At the sound of the explosion behind us, I turn to stare back through the falling rain. My warrior has prevailed. Not being versed in such things I wonder if the detonation was the drone or one of the booby traps we left in the admin dome.
Either way, the Supervisor, or someone in her party, has received the final comeuppance.
Everyone has halted, looking back across the farm field with its wealth of crops.
I stare up at the graying sky as raindrops patter on my head and face. How long has it been? Twenty? Thirty years? The last time I felt rain on my head was outside Ulaanbataar. And then it was but for a moment as I ran for cover.
Here, now, I tilt my head to the falling drops. Water runs down through my hair, trickles across my face. I can feel it trace down the scars, following the path of souls. A symbol of life and renewal.
I need to see this for what it is, not the disaster that I have been fearing it to be. I have a new Prophet, though she has yet to experience the depth of her gift. As with Irdan, Callista, and Guan Shi, she will learn and finally surrender herself to the universe.
I have the children. The immortal ones. How silly of me not to recognize that it is they who are of greatest importance. Not the adults. All of which causes me to ask if I have mistakenly interpreted the Revelation. But it seemed so simple: Adults who could reproduce would be the logical repositories for the souls and flesh of the dead.
Think, now. Be smart. Just because the universe has turned my attention to the children for the moment doesn’t negate the value of the adults. Ctein and I remain. As do the women. Nine of them. And, though not among the Chosen, there are Vartan, Fodor Renz, and Marcus Santanna. The five of us men would not remain if we were not to be the vehicles through which the dead are inseminated into the women.
Though how all but Ctein and I ended up as repositories eludes me. Irdan’s Prophecy back in the early days on Deck Three made it clear that the First Chosen and I were to be the breeders.
But if that been the case, wouldn’t my First Chosen still be alive? Has the universe been waiting to correct my mistake?
“Come!” I cry. “Let us move on.”
As they start forward, many of the children are shivering in the downpour, their hair plastered to their heads, arms tight about their chests. I see that some are crying. The women are burdened with the neonates and those too small to walk. Many carry two in hastily contrived slings. All but Marta; I have assigned her to assist Shimal.
The women look miserable, their hair streaming water from locks that lay tight against their skin. Gooseflesh covers their arms, their nipples tight from the cold. Each is wracked by shivers as they plod through the mud in clumsy footwear.
In the rear come Marcus and Fodor, each bearing a pack that contains food for the journey. I have no idea what the universe will provide for us when we reach the forest floor. All I know is that forests have always been rich in resources. I have faith. The universe will provide.
As we pick our way past the five big solar collectors, lightning traces a brilliant design across the roiling clouds. The instant, bone-jarring bang of thunder scares the children into sobs and tears. One little girl drops to the mud, screaming her terror as tears mix with rain on her face.
A woman pulls her up, fearful that one of the slugs will get her.
I can only suspect that the girl will learn something from this. Perhaps it is a wake-up call for her reborn soul. A way to trigger some forgotten memory that will remind her of who she was before the Cleansing.
Up ahead I can see Ctein in the lead. He has reached the head of the trail that leads down the steep and rocky slope. There, he hesitates, looking back to ensure that we are all following.
I am about to wave him ahead when I hear a shout behind me.
Turning, I see Vartan coming at a trot. Everyone stops, staring back. The women are shivering, teeth chattering as they shift the children they carry.
“Yes, First Will?” I call back—realizing only at this moment that Vartan is the only one of the Will left.
“We can’t do this,” Vartan declares in a most insistent voice.
“Excuse me?”
The man has a tortured look on his weary face as he trots up, feet splashing in the puddles. He stares out at me from under a poncho patterned by droplets and trickling water. The ugly military rifle is in his hands. Vartan’s dark eyes are like holes in his face. “I said we can’t do this.”
A tight sensation in my chest is like my heart crabbing sideways and constricting. “The Prophet has told us—”
“Fuck Prophecy!”
I blink, suddenly find it hard to breathe. Has he gone insane?
Vartan looks past me. “Go on! All of you. Back to the barracks! Get those kids inside, and get them warm and fed.”
“They’ll do no such thing!” I roar. “You are relieved! You are condemned. I declare you an apostate!”
In a shockingly mild voice, he says, “All right.” Then, ignoring me, orders, “All of you! Turn about. Head back.”
“No!” I scream so loudly the hole in my nose whistles. I look to Shimal. “Prophet? What does the universe decree?”
Shimal is looking terrified, her dark eyes pleading as she shifts them from Vartan to me. “I . . . I . . .”
“Speak!”
“I . . .”
Vartan bellows, “She’s not a Prophet. None of them were. It’s a disease. A protein that eats holes in a person’s brain. Don’t you get it?”
I thrust my bone scepter at him, declaring, “You are an abomination!”
“Fuck you! We’re not the Chosen. It’s all a pus-sucking lie!” His face is tortured; tears, not rain streak down his cheeks.
“The universe does not make mistakes!” I roar back at him, stepping up to face him. To my growing horror, he doesn’t so much as wince.
“The universe doesn’t give a shit about us. It never did. That bastard Galluzzi trapped us on Deck Three. And we did what we had to in order to survive. It was a shitty deal, filled with shitty choices, and we’re what’s left.”
“The universe—”
“Is fucked!” He steps forward, thumping the heavy rifle against my gut. “The Supervisor and the others, they told us the truth: This place is killing us. And if you go down that trail, into that forest, not a one of you will be alive by nightfall.”
“You don’t know—”
“I’ve been there! I’ve seen! Petre was the best of us. His team, Tikal’s team, my team, are dead because they went down there. You get it?”
“Hand me that rifle.” I reach for the weapon.
“I’ll see you in hell first, Batuhan.” He shoves me backward, retreating a step and bringing the rifle up. To the others, he shouts, “Now, turn around. Get the kids back to safety. Dry off and get warm.”
“You . . .” I swallow, trying to muster words from a fear-clogged throat. “You . . .”
Vartan says through an emotion-tight voice, “You’re delusional, don’t you get it? You’ve convinced yourself it’s real? That you’re special? It’s a lie, it’s ugly, and it’s finished.”
“You defy the universe?” I cry, reeling, seeking the right words. Panic, like a paralytic wave, rolls through me.
“I’m right here,” Vartan looks up at the storm-brooding sky and lifts a knotted fist. “You want me? I’m right here! Blast me down! I dare you!”
The women gasp, actually cowering back, fearful eyes going to the heavens.
I, too, stare up, but only see twisting and torn-looking low clouds scudding off toward the west. I pray, with all my heart, for lightning to strike, to char Vartan down to the blackened bones.
Instead a soft and misty rain settles on us like dew.
I gape, suffer a physical pain in my chest. The world seems to have gone oddly gray. A sick feeling, like I am going to throw up, turns my stomach sour.
Vartan’s display of the rifle is all the authority he needs as he orders, “All of you, get those children back to the barracks. Get them warm. Then make them breakfast. That’s an order.”
“But I . . .”
My objection is silenced by a single thunderous shot from the rifle that hisses past my ear. I cannot move. Every muscle locked tight.
But the others do, all shuffling past me and Vartan. Fear burns bright in their eyes as they glance my way. Vartan’s hot gaze they ignore.
To my surprise Ctein and Shimal remain, apparently as stunned as I am.
“When we get back,” I manage to say, “You will pay for this.”
Vartan shakes his head, lips pursed. “Not you. Or you, either, Ctein. You preach faith?” He gestures with the rifle. “Go on. Take the path. If I see either of you up here again, I’m putting a bullet right through you. And when I do, there’s no immortality. Just rot and Donovan’s invertebrates.”
He points the muzzle at my chest. I stare into the dark bore, a crawly tingle deep inside where the bullet will strike.
I turn to go, my feet oddly leaden.
As Ctein and I step over the edge, Vartan hollers, “Remember? The universe doesn’t make mistakes!”