisked me by, Jewel cursed bitterly. “What will you do with the woman and the boy?” I asked, hesitating at the doorway.
“Mr. President, please!” The voice was filled with worry and agitation. Shots were being fired somewhere behind us.
“If she was a target she'd be dead already,” one of the others reminded me dourly, and I believed her because I knew it to be true.
We passed inside the compound. The bodies of goons in black suits littered the floor. Someone stepped on a pair of sunglasses as the heavy door clanged shut behind us. We started moving down the tunnel. Up ahead, I could hear the sounds of running and the occasional shout. We pressed on, going back through the tunnels the way I had come. Or very nearly the same way. I knew where we were heading even if they didn't tell me. After a few minutes, we began to pass small units of plainclothes conspirators, sometimes accompanied by captives, heading in the opposite direction. The expressions on their faces were all tight. They did not trade banter or chat.
All around us, a great battle was taking place. The national guard and the intelligence services were duking it out. These agencies had long been bitter rivals. There was tension stretching back to the days when Murroughs herself raised the national guard to prominence. Of course, the opposing sides were fairly evenly matched. Hasty representatives were being dispatched from both camps to the highest echelons of the armed forces, for it was clear that the generals – uncommitted as they were – were the most likely candidates to settle the dispute.
At some point in our journey, we were joined by Eddie. Sweat dripped down a face flecked with grime. He was breathing heavily.
“Mr. President!” he called out as he fell into step beside me. My escorts dourly acknowledged his presence. He began to speak quickly, obviously distracted by the many worries vying for space in his mind. The role of conspirator is a stressful one. “I'm sorry we couldn't let you know beforehand. It was the only way.”
“Of course.”
“I'll answer all your questions later. Right now we've got to get to you a safe, secret location. Until everything calms down and we can all catch our breath.”
“Secret?” I replied dreamily. “Why it sounds as if you'd plucked me from behind a curtain!”
“What?” Eddie's eyes narrowed in a futile attempt to grasp what I meant. “A joke?” He let it go. Now he plunged into a general apology. He began to explain to me why Judas had to be removed from power. A freemocracy, he said, was a careful balance between the strong man and the trappings of freedom. Personal and civic liberty really was still the basis of our society, but it could not thrive without one person standing above it all as a sort of referee. That was, according to Eddie, the true purpose of the Presidency as Murroughs had reshaped it. Judas, though, had gathered too many of the reins of government into his own hands. The harmony that freemocracy had first heralded was fraying.
I knew all the things he was saying, but I let him tell me anyway. It appeared important to him.
At that moment, the Chief Acolyte appeared just in front of us as if out of thin air. My escort came to a sudden halt. Reflexively Eddie reached for his weapon, but I put a quick and reassuring hand on his shoulder. “This man is here at my bidding,” I told him.
Eddie looked between the two of us. “Your bidding?” A fragment of laughter escaped from his lips. “It looks like you're warming up to the job quicker than we thought.” He peered at the Chief Acolyte. “The bloke looks familiar.”
“I was the Chief Justice's assistant,” the young man with the hawk-like nose told him disinterestedly.
Eddie whistled slowly. “One of them.” He looked at me sideways. “There was always something strange about those Justices. You're going to have to decide what to do about them, you know. There are those of us who think they practice the dark arts.”
“Fortunately you have nothing more to worry about,” the Chief Acolyte responded brusquely and pushed rudely past my escort. “Master,” he told me, drawing close, “it is done.”
Yes, it was. The Justices and the other acolytes were dead. The one standing in front of me was the last.
The Chief Acolyte must have mistaken my serenity for disbelief. “Master, I speak the truth. Xiling's sudden death was a great trauma for the other Justices. They were all bound to him by strong magics. They were weak and confused when I came upon them. I tracked them down one by one and – slew them. It was not difficult.”
I had unleashed the Fury upon them, they who were my enemies. Blood had been spilled on my account. And yet the joy that had infused me since I had joined the One still bubbled profusely throughout my body and soul. “I am not your master,” I told him.
“Mr. President,” Eddie insisted, glancing urgently back up the tunnel, “we must keep moving.” He grabbed gently but firmly ahold of my forearm.
Outside, the crowd was gripped by panic. I could feel it. The fear seeped through the walls of the compound like a powerful stench. Those doing the shooting had no regard for the innocents unfortunately caught in between. In the next few minutes, many more would succumb to stampede.
I pulled my arm free of Eddie's grasp. “Shall we continue?”
Eventually we arrived in a small, nondescript storage unit with a low ceiling and rough, cement floor. The door hardly attracted attention from the outside, decrepit and uninteresting as it was, but the entrance was heavily guarded on the inside. Other than some empty shelving propped against the walls, the room was empty. A slight, electrical buzzing sounded from somewhere above us.
“We'll wait here,” Eddie told me as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. He drew one leg up idly. “Do you have a PA?”
I shook my head.
“Good. We don't want anyone tracking us. What about him?” He nodded in the Chief Acolyte's direction.
“Of course not!” he snorted derisively as he sat down on the ground in the corner, putting as much distance as he could between himself and everyone else.
We waited in an uncomfortable silence. No sound other than the buzzing penetrated the thick, concrete walls. The conspirators were all edgy, for they had no idea what was going on or what would be the outcome of their precarious enterprise. After a short time, though, a curious knock came at the door.
As soon as it was opened, in stumbled three familiar figures. It was Icarus, Jennifer, and Maya, still wearing orange jumpsuits and covered in muck but free of their chains.
“Mark!” Icarus and Maya called my name out together. I could see how relieved they were. They rushed over to me, Jennifer trailing along behind, confused and bewildered.
“It's so good to see you!” Maya pawed excitedly at my body as if she didn't quite believe I was really standing in front of her.
“I thought we were goners,” Icarus told me. “Remember that creepy guy who was your political commissar back when you were Secretary?”
I supplied the proper name.
“Yes, him! He shot Epstein!”
“The President's dead!” Maya added emphatically. “I guess that's why they didn't execute us.”
Just behind them, Jennifer began to whimper. A look of impatience passed over Icarus' face. He was about to snap something caustic at her, but I put a finger to my lips and gently shook my head.
Jennifer had caught sight of Eddie standing against the wall, casually observing our reunion.
“The President's not dead!” Eddie reassured Maya and Icarus when they finally noticed him. He detached himself from the wall and approached. “Why he's standing right here in front of you, safe and sound!” He smiled grandly.
Maya and Icarus exchanged glances with each other and then turned to me. “What's going on, Mark?” Icarus wanted to know.
I shrugged my shoulders disinterestedly and smiled. The waves of joy were still washing over me.
Icarus jabbed a thumb in Eddie's direction. “That guy was giving you the high hat a few minutes ago.”
Maya leaned over and whispered into Icarus' ear. “Maybe they've drugged him or something.”
But realization was dawning on Icarus' face. Eddie's cocky smirk seemed to confirm it. “Jesus fucking Christ, Maya,” he breathed. “Mark's President now.”
“Not quite,” Eddie cut in. “Admittedly, the best ending to this drama is that he's acclaimed President, I agree. But there's another possible ending. It's the one where we are all dragged out of here and shot. We should know pretty soon which one it is.”
“What he doing here?” It was Jennifer. She had identified the Chief Acolyte sitting brooding in the corner.
I followed her finger. “Oh, him. I seem to have collected him.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Icarus barked at me. “He wants to kill you! That's a fact!”
“I thought you had stopped saying that.”
He frowned uncertainly at me. “Saying what?”
“The world can hardly be divided into those neat, little facts of yours, Icarus.” I turned and considered the Chief Acolyte. Here was a man who without batting an eye had committed murder and merely because I asked him to. Fifteen persons were dead, all in a mere fifteen minutes of time. “There is hope for everyone, Icarus. Even him.”
The Chief Acolyte's eyes sparkled for a moment. “Perhaps,” he breathed softly, “one day you will agree to be my master.”
I did not answer, but I did not deny him, either. I could see that he was pleased.
“Master?” Maya echoed, eyebrows dancing skeptically upon her brow.
Jennifer, sobbing, retreated to the far wall and collapsed against it. Icarus and Maya watched her coldly for a moment and turned back to me.
“She's not doing well,” Maya observed.
“She needs help,” Icarus added.
“We'll do our best to comfort her,” I replied. Suddenly, a wave of fatigue overtook me. I yawned and stretched my arms. Turning to Eddie, I said, “I'm hungry. What have you got to eat?”
They all turned and stared at me as if I were a madman.
“You want to eat something?” Maya gasped in disbelief. “Now?”
“Yes. Why?” I blinked back at them. “Is something wrong?”
This site and all its contents are the result of the tumultuous workings of the mind of one Adam Wasserman.