I live in a state of confusion that I cannot confide to anyone. To do so would be a sign of weakness. If there is anything the Irredenta do not need at this point, it’s even the suggestion that I am not in complete control. That I doubt—in any way—the Will of the universe.
That’s on the surface. The façade I present. The persona that I adopt.
Inside, I wish I could drop to my knees, raise my hands and implore the universe: Did I not sacrifice everything for you? I murdered my fellows, ate their flesh and organs in an act of holy sacrament. I committed myself, without reservation, to your Truths. I followed, without question, the wisdom of the Prophets. Endured the hideous agony of scarification as I sliced my skin and repeated the process time after time. Used a cleaver to amputate the soft flesh of my nose. Made my body a repository for the dead and destroyed relationships to ensure the dead I harbored would be reborn in the next available female.
How is my faith and sacrifice repaid?
Fatima continues to suffer. Three more people are missing, two of them children.
And still another child, young Pho, is dead. This time, we know what happened. Manram saw the plant reach down, wind itself around the screaming child. The little boy was lifted off the ground and the plant began eating him. Manram ran forward, tried to pull little Pho away, and was grabbed up herself. She barely managed to tear free; large chunks of her arms, the flesh of her hands, a large patch of her shoulder are missing.
Another, Renzo Demopolis, age six, was found at the edge of the escarpment. He was in convulsions. Something blue staining his mouth. He’s now laid out in the cafeteria in hopes the Prophets will, through some utterance, tell us how to cure the boy.
The impact is devastating. The children are the reborn souls of the dead. Purified. The universe promised they’d be immortal. That the Irredenta were the way—the vehicle through which all of humanity, the universe itself, would be purified.
I am achingly, painfully, aware that each of these children who dies at the hands of Donovan will be lost. For them, death is once again eternal and absolute. Renzo and the slug-infested Fatima, we can save. We can consume their remains again and insure their eventual reincarnation.
At least, I hope so.
I need the Prophets! I need their counsel. But to my absolute frustration, Irdan is mute this morning. Won’t eat. His breathing is shallow, his limbs barely twitch. Callista and Guan Shi are mumbling so softly I can’t hear, seem to be fading just as fast. I really look at them now, realize how wasted their bodies are. Living skeletons draped with sallow and loose skin. Their eyes have sunken so deeply into the sockets, they remind me of those Mexican Day of the Dead masks.
And what happens when they die?
With people bustling around the cafeteria, I dare not show despair. I cannot drop my head in my hands.
Cannot weep.
I am the Messiah.
I am contemplating the uncomfortable realization that I am the loneliest man alive when Shyanne Veda hurries in from the hallway, stops before me, and bows.
“Messiah,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “There’s a call on the radio. Supervisor Aguila is flying in. Says they’re bringing provisions and want to give us some information. Should I answer?”
I give this consideration.
Is this the universe coming to my aid? And so much faster than Petre, the Chosen, and Vartan had anticipated?
That old and innate sense of opportunity fills me. “Tell the Supervisor we are delighted to accommodate her.” Raising my voice, I call, “Someone! Find Petre! Call the Chosen. The Corporation is coming! You know the plan. It’s time to spring our trap.”
And in that instant, relief pours through me like a cool and refreshing wave.
I chuckle like a gleeful child.
I finally understand.
Of course we’re suffering. Once again, the universe is teaching us a lesson: Just because we’re in a new place doesn’t mean we forget the holy Truths.
In this case, the Truth is that there is no progress without sacrifice, pain, and purification.
We need a new sacrament, and Kalico Aguila shall be our first. But we must play it perfectly. Petre and Svetlana have worked this out, planned every aspect of how to lure Aguila and her people to the right place. As The Corporation is the epitome of deceit, we must be even more cunning. As long as they are not wearing armor, if we play this correctly, it will make no difference.