THE SMELL OF INCENSE from Sunday morning’s Mass still scented the chapel. Rudi Draeger found the odor putrid and gnawing—another reason not to pass the main entrance. He considered the sole occupant, an older cleric kneeling low in the front pew. The man was wearing a formal black cassock with a purple sash, and his head was bowed in prayer. His short white hair was capped by one hand, as if protecting himself from some blow.
Draeger had planned to visit the archbishop after McClellan had left for Red Delta, but he was saved the trouble of requesting an audience. Bauer invited the lawyer.
“Why do you wish to speak to me?” Draeger called down the main aisle. “To taunt me? To remind me that I am nothing in the eyes of the Church? Or do you wish to hear my confession?”
He grew impatient with Bauer’s delay, but soon he heard a response.
“Please come forward.”
“I prefer where I am. You come to me.”
There was another pause. “I am finishing my prayers. Will you not pray with me?”
Draeger grinned, his voice mocking. “What do you pray for, Bauer? My soul?”
“Christians pray for all souls.”
“Then by all means, pray. And while you kneel in your prayers, pray also for wisdom—wisdom to know that there is change in the wind. Wisdom to bow to this wind of change, to embrace what will come.”
“And what will come?”
“Don’t waste your time, Bauer. Why did you call me? To offer me absolution? Your priest would not.”
“I called you to inform you that I hear from many builders who say they do not follow you. How will your winds blow in this world without their support?”
“You are greatly misinformed, Archbishop. I have the full support of the builders and their leaders.”
“Do you? Then you must know about the strike.”
Draeger laughed. “Strike? There is no strike. What game is this?”
“It is no game. At any moment, a large group of builders will shut down all long-range communications. They will do so to protest that no actions have been taken on Commissioner Zhèng’s proposal. Haven’t you heard? This strike will send quite the message, in great silence—an event for the history books. ‘Flying blind,’ I believe the builders call it. Surely you were informed.”
“Lies! Turn and face me, Bauer. I have come as you wished, but why? To hear only falsehoods—”
Harsh tones came from Draeger’s coat pocket. He pulled out his tablet and found the message from the Builders Council. An unauthorized strike had been called by the rank and file. Beginning at this very moment. Communications throughout the orbits had been shut down. The striking builders had issued a statement that they did not wish to harm anyone, but they intended to show support for Commissioner Zhèng.
Draeger whispered angrily, “How dare these fools! We need communications active, and yet they cut their own throats in support of the enemy.”
“Tell me, Draeger, am I your enemy?”
Draeger was still reading the statement when his tablet complained of a lost signal. “So be it,” he said, speaking low as he returned the tablet to his pocket. “We do not need the workers to achieve our ends. Their leaders will do what must be done. It is they who know where the winds blow. Let the fools strike. Let communications be silenced. And you, churchman, pray all you wish. You will pray to no avail! This world, and all its people, shall burn.”