Chapter 19

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Reverend Tracy Cruz tried not to cry in front of the solemn men and women who'd called her on the holophone. "I don't think I can bear this burden alone."

"You have already inspired the nation, and raised a call for justice that no one else dared voice. You must lead the people," protested Reverend Steven Bacon, minister of the large Southwestern Protestant Alliance and unofficial spokesman for the group of preachers that had appealed to Cruz to allow them to merge their churches into hers.

"Yes, when I burned that check from Sparkwise Energy, it may have earned me millions of admirers. But it also led to bloody riots in which hundreds of innocents died." Her eyes glided from Ricardo's face to her office window, which overlooked a small, decrepit playground where several children from her congregation were kicking a soccer ball. "Almost two dozen children."

"Innocents who will be welcomed into God's embrace. We cannot fight injustice without shedding blood," admonished Bacon.

"What injustice have I fought? Did those riots harm the Aeons? Did they right any wrongs?" retorted Cruz in exasperation. "I have blood on my hands and I don't know what it's accomplished."

Bacon held up a hand apologetically. "Forgive me if my words sounded unduly callous. I sought only to comfort you. Each child's death is a tragedy. There is no way I can make them otherwise. God's will is beyond our ability to understand."

Platitudes and metaphors. Cruz shook her head and Ricardo squeezed her hand.

Cruz struggled to voice her feelings to the other ministers. "I am not a reverend by training. I began preaching at the National Unity Church to serve God and to help my small community. I never thought He would ask as great a task of me as you say He has. I still don't. I'm not prepared to lead millions of followers. Not to see people die in my name."

Bacon was silent. But now Ricardo leaned his head around so that he was in Cruz's field of vision. "Have you studied the Book of Exodus, hon?"

"Of course, Ricardo," she responded sternly.

"As Moses led the Israelites to the Promised Land, they were confronted by the vast army of the Amalekites at Rephidim," recited Ricardo.

Cruz remained silent. She knew the story, but was unsure where Ricardo was going with it.

Ricardo continued, "The Lord only supported the Israelite army when Moses held his hands aloft as a sign of faith. Yet even the prophet Moses could not bear the weight of the task the Lord had given him. Not alone. His strength faltered and he could no longer hold his hands aloft, and many Isrealites fell to the Amalekites because of his frailty."

Cruz nodded as she recalled the verses. "Moses' companions, Aaron and Hur, supported his hands for him, so that the Israelites would finally prevail."

Ricardo returned her nod, and then turned to look at the preachers in the holovision before turning back and placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Yes. Let us be your Aaron and your Hur, Reverend."

***

"Nick," his mother cooed, "Try the feijoada. I made it myself. It's delicious, almost as good as something you could dream up in that imaginary world of yours." She sat diagonally to Nick's left, at the head of the family's rectangular cherry wood table, which could have comfortably seated eight guests. Nick's father sat directly across from his mother. A piece by Beethoven played softly in the background.

Nick, sitting in his parents' penthouse duplex on Manhattan's 5th Avenue, picked up his fork and tried to hide his lack of appetite as he shared his farewell dinner. He was moving back into his refurbished flat again the next morning.

He took a big spoonful of the stew, made from ingredients that cost a workingman's monthly salary. It tasted duller than a piece of stale bread in the ether. Still, he faked a smile to make his mother happy.

"And are you really sure you want to move back to your own apartment after what happened? Family should stay together." his mother prompted, raising this point for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Nick's time living at home again had allowed him to partly mend his frayed relationship with his parents, for which he was grateful. But he longed for the freedom of living in his own residence. "I'm old enough to take care of myself now."

His father nodded.  "Nick, it's true. You're old enough to make your own decisions. You're lucky that most of the government investigations into your company have stalled. And I know you needed some time to recover after those riots. But it's about time you started putting the amazing talents your mother and I have given you to some good use. Forget energy trading. You can make a real difference to the world. 

Nick felt his face reddening. He wasn't about to sit quietly while his father gave him a lecture. Especially when he was working so hard to make his father proud. "Dad, don't worry, I'm trying to make Sparkwise a better-"

His father just continued speaking. "Remember your poor girlfriend, Sarah? She was idealistic. I'm sure Sarah would have wanted-" 

"Don't bring Sarah into this again! She's dead. Just let it be!" cried Nick, bringing his hands up to either side of his head to block out the sound of his father's voice.  When he had received Sarah's necklace, he had finally known that she loved him. But now she was gone, taken from him forever by the rioters.

The best way he could honor Sarah's memory was to find evidence that Laura Mayer was using Sparkwise to illegally manipulate energy prices. But that would take time, and his father wanted him to quit Sparkwise right away. He feared that if he tried to explain his plan, his father would interpret it as a pretext to stay involved with the firm.

"Nick," his mother said, trying to smooth over his father's words. "It's not your fault that you weren't there when-on the night of the energy riots started by that dreadful preacher. How could you have known?" She reached out with her hand, trying to place it on Nick's shoulder.

Nick shook her off. "I am supposed to be omniscient!" he screamed, gesturing at the metallic cooling vents of his MindWave.

***

Sarah had struggled for days to maintain her normal upbeat attitude. Nick had escaped the riot, she knew, but thanks to Jaeger's manipulation of morgue records, Nick believed she was dead. Sarah felt sorry for him, alone in the ether again, with only the manipulative Laura to turn to for consolation.

Willy had let her take a few days of rest and recreation before starting a new assignment. There was not much to do with the spare time. She was not allowed to freely use her TacWave to explore the networks outside of the ranch, much less physically leave the compound. The empty hours stretched like canyons, filled with deep pools of despair and exhilarating gushes of fantasy.

Despite her efforts to move on, she could not forget Nick, and her heart ached for just one last chance to visit with him. She had gone through the encounter in her imagination a thousand times, playing out everything she would say, and every one of Nick's responses.

She was in deep emotional torment, and yet she needed to hide it from everyone around her. Michael had come by her room a few times to see how she was doing, and she'd pretended to be sick. She hadn't even opened the door to him. She knew that was cruel, but she couldn't bear to face him right now.

There would be time to worry about his feelings later. Right now she had to focus on her own. She knew her fixation on Nick called into question the proficiency she was proud of achieving in every other aspect of her profession. She didn't want Jaeger or Willy to know how much she suffered from her forced "breakup" with her opponent.

To get her mind off of Nick, she settled on the romance novels she'd found in the small library months ago. She'd flipped through them several times before, but never given them a proper read. The trite stories of love and betrayal had been a catharsis for her own pent up emotions, but now, after reading four of them in as many days, she was restless, pacing around her quarters in her pajamas, unsure of what to do.

The intercom in her quarters buzzed to life with Willy's voice. "Sarah, report to the ready room in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," she said, relieved to finally have something resembling an official duty. She enthusiastically reached for a clean uniform.

When she reached the small briefing theater a few minutes later, Willy was waiting by the podium. She was relieved to see that Michael was not present. She wasn't ready to see both him and Willy at the same time yet.

Sarah sat in the front row and looked up expectantly.

He looked at her with concern. "Sarah, the country's in a lot of trouble, and the Aeons are right in the middle of the mess. There's a lot going on, a lot of places where you can be helpful. First, I need to know that you're fit for duty. Is your head screwed on straight?"

"Yes, of course," she replied, her words sounding too sharp in her ears. "How can I be helpful?"

Willy gave her a slow, thoughtful once-over before responding. "Michael's been looking into the old Hurricane Reactor disaster."

"Why? That was two years ago and has nothing to do with the Aeons."

"Jaeger always thought Laura was responsible for it. And now Michael's found evidence to support that claim."

"So what do you need me for? Send in Greg's Demons to arrest her." Sarah was referring to Greg Silverstein, who had been made commander of the orphans who had washed out of the competition. They had been through brutal training to become the tactical team meant to back up the intelligence work conducted by Sarah and Michael. Greg had chosen the moniker "Demons" for his team.

Willy waved away Sarah's suggestion. "You and Michael can operate without warrants or other official permissions because no one knows what happens in the ether. But we can't send in commandoes with guns blazing without a court to back us up. What Michael's found is circumstantial evidence; it won't stand up in court. It won't even get us a search warrant."

Sarah paused to consider Willy's words. She hadn't anticipated a problem like this. Even more concerning, she could see where the conversation was heading. She was going to be paired with Michael again. No doubt, he would be wounded by her recent refusals to see her and her obvious feelings for Nick. But she needed to prove that she was a capable member of the team, so she would have to find a way to work with Michael regardless of the emotional complexity that existed between them now.

Willy continued, "Michael's also convinced that Laura's planning more violent acts of terrorism. But we don't know who the targets are. I need you to help Michael stop her."

At that moment, Michael stepped into the room, and looked at her with a blank expression. She could see his hands opening and closing at his side. Sarah decided the best way to deal with the awkwardness was to gloss it over.

She smiled and took a step towards Michael, her hand extended to shake hands. For a fraction of a second, he flinched away, and Sarah stopped in her tracks. But just as she stopped, Michael started the same act, stepping forward and extending his hand. When he realized she'd stopped, he stopped too.

They stood like that, about five feet apart, gazing into each other's eyes, for a long moment. Then Michael twisted his mouth into a contorted smile and said "Welcome back."

***

Reverend Tracy Cruz looked up at her applauding audience as she neared the close of her sermon. A couple of months ago, she considered herself lucky if thirty people showed up on a Sunday, and felt grateful towards any of those that actually paid attention for the entire service.

Today, her small church was packed. She guessed there were well over one hundred worshippers crammed into every pew and standing in the aisles. There would be more, but for the third week in a row two deputies from the Kerrville Sherriff's department had come to help restrain the crowds outside the church's doors.

And of course, the people physically present were only a fraction of her audience. Last week recordings of her sermon had been streamed to hundreds of thousands of viewers. In a country where fewer and fewer people could afford access to electronic media, that number was huge. This week's number would probably be even higher.

She was flattered by all of the attention her National Unity Church was now receiving. Yet she still worried that she was taking on a role she wasn't meant to fill. In all of the comparisons Reverend Bacon made between her and Moses, everyone seemed to have forgotten that she was no prophet. God did not speak to her. All she'd done was burn a check.

She was determined that no matter what powers Bacon and other followers ascribed to her, she needed to retain her humility. Even if she were a prophet, that would just make her a medium for spreading God's Word, no better than any other man or woman.

And being a prophet would not give her the management abilities to guide her rapidly growing church. A few weeks ago she'd been responsible for a congregation of a few dozen souls. Now she had followers across the nation, and dozens of ministers looking to her for inspiration. Yet rather than being an effective leader, she felt she was just struggling to keep up.

She pushed these thoughts away as the audience's applause died down. She put all of her focus into reciting the last lines of her sermon with the right mix of defiance and humility. She struggled to tread the fine line between projecting strength that would give her flock the power to endure a little longer, and sounding so defiant that she encouraged new acts of violence. "Do not allow yourselves to envy the Aeons. Yes, for a time, they will enjoy untold wealth, power, and carnal pleasures.

"Yet their apparent bliss is an illusion, a mirage that threatens to lure us away from the righteous path. We must look upon the Aeons, not with envy, but with scorn. We shall regard their MindWaves not as a source of power but as the mark of the beast.

"Even as we must not heed the words of the Aeons, neither must we lift our hands in anger, nor burn our cities, nor slay our brethren. Either path, idolatry of the Aeons or violent actions against them, will lead us to despair. Until the judgment comes, patience and endurance are our greatest virtues.

"We may be patient, enduring, and humble, yet we will never bow our heads to the Aeons. Instead we will lift our chins in peaceful defiance.

"We will not bow to these false idols! We will not bow!"

After her sermon was over and she had finally seen her worshippers and admirers out of the church, Cruz finally retired to her quarters where Ricardo was waiting to give her an embrace. "The ratings are going to be out of the park on this one, honey!" he enthused.

Cruz looked at her watch and sighed. It was already time to begin her management meeting with Reverend Bacon and several other preachers that had pledged themselves to the NUC. It seemed the Lord really had blessed her with a following. Maybe everything was part of His plan, as Doc Lawson had always insisted. But if she was helping complete His plan, He had not told her what the next step in it was. She hoped the other ministers would provide the guidance and wisdom she lacked.

While Ricardo connected her old holophone to all parties, Cruz took a moment to relax by watching the children running around in the playground outside her window. The sight of them helped her unwind, even as it focused her mind on her crusade to save them from a life of servitude to the Aeons.

Ricardo cleared his throat and Cruz turned back to her desk, where the holographic heads of Bacon and the other preachers were waiting for her. "Welcome, friends," she said, trying to hide her exhaustion behind a smile.

"May the Lord continue to give you strength, Reverend," intoned Bacon in greeting.

"And you as well. Our agenda today is to discuss organizational strategy," began Cruz as Ricardo settled down to take meeting minutes. She hated the stilted nature of these discussions, but her fellow ministers reacted better to the formality.

"We are currently united by an emotional-a religious- objection to the direction in which the Aeons are pushing our nation. We have successfully pooled donations and delivered food and fuel to the neediest of our members. But we are all men and women of God. We are not policy makers, nor soldiers, nor managers. Given our limitations, how can we make the NUC most effective in serving the Lord?"

"Reverend, we can overcome the limitations you speak of," interjected Bacon. "The Holy Spirit has inspired people of all talents to our cause. If we marshal them properly, we can create a truly powerful movement."

Cruz tried to moderate her skepticism. The churches that had joined her were from rural communities and small cities. "Of course many of our churches include doctors, lawyers, businessmen and veterans among their members. Still, these are not people with experience in running a nation-wide organization, Reverend Bacon. It will take years before the NUC can internally develop the talent required to lead." She glanced at the playground outside her window. "But we can't wait years."

Ricardo cut in. "We should keep doing what we're doing. Make statements. Raise awareness. Use social media to spread the word far and wide. We're already doing a better job of feeding the hungry than the government. That's a powerful story. Our message of faith and resistance is spreading into the national conversation, and beginning to influence the system."

Bacon wore an expression of disbelief. "Influence the system? Do you mean the government? That will never work. The government is complicit."

Cruz was startled by Bacon's statement. His words hung in the air for a moment before he continued. "The government is a willing ally of the Aeons, and a Judas to the people. Just as the Aeons are in thrall to Satan, so too is Washington in thrall to the Aeons. Social Media campaigns will influence the government no more than they will influence Lucifer himself."

Ricardo began to retort but Cruz held up a hand to hold him back. "Reverend Bacon, if what you say is true, what do you suggest we do?"

"Reverend Cruz, the ranks of the faithful are expanding rapidly beyond our original churches. There are some very senior-," and here Bacon paused and looked uneasy. "I'm sorry Reverend, but I don't think it's wise to reveal anything about their identities without being sure this phone line is completely secure."

Cruz pressed her lips together tightly. Both the Aeons and the Federal government were masters of penetrating digital communications. It would be foolish to assume the conversation was private from either group.

Bacon gestured as if to brush away his previous comments. "Revered Cruz, this reminds me of an issue I believe should have been at the top of today's agenda. We cannot succeed in the face of the present challenges if you don't accept more support."

Cruz hid a frown. She had already accepted the spiritual support of Ricardo, Reverend Bacon, and the other preachers in her alliance. But at a certain point, she needed to be able to rely upon the strength of her own faith. "Thanks to your support, my arms are raised to

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