THREE – INTO THE OUTSIDE
SUBJECT ACQUISITION/
TRANSIT LOG
John stared at Adam, who returned his gaze steadily. Fran lay across John’s lap, still unconscious, and that worried him. She was in a coma, he feared, and he didn’t know what to do about that. He was in some sort of a ship with people - if they were people; John hadn’t ruled out the alternate possibility that they were some strange alien race - who had saved his life and then forced him at gunpoint to accompany them. He just wasn’t sure what to think or what was going to happen to him.
He looked again at Adam, studying the man who sat across from him. The man’s eyes were so blue that John thought he could see the sky in them. He could also see worry and anguish in those orbs, as though the weight of the world rested on this man’s shoulders. Or more than that. They were eyes that spoke of trust, and care, and love. But John would not be fooled. He would not be at ease until he and Fran were home again, and safe.
Safety. Was that even a possibility anymore?
"Where are we going?" John asked.
Adam smiled. "Just wait," he said. "All will be explained."
"Why not now?"
Again, that enigmatic smile. "Because you wouldn’t believe it if I told you."
"Try me."
Adam shrugged, as if to say, you asked for it. "We’re going to Virginia."
John had prepared himself for nearly any answer, but had certainly expected something more along the lines of "The third star in the Alpha Centauri system" or "We will be disintegrated and our particles beamed to a starship, where we will go where no man has gone before" or even "Booga booga, haven’t you figured out that you’re insane?" But "Virginia" was the last thing he would have expected. The men and women around him must have seen his discomfiture, for they laughed heartily. The sound made him relax a bit.
Laughter. Very human laughter. Surely people who laughed so openly couldn’t be evil, could they? John knew he was doing more than just grasping at straws with that line of thought. He was inventing reasons to hope. But as that was all he had left to him, that was what he would do.
Adam leaned forward and put a hand on John’s knee. The worry still clouded his sky blue eyes, but a twinkle also shone in them. "It’s not outer space, but don’t worry. I think you’ll be surprised anyway."
The crew around John laughed again.
How about that? he thought. I’m on a space ship going to Virginia with a bunch of commandos out of a Buck Rogers show. And it’s all so terribly funny.
It wasn’t, but somehow the events of the past week had awakened something in him. He realized that he felt good all of a sudden, in a way that he had not felt since Annie’s death. He felt as though he had purpose, a reason to be alive. It felt right. As though he was speeding, not to some unimaginable future, but as though he was going home.
FAN HQ
AD 1999/AE 3999
Malachi walked into the place that was his home, and within seconds his people surrounded him, asking a thousand questions: "Are you all right?" "Was it successful?" "Did you kill her?" "Where are the others?"
A thousand questions, a thousand hands touching him, caressing him. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt of the warmth that sprang from their souls like a spring of cleanest water, something unknown to his world for two thousand years.
He lived in Newark, New Jersey.
At least, he thought it was New Jersey. That was what he guessed based on the small bits of the past that were unearthed in the subterranean caverns where the Fans took refuge from the cruel world outside. He could not be sure, of course, for Newark had not existed as a living place for some two thousand years. But that was his guess, and he supposed that Newark was as good a place as any. Jerusalem or one of the hallowed lands of the Bible would have been more fitting to his mission, perhaps, but since Fran and the Controllers were located somewhere on this continent, the Fans had to make their homes here as well.
He looked upon his people, a small army of men and women who gazed up at him with something akin to worship. Each was dressed differently, each wearing clothing stolen from a different time, each holding weapons that had been invented during distinct historical epochs. Some of his people looked quite normal. Others were ravaged by the cosmic rays that constantly swept over this doomed earth’s face. They lived underground, below a thick barrier of sand and stone, in order to avoid those deadly emissions, but the nature of their work took them out often enough that most Fans were destined to die of cancer.
Malachi felt no revulsion at the sight of half-eaten faces, no chill at the touch of hands that left bloody marks on his clothing. These were his people, his brothers and sisters, his sons and daughters in the kingdom they were building.
When everyone had gathered around, cramming into the room which served as their assembly hall and as their chapel, he spoke.
"She is still alive," he said. A ripple went through the assemblage. Sadness, despair. He held up a hand to quell the burgeoning sense of helplessness that was the constant companion of every one of them. "The others," he said at last, speaking of Todd, Deirdre, and Jenna, "have gone on to their reward. The three of you who went out have not come back. One was a machine, but two were lost to us without divulging their true natures." He bowed his head as though praying, then raised it and said, "Let it be known that they were human. They were real, and they shall rest in eternity for their great work."
A great sigh swept through the group. A few began crying, not with sadness but with envy. The rest waited for the remainder of Malachi’s report. Return and report: it was the way they had done it for almost two thousand years now, and though Malachi was the newest in a long line of priest-kings and had changed many things, this aspect would never change. He would return and report, so that the work could go on, no matter what.
"The girl is still alive. So is her protector," he said, a sneer curling his lips at the last word. "A Recovery team came into Loston and saved them."
Again the sigh rippled through his people. More sadness. He held up his hands, and even the tiny whispers and murmurs melted instantly away, like snowflakes on the scorched ground above them.
"There is blessing, though," he said. He held up his tracker. "They still have Fran, but I’m tracking them – all of them - back to Control."
The silence that followed that statement was deafening, like the absolute silence that must have been heard in the second before God first said "Let there be light." It was the stillness of promise, of knowledge that what was to come would be glory.
Malachi allowed himself a smile. "Arm yourselves," he said. "All of you. We attack them as soon as you are prepared. We end it all"
A great cheer went up and the group divided into a hundred smaller units, putting on gear, dividing up weapons. Preparing.
Malachi watched it all. He took a deep breath, and his body cried out with the strain of the last two days. But at the same time he felt light and ready for what came.
He closed his eyes, and again felt the hot breath of fire, fire that burned across the world and completed what had begun two thousand years before.
Today was the day.
Armageddon, begun two millennia ago, would at last be complete.