Journey Into the Flame (6 page)

As time passed and the Great Disruption became a more distant memory, the importance of the Satraya message faded. Freedom Day had become more of a social holiday than a day of profound spiritual communion. People had become more reliant on governments and corporations. The result was that the Council had become more politically active.

“Are you ready, Ms. Brown?” asked Monique, Cynthia’s assistant. The president had just arrived and was about to take his seat at the executive table.

“I certainly hope so,” Cynthia answered. She took a deep breath. “Everyone out there looks so young. I hope they will listen.”

“I’m sure they will,” Monique reassured her. “I’m young, but I understand that people need to be reminded of the lessons of the past.”

An eruption of applause interrupted their conversation as the president was announced to the audience. The lights on the stage brightened, and music began to play.

Cynthia followed the other speakers onto the stage, taking a seat behind the podium. She was going to be the third and final speaker tonight, following the president of the African Union and the head of the World Federation of Reconstruction, who was going to announce the organization’s dissolution. Even though polluted waterways, ruptured bridges, and mangled roads still existed in many parts of the world, people had grown weary of continuing to fund the WFR, and leaders viewed it as a political liability. The remaining restoration work would become the responsibilities of individual countries.

As Cynthia scanned the audience, she saw other members of the Council of Satraya. She acknowledged them with a smile. The first speaker was introduced and greeted with a cordial round of applause. That was about all Cynthia heard before her thoughts turned back to her own speech. She looked down at her notes, determined to make her case persuasively.

Sometime later, she felt a tap on her shoulder. The older gentleman sitting behind her was indicating that it was her turn to speak. As the audience applauded her introduction, Cynthia patted her short red hair into place, buttoned the blazer of her dark blue suit, and quickly walked to the podium.

“I’m Cynthia Brown,” she began in a sure voice, “and I have the great honor of being the leader of the Council of Satraya. As we celebrate the completion of the reconstruction efforts tonight, we should ask ourselves some important questions. Have we created freer and more equitable societies, or have we simply rebuilt the same old roads leading to the same old destinations? Humanity is once again at a crossroads,
and we, the people of the world, have a choice to make. Do we revert back to the oppressive and elitist constructs of the past, the old ways of thinking that prevailed prior to the Rising, or do we stay brave, remain observant and self-reliant, and carefully guard individuals’ rights and freedoms as we have done for most of the last thirty-seven years?”

Cynthia paused. The people in the audience looked bored. “I ask you to ponder these questions tonight,” she continued valiantly, “because I am concerned. Now that electricity has been restored in seventy-five percent of the world, people seem more interested in the drama unfolding on their HoloTVs than in the government’s amassing more and more power over people’s lives. I realize this indifference makes life easier for you”—she heard a ripple of laughter in the room—“but is it wise to pass laws and regulations without first giving the people an opportunity to debate the merits of those laws? Do you see that people are once again falling into debt? Do you see that the financial institutions that have arisen in the last ten years bear an alarming resemblance to those that existed prior to the Great Disruption and conduct business in the same rapacious manner? Will we soon see countries follow our people into indentured servitude to these financial institutions?”

Cynthia heard gasps and a few angry cries from the audience.
Good
, she thought.
At least I’ve caught their attention.
“As is the case with every citizen of the NAF, all of my personal and professional information is now stored on a piece of glass that I am required to carry at all times, while the government stores this information in its data centers.” She held up an identification glass, a thin piece of fiberglass the size of a credit card. “Why?” she asked rhetorically.

“And look at our pharmaceutical companies. They have come back stronger than ever. They have persuaded you and the other branches of governments to pass laws that require every man, woman, and child to make monthly visits to MedicalPods. A citizen’s access to his or her personal bank accounts, place of employment, and other necessities of life is blocked if he or she does not comply. Mandatory vaccinations were good public health policy in the decade after the Great Disruption,
when diseases ran rampant over large regions of the world, but these new policies requiring blood screening and precondition assessments every year are clear infringements on an individual’s freedom!”

Cynthia saw many people turning to look at Ted Wilson, the CEO of Allegiance Pharmaceuticals, who had invented the MedicalPod System. He was seated at President Salize’s table. Cynthia gave him a direct look that confirmed what was already well known: there was no love lost between the two of them.

“Can you not see,” Cynthia continued, “that governments are beginning to attempt to control people as they did prior to the Great Disruption? Do we want to see the return of Crowd Twelve? Do we want to experience another rebellion, another financial reset? Crowd Twelve is not an accident of the past—it is a
product
of the past. It can and will happen again!”

Cynthia heard an uneasy murmur ripple through the audience as she paused and took a sip of water. “Fearmonger!” someone yelled. She looked over at the table where a man with long stringy brown hair and a fanatical gleam in his eyes was sitting. It was Randolph Fenquist, the leader of a political-action group called the Sentinel Coterie. He had a grim smile on his face. “Fearmonger!” the burly man seated next to him who had a hideous scar on his face shouted again. Fenquist coolly took the knife from his place setting and dug its pointy tip into the table. He slowly rotated it in a clockwise direction.

Cynthia was not deterred by the interruption. She had dealt with the Coterie before. “You would be foolish to think otherwise,” Cynthia said, looking directly at Randolph Fenquist. “If you back people into a corner, they will band together and fight anything and anyone they feel is threatening their lives.”

As she continued, she noticed two Council members leaving their table and walking to the back of the banquet room. She remained focused on her speech, even though more Council members were following them.

“My dear friends, now is not the time to take a step backward. The
Chronicles
have given us a road map to a bright future. We only have to seize the opportunity and move intently to realize it. Thank you for affording me the opportunity to speak to you tonight,” she said in conclusion. “Love and blessings to you all.”

The audience applauded politely. As Cynthia and the other speakers left the stage, the anthem of the North American Federation began to play, and people in the audience rose from their seats to mingle before dinner was served.

Monique gave Cynthia a big hug when she arrived backstage. “That was wonderful. So inspiring!”

Cynthia shook her head. “Thank you, but I don’t know how much of an impression I made. Their faces looked pretty blank. My hope is fading.”

“Well, maybe this will boost your hope,” John Davis said as he and another Council member, Jacob Summers, walked over to her. “We have some interesting news, something that may shift the tide in our favor.”

He motioned for them to discuss it in the hallway, and they stepped out of the banquet room via a side door. John looked around to make sure they were alone. “The Forest Set has been located.”

“The Forest Set!” Cynthia said, shocked.

“Yes, I just received a phone call from a reporter friend asking if we were going to participate in the auction at Mason One in New Chicago tonight. He told me that Camden Ford’s set of the
Chronicles
is going to be auctioned, in about an hour and a half.”

Cynthia was stunned. She was well aware that the Forest Set had disappeared thirty-two years ago, along with Camden and his wife, Cassandra. “I wonder if Camden and Cassandra are alive,” she said. “And why didn’t the auction house contact us sooner? They should have known that we would be interested in those books.”

“All good questions,” John responded, but he shook his head to say he did not have the answers.

“We need to get back to the office and see if we can secure the money to purchase the books,” Cynthia said excitedly. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and we’re going to seize it.”

5

Every choice is yours. You and you alone bear the responsibility of your decisions.

No matter how great or small they may be.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

CAIRO, EGYPT, 2:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME,

6 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

A taxi pulled up in front of the private jet hangar at the Cairo airport. Lucius paid the driver with paper money, which was rarely used since the establishment of the new electronic monetary system. It was useful, though, for carrying out untraceable financial transactions.

“Sorry, sir, I don’t carry any paper money, so I can’t give you change.” The driver gave Lucius a perplexed look. “Most everyone pays with their PCDs these days. Do you have one of those, sir?”

“Keep the change,” Lucius said impatiently, as he pulled up his hood and stepped out of the taxi into the rain.

A Gulfstream ES2300 was waiting on the tarmac. A set of stairs led to the open entry door, where a female flight attendant stood, waiting to welcome passengers onboard. The plane was equipped with three Hazzly Electro Static engines, the latest in flight technology. The engines could produce incredible thrust and were very efficient. A large electric
energizing truck sat behind the plane, charging the high-capacity fuel cells for the long-distance trip.

Carrying the briefcase in one hand and the leather pouch in the other, Lucius jogged up the stairs. The flight attendant shut the doors behind him, and Lucius inhaled the scent of leather as he entered the main cabin of the state-of-the-art aircraft. There were sixteen large seats, grouped in four sections, with a center table and a 3-D digital communication pad with universal PCD docking ports. Lucius saw his mother sitting in the right front section, talking to a projected image of Simon.

“What a relief!” Andrea said, as she looked up and saw Lucius. “Simon said he lost contact with you in the museum.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Lucius said calmly. “Just a few extra details I had to deal with.”

“Do you have them?” Simon asked anxiously.

“Yes, of course,” Lucius responded.

“Let’s see them, dear,” Andrea said. “Put them here so Simon can see the result of your efforts tonight.”

Lucius took the three books from the leather pouch and set them on the table. Simon’s image stared at the books, his hand trying to reach out and touch them, but the image simply passed through them like a ghost passing through a wall.

“Excellent work, Lucius! I trust that you didn’t meet with too much resistance. Although I do see that you did not escape the rain.”

Lucius was surprised to see the flight attendant opening the door again and deploying the stairs. He looked out the window and noticed a man waiting to enter the aircraft. Not knowing who he was or what his intentions were, Lucius took his gun out of his jacket pocket. “Do you know who that is?” he asked his mother.

“No,” Andrea said, as she looked out the window. “I have never seen him before.”

“Relax, Lucius,” Simon said, as the man boarded the plane. “Put your gun away. Macliv has come for the books.”

The man called Macliv entered the cabin and walked over to Lucius
and Andrea. He was a husky man with a blank face and a red and black tribal tattoo that circled his neck above the collar of his fitted white shirt. Lucius put the books back in the leather pouch along with a folded sheet of paper Andrea gave him and then handed the pouch to Macliv. The man nodded, and then, as quickly as he had arrived, he left the aircraft. “Talkative guy,” Lucius said, taking a seat across from his mother. “Where’d you find him?”

“Andrea,” Simon said, ignoring Lucius, “I have one other task for you before you land in the NAF.”

“I do hope it will not take too long,” Andrea replied. “We have much to do for our project, and time is short.”

“No, it will not take much time at all,” Simon assured her. “You will be able to accomplish it during your flight. There is a special event tonight in New Chicago. The Forest Set will be put up for auction.”

“The Forest Set!” Andrea was shocked and sat up straighter in her chair. “How can that be? Are you saying that Camden and Cassandra have resurfaced?” Worry showed on her face. She had served on the original Council of Satraya with Simon’s father, Fendral, and knew firsthand the events that had led to the splintering of the first Council.

“I must attend to other matters at the moment,” Simon said, not bothering to address Andrea’s concern. “I want you to secure that set. The price is of little importance. The auction house is expecting you to bid remotely, and an anonymous payment account has already been set up, so my name does not have to be mentioned. I’m forwarding specific instructions to your PCD.”

The image of Simon disappeared abruptly. The 3-D communication pad went dark, and Andrea yanked her PCD from the docking station. Her face was still tense from the revelation that Camden’s set of the
Chronicles
—and possibly Camden himself—had turned up.

“Mother, were you referring to Camden Ford?” Lucius asked, as he stood and took off his wet coat.

Andrea did not answer; she was thinking about her time on the Council, years that she would just as soon forget.