The Traveler (36 page)

Lawrence laid the scabbard on the wet floor,
then
walked to the staircase carrying the bare sword. "You stay there!" he shouted. "I'm coming!"

He climbed down the littered staircase. With each step, he lost more of his heaviness, the illusions that had burdened his heart. Finally he understood the loneliness revealed in his father's photograph. To become a Harlequin was both
a liberation
and an acknowledgment of one's death.

He reached the ground floor. Boone was standing in the middle of the trash-filled room with an automatic pistol in his hand. "Drop your weapon!" Boone shouted. "Throw it on the ground!"

After a lifetime of masks, the final mask was removed. Holding the gold sword, Sparrow's son ran toward the enemy. He felt free, released from doubt and hesitation, as Boone raised his gun slowly and fired at Lawrence's heart.

Vicki was a prisoner inside her mother's home. She was being watched by the Tabula as well as by her church congregation. The power company truck had left the street, but other surveillance teams appeared. Two men working for a television cable company began replacing the relay boxes at the top of the phone poles. At night, there was no attempt at camouflage. A black man and a white man sat in an SUV parked across the street. Once, a police car stopped beside the SUV, and the two patrolmen spoke to the Tabula. As Vicki peered through the curtains, the mercenaries flashed ID cards and ended up shaking hands with the officers.

Her mother asked for protection from the church. At night, one or two people would sleep in the living room. In the morning, the night-shift team would leave and two church members would arrive to spend the day in the house. Jonesies didn't believe in violence, but they saw themselves as defenders of the faith armed with the word of the Prophet. If the house was attacked, they would sing hymns and lie down in front of cars.

Vicki spent a week watching television, but eventually she turned off the set. Most of the shows seemed childish or deceitful once you realized what was really going on beneath the surface. She got some barbells from a church deacon and lifted weights in the garage every afternoon until her muscles felt sore. At night, she stayed up late and searched through the Internet for the secret Web sites created in Poland, South Korea, and Spain that mentioned the Travelers and the Vast Machine. Most of them seemed to agree that all the Travelers had vanished, destroyed by the Tabula and their mercenaries.

As a little girl, Vicki had always looked forward to the Sunday service at church; she'd wake up early, anoint her hair with per-fume, and put on her special white dress. Now every day of the week felt the same. She was still lying in bed late Sunday morning when Josetta entered the room.

"Got to get ready, Vicki. They're sending a car to pick us up." "I don't want to go."

"There's no reason to be frightened. The congregation will protect you."

"I'm not scared of the Tabula. I'm worried about my friends."

Josetta's lips tightened and Vicki knew what her mother was thinking:
They're not your friends.
She stood beside the bed until Vicki got up and pulled on a dress.

"Isaac Jones once told his brother—"

"Don't quote the Prophet to me, Mother. He said a lot of things and they don't always agree. When you look for the basic ideas, it's clear that Isaac Jones believed in freedom and compassion and hope. We can't just repeat his words and think we're right. People need to change their lives."

An hour later, she was sitting in church beside her mother. Everything was the same—the familiar hymns, the rickety pews, and the faces that surrounded her—but she didn't feel like part of the ceremony. The whole congregation knew that Victory
From
Sin Fraser had gotten involved with Hollis Wilson and an evil Harlequin named Maya. They stared at Vicki and expressed their fears during the public confessional.

The confessional was something unique to the Jonesie church, a peculiar mixture of a Baptist revival and a Quaker meeting. That morning it developed in a typical manner. First, Reverend J. T. Morganfield gave a sermon about manna in the desert, not only the food provided to the Israelites but also the riches available to any believer. As a three-piece band began to play with a driving gospel beat, the congregation sang "Call Your Faith Forward," an old-time Jonesie hymn. People stood up during the singing and at the end of each chorus expressed their concerns.

Almost everyone mentioned Vicki Fraser. They were worried about her; they were afraid; but they knew God would protect her. Vicki looked straight ahead and tried not to look embarrassed. The way they talked, it was basically her fault for believing in Debt Not Paid.
Another chorus.
A confession.
A chorus.
A confession.
She felt like standing up and running from the church, but she knew everyone would follow.

As the singing got louder, the deacon's door near the altar opened and Hollis Wilson walked out. Everyone stopped singing, but that didn't appear to bother him. Standing at the front of the church, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a leather-bound copy of
The Collected Letters of Isaac T Jones.

"I have a confession to make," Hollis said. "I have a testimony for all of you. In the fourth letter, written from Meridian, Mississippi, the Prophet says that there is no such thing as a truly fallen man or woman. Anyone, even the most miserable sinner, can make the decision to return to God and the circle of the faithful."

Hollis glanced at Reverend Morganfield and the pastor responded, almost automatically, "Amen to that, Brother."

The entire church of believers took a breath and seemed to re lax. Yes, a dangerous man was standing by the altar, but they were familiar with the style of his confession. Hollis looked at Vicki for the first time and nodded very slightly as if to acknowledge the connection between them.

"I have strayed for many years," Hollis said. "I have lived a wayward life of disobedience and sin. I apologize to anyone I have hurt or offended, but I do not request forgiveness. In his ninth letter, Isaac Jones tells us that only God can grant forgiveness—which he gives equally to every man and woman, to every race and nation under the sun." Hollis flipped open the green book and read a passage. "We, who are equal in the Eyes of God, should be equal in the Eyes of Mankind."

"Amen," said an old lady.

"I also do not beg forgiveness for joining with a Harlequin to stand against the Tabula. I did this, at first, for money—like a hired killer. But now the blindfold has been ripped from my eyes, and I have seen the power of the Tabula and their plan to control and manipulate the people of New Babylon.

"For many years, this church has been divided by the issue of Debt Not Paid. I believe, very strongly, that this argument has lost its meaning. Zachary Goldman, the Lion of the Temple, died with the Prophet. That's a fact, and no one disputes it. But what's more important is the evil being done
right now,
the willingness of the Tabula to betray mankind.
As the Prophet said: `The Righteous must fight the Dragon both in darkness and in light.'
"

Vicki glanced around the church. Hollis had won over some of them, but definitely not Reverend Morganfield. The elderly believers were nodding and praying and whispering, "Amen."

"We must support the Harlequins and their allies, not only with our prayers but with our sons and daughters. That's why I've come here today. Our army needs the help of Victory
From
Sin Fraser. I'm asking her to join us and share our hardships."

Hollis raised his right hand and gestured as if to say: Come with me. Vicki knew this was the biggest choice she had ever made in her life. When she looked at her mother, she saw that Josetta was crying.

"I want your blessing," Vicki whispered.

"Don't go. They'll kill you."

"This is my life, Mother. It's my choice. You know I can't stay here."

Still crying, Josetta embraced her daughter. Vicki could feel her mother's arms holding her tightly, and then finally letting go. Everyone watched as Vicki left the pew and joined Hollis near the altar.

"Goodbye," she said to the congregation. Her own voice surprised her. It sounded strong and confident. "In the next few weeks, I might ask some of you for help and support. Go home and pray. Decide if you want to stand with us."

Hollis grabbed her hand and they headed quickly for the door. A pickup truck with a camper shell was parked in the side alleyway. As they got in, Hollis pulled an automatic out of his waistband and placed it on the seat between them. "Two Tabula mercs are out front, across the street," he said. "Let's hope they don't have a second group watching us." Slowly he drove down the alley to a dirt access road that ran between the two rows of buildings. Hollis kept turning until they reached a paved street several blocks away from the church.

"Are you all right?" Vicki glanced at Hollis and he smiled.

"I had a little fight with three splicers, but I'll tell you about that later. For the last few days, I've been driving around the city, going to public libraries and using their computers. I've been in contact with this Harlequin in France named Linden. He's Maya's friend, the guy who sent me the money."

"Who else is in this 'army' you were talking about?"

"At this point, it's just you, me, Maya, and Gabriel. She's brought him back to Los Angeles. But listen to this ..." Hollis thumped his fist on the steering wheel. "Gabriel crossed the barriers. He's a Traveler.
The real thing."

Vicki looked at the traffic as they turned onto the freeway. Thousands of people sat alone, each held within their little box on wheels. The citizens gazed at the bumpers in front of them, listened to noise from their radios, and assumed that this time and place was the only true reality. In Vicki's mind, everything had changed. A Traveler had broken the restraints that held them to this world. The freeway, the cars and drivers, was not a final answer, only one possible alternative.

"Thank you for coming to the church, Hollis. That was a dangerous thing to do."

"I knew you'd be there and I remembered the alleyway. Besides, I needed the permission of the congregation. I could tell that most of them supported me."

"What kind of permission are you talking about?"

Hollis leaned back in the seat and laughed. "We're hiding out at Arcadia."

Arcadia was a church camp in the hills northwest of Los Angeles. A white woman named Rosemary Kuhn, who liked to sing hymns at the Jonesie church, had given forty acres of Malibu ranch land to the congregation. Both Vicki and Hollis had visited Arcadia when they were children, taking hikes, swimming in the pool, and singing songs around the Saturday night campfire. A few years ago, the camp's water well had failed and the zoning board had condemned the site for different violations. The Jonesie church was trying to sell the property while Rosemary Kuhn's children were suing to get it back.

Hollis took Route 1 along the coast, and then followed the two-lane highway that ran through TopangaCanyon. When they turned left at the Topanga post office, the road got narrow and very steep. Coastal oak and dense
chaparral were
on both sides of the road. Finally they passed beneath a wooden archway with the word CADIA painted on a vandalized sign and reached the top of the ridge. A long dirt driveway, eroded by flooding, led them to a gravel parking lot.

The buildings at the camp hadn't changed in the last twenty years. The camp had men's and women's dormitories, an empty pool with a pool house, a water tank, and a large community center that was used for meals and church services. The long white buildings had red tile roofs in the Spanish style. Flower beds and a vegetable garden, once carefully tended by the Jonesies, were now overgrown with weeds. All the windows had been smashed and empty beer cans covered the ground. At the top of the ridge you could see the mountains on one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other.

Vicki thought they were alone until Maya and Gabriel came out of the community center and walked down to the parking lot to meet them. Maya looked the same: strong and aggressive. Vicki stared at Gabriel, searching for a change in his appearance. His smile hadn't changed, but his eyes looked at her with a new intensity. She felt a little nervous until Gabriel said hello and hugged her.

"We were worried about you, Vicki. Glad you're here."

Hollis had gone to an army surplus store and purchased folding cots and sleeping bags for the two dormitories. A camp stove, water bottles, and canned food were in the kitchen of the community center. They used an old broom to sweep away some of the dust, then sat down at one of the long tables. Maya switched on her computer and showed them personal information about Americans their age
who
had died in car accidents. During the next few weeks, they would obtain the birth certificates of the dead people, then driver's licenses, then passports for different identities. Eventually, they would cross the border into Mexico and look for a safe place to hide.

"I don't want to end up in a Mexican jail," Hollis said. "If we're leaving the country, we'll need money."

Maya explained that Linden had sent thousands of dollars to America hidden inside an antique Buddha. The package was being held by an art dealer in West Hollywood. It was dangerous to ship money and pick up packages if the Tabula were searching for you. Hollis volunteered to guard the back of the building when she entered the front door.

"I can't leave Gabriel alone."

"I'll be okay," Gabriel told her. "Nobody knows about this place. Even if the Tabula found out, they'd still have to drive up that winding road. We'd see the car ten minutes before they got here."

The Harlequin changed her mind twice during lunch, and then finally decided that it was important to get the money. Vicki and Gabriel stood in the parking lot and watched Hollis's truck head back down the hill.

"What do you think about Maya?" Gabriel asked.

"She's very brave."

"Maya's father put her through some pretty harsh training to turn her into a Harlequin. I don't think she trusts anyone."

"The Prophet once wrote a letter to his twelve-year-old niece, Evangeline. He said that our parents give us armor to wear and we decide to put on more armor as we get older. When we become adults, the different pieces of armor don't match and they don't protect us completely."

"Maya is very well protected."

"Yes. But she's the same underneath. We're all the same."

Vicki took the broom and swept the floor of the community center. Occasionally she glanced out the window and saw that Gabriel was pacing around the dirt parking lot. The Traveler looked restless and unhappy. He was thinking about something, trying to figure out a problem. Vicki finished sweeping and was wiping down the tables with a wet rag when Gabriel appeared in the doorway.