Steal Across the Sky (20 page)

Soledad took the subway downtown, patiently queuing at the metal-and-explosive detector. On the diminutive screen of a news kiosk, an avatar repeated again and again a fifteen-second spiel about the suicide of Emma Jane Taymor. No one paid the slightest attention or paid for a printed flimsy. Most of the world, Soledad reminded herself, had not been affected by the Witnesses’ reports. Not outwardly, anyway. The trains went on running, the farmers went on farming, the teachers teaching, the cops policing. People raised their kids, paid their taxes, shot their gang enemies, went dancing Saturday night, dropped their litter in the street, just as if nothing had changed. Outwardly, nothing had.

But, waiting on the grimy subway platform, staring down at the primitive tracks (no maglev in
this
part of New York), Soledad had another of the moments that had infused her ever since she returned from Luna Base. She was all at once aware of more people in the subway station than actually stood there. It was not a “psychic” sensation, not a “lost sense activating”—nothing so colorful. She didn’t see or feel or smell or hear anything out of the ordinary. Hers was a purely intellectual realization, capable of slamming into her at any given moment with all the force of the A train:
There could be dead standing beside me
.

Yesterday 164 people had died in Manhattan; she had checked online. The day before, 193. The day before that, 152. Surely not all of them had immediately started on the third road (or gone through the last door or crossed the “bridge to far” or climbed the golden ladder). If not, then New York was thronged with loitering dead from yesterday, last week, last month. A shadowy realm just beside the living, fidgeting as they waited for the 1:19 downtown.

Put that way, it was preposterous. The stuff of campfire ghost stories, bad movies, “séances” held by charlatans at tawdry “psychic faires.” No. Ridiculous.

But it had not seemed so ridiculous on the Atoner ship, watching the display screen as a child standing in a bleak winter landscape had opened her rosy mouth and said,
Aveo
, a name she could not have known for a man she had never met.

Seeing the dead Aveo, hearing him introduce himself?

Telepathy, pulled from Cam’s or Lucca’s mind under stress? But why should little Chewithoztarel have been under stress?

Was it life after death?

Was it telepathy?

Which? Or neither?

And why didn’t any of these other passengers fidgeting beside her seem to care?

The train shrieked through the tunnel and came to a stop, and Soledad got on.

“WHY SHOULD THEY CARE?”
Fengmo asked.

“I don’t even know how you can ask that question,” Soledad said.
She put down her fork and stared at him hard. They sat at a corner table at Leonard’s, Fengmo’s favorite restaurant, within sight of the South Manhattan levee that kept out the rising ocean. Leonard’s décor, techno-camp, featured old motherboards and defunct keyboards glued to the wall in intricate patterns. A non-working rotary phone sat in the middle of their table, twined with fresh flowers. Soledad had dressed up for Fengmo, who always noticed, in a turquoise silk shirt and gold necklace. Her calamari tasted like sawdust. Fengmo ate with gusto, looking like an animated Oriental elf.

“Let me rephrase, Ladybliss. How are people’s lives any different because of the Atoners’ revelation? How is
yours?
There’s always been life and death, and we’ve always had to wait for death to see what happens next, and we still do. That ‘third road’ of the Kularians is still a mystery. Life and death are only two sides of the same unity, just as light is the other hand of darkness. Putting words to them, trying to codify them, solves nothing. ‘The—’ ”

“I know, I know,” she said wearily. “You’ve told me often enough. ‘The way you can go isn’t the real way; the name you can say isn’t the real name.’ ”

He grinned. “Lao-tzu would be proud of you.”

“I doubt it. Fengmo, the Atoners’ revelation made a lot of difference to Emma Jane Taymor.”

He stopped smiling. “Yes. And there are a lot of borderline types out there who are interpreting this for their own advantage. Have you heard about Anna Romany? Or the CCAD?”

“No.” She pushed her calamari around on her plate.

“Anna Romany is a psychic who claims her genes for seeing the dead have ‘reexpressed.’ Spontaneously regenerated, like the tails of lizards. Her TV show ratings have soared. She claims to be talking to Abraham Lincoln, who still hasn’t started down the third road.”

“Still? After 160 years?”

“Yes. And Honest Abe wants you to stop lying to yourself about the roadblocks to your personal spiritual growth and send money to Anna Romany. The CCAD is a lot more serious. They’re the Christian Coalition Against the Devil, a cross-denominational fundamentalist group that’s decided there is only one Atoner, not a whole bunch of them—”

“That’s not unreasonable—”

“—and that he’s really the Anti-Christ. They might be just a group of whackos, but the language on their website is pretty violent.”

“What are you doing on their website?” Soledad pushed away her dinner.

“Monitoring it for you. They think you—mostly The Six, but also the other Witnesses who left Earth—have been recruited by the Anti-Christ and now you’re all false prophets. Which is pretty funny when you consider that you can’t even make up your own mind about the afterlife. As a prophet, you’re pretty wimpy.”

“Don’t I know it,” she said grimly.

“Soledad, are you sleeping any better? You’ve lost weight over this.”

“No bad thing.”

“Sweetie—I don’t think I can visit with you anymore.”

She jerked upright in her chair. “Not visit with me? What the hell are you talking about?”

His face was troubled. “I should have put it together before now, dear heart. Juana lured you to her place so a sleazy journalist could see what you look like now. Any reporter—or any nut—with the brains of a poodle could also find out that you and I have been friends since the early Triassic. They could trail me to get to you. Hasn’t Diane Lovett told you that much?”

She had, but Soledad hadn’t wanted to listen. She wasn’t ungrateful to the Agency for altering her appearance and resettling her, but neither did she want the feds controlling her life. She refused electronic surveillance on her little rented house, and she refused to account to Diane for every morning and afternoon of her life. A daily check-in with Diane was as far as Soledad would go, and the agent had reluctantly agreed. Soledad could only hope that Diane had stuck to her agreement.

Soledad said, “I’m willing to take my chances in order to see you, Fengmo.”

“But I’m not willing to put you in danger.”

Soledad, as she always did in times of stress, turned impassive. Her body felt like iron. “Can we still talk on the phone?”

“Sure. And I’ll go to Cam’s lecture tonight. But we’ll travel separately and sit apart from each other. Then I’ll call you later tonight to dish.”

She nodded. Life without Fengmo, without lunches and dinners and the shopping trips he loved and she complained about, teasing him for the contradiction between Taoism and the love of 500-thread-count sheets. Fengmo was the only person who ever teased her back. Fengmo was the only person who could make her laugh.

“Don’t look so desolate, sweetie. It’s not forever. After all, everything changes constantly, in the great flow of energy in—”

“Oh, shut up,” Soledad said.

He said roughly, “I adore you, you idiot.”

“I know you do.” She took his hand on the tablecloth, feeling a minor peace come over her. The first peace in many days. The waitress stopped, coffeepot in hand, and beamed at the multi-ethnic young couple so ideally in love.

MADISON SQUARE GARDEN LOOKED
as closely guarded as the U.S. Mint. Cops in full battle gear guarded the entrance, holding back a crowd getting tired of the slow funneling through metal-and-explosive detectors. On one side of the building a moving LCD displayed a two-story-high image of Camilla O’Kane, waving and smiling. Soledad’s coat, which had seemed warm enough during the February day, was inadequate now that the sun had gone down. She wrapped both arms around herself and stamped her feet. Somewhere behind her in line was Fengmo.

Who were all these people? An old woman, even less warmly clad than Soledad, looking grim and muttering to herself. A middle-aged man laughing with his teenage son. Two young girls in ridiculously high heels— please don’t let them be more members of the Why Wait? Society. A pair of heavyset men in sheepskin jackets and baseball caps with beer logos. What did they all want from Cam?

What did Soledad want from Cam?

A pop-up ad leaped from the sidewalk, triggered by her body heat. The holo was a beautiful woman who winked, swigged from a can of Coke, and disappeared in a shimmer of silent sparkles.

“Excuse me, miss, you dropped this.”

Soledad turned around. A man about her own age stood holding out a black glove. He was gorgeous, a blue-eyed and blond Viking unaccountably transported to gritty Seventh Avenue. Probably an actor; anybody in
Manhattan who looked like that turned out to be an actor. She didn’t recognize him, but that meant nothing; she went to the theater only when Fengmo dragged her.

“I’m sorry, it’s not mine,” she said, looking longingly at the glove. It looked warm. One glove would be better than none.

He leaned conspiratorially toward her. “Well, take it anyway. Everybody else around us already has gloves, and your knuckles are turning blue.”

She glanced up sharply. Why did he want her to take the glove? Did he know who she was? The plastic surgeon had altered her nose and chin, and a makeup artist had tweezed her brows, dyed her hair, and taught her to change her skin tone. To Soledad, the image in the mirror was a stranger, but to somebody with a better eye than hers . . . Was the glove poisoned or somehow rigged electronically?

Fengmo had made her paranoid.

“No, thanks.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I hope you enjoy the lecture.”

“You, too.” “Enjoy” was hardly the right word for something you hated to attend but couldn’t stay away from. She tried to think of something else to say, something to keep his shining masculine beauty beside her a little longer, but he’d already turned away.

All at once, two lines over, she saw Carl Lewis. He stared straight at her. When she glared back, he raised his hand to his mouth, made it into a megaphone, and pointed at Soledad.

She turned her back on him and approached the first checkpoint to the theater.

PREPARED FOR: PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES

BY: DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY

DATE: DECEMBER 3, 2020

SUBJECT: ACTIVITIES OF “ATONER WITNESSES”

CONTENTS:

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY ............................................... Page 1

FULL REPORT ON ALL WITNESSES .......................... Page 4

SOURCES ..................................................................... Page 103

METHODOLOGY ........................................................ Page 107

APPENDICES ............................................................... Page 121

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

 

Of the twenty-one people who were taken into space aboard Atoner starcraft, seven remained aboard ship when planetfall was effected, seven “witnessed” on planets on which the populace allegedly possessed the so-called “seeing-the-dead” gene (STDG), and seven “witnessed” on planets that did not. Of the twenty-one, twenty survived. Fifteen are American citizens. All fifteen have been provided with government contacts who have arranged whatever degree of anonymity or privacy was desired. In return, daily check-ins ensure a steady flow of information.

 

Primary finding: Thus far, no American “Witness” has reported, or appears to have had, further contact with any Atoner or with the Atoner base remaining on the moon.

 

Of especial interest are “The Six,” dubbed thus by the media because they are the ones who landed on planets with STDG. Activities of
The Six are detailed below; activities of the other fourteen are included in the full report. The Six are comprised of five Americans and one Englishman. The original seven sent to planets with STDG also included Lucca Maduro (dual citizenship, Italy and England) and Japanese national Tomiko Takahashi, allegedly deceased. Maduro has been excluded from “The Six” by the media because of his consistent refusal to expand on his initial brief statement or to give interviews; he is nonetheless included here. Note: Camilla O’Kane was not originally assigned by Atoners to land on an STDG planet but did so anyway.

The Witnesses have reacted variously to their journey, to their exposure to the aliens, and to subsequent media attention. This gives them varying weight as potential avenues to reopening contact with the Atoners. Briefly (for details and sources see full report):

 

DuBois, Andrew Emile:
American, 25, residing San Jose, CA, employed by FutureSystemsCorp, writes code for computer games. Gives interviews, and is a media favorite for his casual, eclectic POV that includes STDG, Zen, astral projection, and reincarnation. His views, though colorful, are seldom taken seriously by the media, by focus groups, or by colleagues. Check-in with Security contact: sporadic. Potential utility: low.

 

Dziwalski, Sara Louise:
American, 26, residing Austin, TX, has returned to work as an LPN at Seton Medical Center. Ignores media attention at work and refuses to discuss her experiences with patients or staff. Does off-hours interviews with media, but these have dropped off, as she speaks in a straightforward manner and does not vary or add to her statements. Believes complete Atoner explanation for what she allegedly witnessed. Check-in with Security contact: daily and at length. Potential utility: high, since she deviates not at all from “information” that Atoners wish to disseminate.

 

Harden, Christina Jessica:
American, 20, residing with parents in Boston, MA, student at Brown (junior in international relations), youngest Witness. Very bright but gives no interviews at the request of her parents (whom she defied to become a Witness in the first place)
and of the university, both of whom appear to be trying to shield her. Privately says she is “still thinking over” what she “witnessed.” Currently taking courses in comparative religion, paleontology, history, and neurology. Check-in with Security contact: daily but very brief. Potential utility: uncertain. If the Atoners value brains and independent thinking, she could be valuable; however, she is very young.

 

Jones, John Elijah:
UK national, 27, residing Cambridge, England, doctoral candidate in mathematics. Initially gave interviews but now states he has said all that he wishes to say about his experiences. Believes in STDG but seems, incredibly, not very interested in it. Is intensely interested in adding to astronomical and mathematical knowledge through careful observations made during his journey, and for this reason enjoys celebrity among scientists in those areas. Check-in with Security contact: fairly consistent (see MI6 report under “Sources”). British willing to cooperate with us on information sharing and potential contact. Potential utility: medium.

 

Maduro, Lucca Giancarlo:
Dual citizenship, Italy and England, 27, residing Toronto, Canada, recluse. Maduro has consistently refused to expand on his initial brief statement, to give interviews, or to appear in public. He is supported by family money on a heavily fortified small estate (see report by Canadian intelligence, under “Sources”). Alone among those who allegedly witnessed STDG in operation, he has rejected the Atoner explanation in favor of a belief that subjects were not talking to or seeing the dead but rather engaging in telepathic acts activated by stress, which pulled the information from the minds of the living who were present. (For a discussion of this hypothesis, including its followers, see Appendix C.) Check-in with Security contact: NA. Potential utility: very low.

 

O’Kane, Camilla Mary:
American, 23, no fixed address, parents reside Jay, NE, working the lecture circuit. By far the most visible of “The Six.” Believes in STDG completely and exhorts audiences to believe. Gives interviews constantly, stays consistent with her story but presents it in a theatrical, dramatic manner. Check-in with Security contact: daily and at length. Potential utility: high, since she is aggressively
spreading the “message” that the Atoners presumably wish to disseminate.

 

Olenik, Francis Michael:
American, 24, residing Barton, OH. Ex–police officer, dismissed from Barton PD for alleged evidence tampering, just before he applied to Atoners. Application appears to be out of character. Refuses all interviews. In initial debriefing said he believes in STDG and sees no conflict between that and his traditional Catholicism. Check-in with Security contact: daily but very brief and “with much reserve” (description by contacting agent). Potential utility: low.