May 4, 1583
It was already past midnight but the chandelier light continued to bask the chamber with an ethereal glow. The crackle of the nearby fireplace did not disturb the bustle of talking individuals. Already the conversation had broadened to the eventual equalization of Europeans in the region and the freedom from the oppressive Ming regime which Infinite Castle strove for. For all involved, the paramount nature of the goal of liberation and freedom bubbled to the surface and could hardly be held down by even the most reserved and calm members of that spy network.
Dinner had been a late affair; perhaps because it was a long talk or perhaps because there was a delay in serving the main dishes; nonetheless the gaps in time were eagerly filled by the interchange of the two groups. The venerable Viceroy Renault de Fronsac who had first hand experience against the foes of Infinite Castle fascinated the court with his stories of the Ming contingent in San Francisco while the relatively quieter Nia Obidos was a mysterious icon of feminine tenacity not unlike that of Infinite Castle’s Princess. As a defector, she similarly brought curiosities to the table which tantalized the listening group both academically and anecdotally.
Antonio, on the other hand, exhibited himself like a man lost in a tempest. His emotions barely peeked beyond the boundary of his expressions but still they poured over in the direction of the woman sitting at the far end of the table. To say that Jesca returned his confused gaze would not be entirely accurate. Indeed, the astute woman was almost immune to the churning thoughts of the young Duke. She looked to him with an interested yet dispassionate gaze. Deep behind those dark eyes that she saw, however, she understood that kind of feeling that she could not remember having felt before; that feeling of reunion and return.
Already, the adventures from Jerusalem all the way to Osaka were recounted with exquisite detail in the hopes of rekindling some latent memory, but each time, Jesca sat in her chair with an almost flattered grin. The look she would give continually chastened Antonio whenever his excitement would rise; it was a constant reminder of the blankness that had afflicted the Isabella he knew. It was not just the way she gazed at him, either, but the patch that she had over her right eye. It was like all her memories had been shrouded in the darkness of the patch and kept hidden in a locked vault mockingly close to her brain.
“Interesting stories,” she had finally said after having listened to an Antonio who barely touched his servings. “Seems almost too crazy to be a lie especially considering that you have no reason to lie to me, my dear Duke.”
Despite being coated in a chide, the temptation of that deduction remained with the group throughout the evening. One had to assume that there were either hidden motives involved or that this was just too gigantic a lie to be false. For those on the other side of the table from Antonio and his entourage, there was a simple visceral response to the idea of their Princess being recruited away from them.
Most, like Lex, remained quiet. The confidence he possessed in Jesca’s will to fulfill her promise seemed like an impenetrable barrier; it was the depth of their common affinity for nobility and conviction that continued to keep them where they were. Others, however, were content to divert the attention of the whole group to more colloquial matters and exchanged words with the other visitors regardless of their shared awe for the existence of their Lady.
It was once again in these shared gaps of chatter that Antonio returned to his pained yet jubilant stare. His face communicated for him even without him knowing it. Concealed in the motions of his eyes and the sway of his dark locks, Antonio sent his thoughts across the ether of warmed air. “I had forgotten to tell you something,” he had said through the movements of his face; the cleft expression of his lips seemed to emulate what was occurring closer to his soul.
For a moment, it seemed as if Antonio was about to receive a more intimate response; an inkling of thought that harkened back to their friendship. The circuit had nearly been completed between them when the woman’s eyes suddenly darted away slicing with an eagle’s gaze at the far end of the chamber. The majority of the others including Nia and Renault endowed with the keen perception of their professions were similarly drawn to the other end of the large room.
Half the people at the table rose to their feet and weapons were brandished like a phalanx arming for a charge. “Who are you?” Lexington took the initiative to call out to a stranger who appeared in the darkened shadow of the doorway. Lex took a step closer to his mistress simultaneously.
The hooded figure coughed a wheezing exultation of phlegm as the slopping sound of mucus and disease seemed to conjure a sticky feeling in all watching. Nia was the first to react with alarmed urgency for she knew form her experience in the House what kind of creature this was: “A Ming Agent, working for Sio-Pan!”
Harkened to the alarm, many pushed their seats aside to draw their weapons at the half bowing figure. Crouching so low, one could not see the approaching face, but in the one hand was a lantern and on the other a knife easily recognizable from the denizens as being one from their kitchen. Like some perverted mockery of the contemplatives, the man’s cloak and hood was as brown as Indiad choco but tattered enough to signal that it was often used. The smell of rotting flesh seemed to creep towards the congregation with a stinging slowness that made even the strongest of them dizzy.
“Who are you?!” Lex asked again but the tone of his voice sounded like wood striking wood under the water. Numbing against the eardrums of all that now focused on the approaching, slow, figure, there was obviously some poison wafting in their direction that impaired sound.
One of the men at the table walked up to the approaching one although his step was obviously being biased by the overpowering odor. Coming within the vicinity of the stranger, he repeated his captain’s words “Who are you?”
He was answered by a gutting stab of the kitchen knife into his abdomen. Everyone else gathered around the table would have gasped for air at the sudden fatal blow if the air itself did not seem to oppress their thoughts and functions. Unlike Lex’s voice, however, they could hear every twist that wicked creature inflicted inside their comrade’s belly.
“One… Two… Three…” came a drowning voice from underneath the brown hood. Each number spoken in the Eastern tongue was accompanied by the sound of organs succumbing to metal. “Four… Five… Edward Hastings… for the Five agents of his Lordship you have killed I hand this punishment down to you…”
Edward Hastings’ body now reached the floor without a stomach. The stench that now drew closer as well as the gruesome demise of one of their companions paralyzed the others where they stood. The steady approach of the stranger marked a slow increase in how their noses percolated and ran from the aura. Some, like the young Lydia, could not stop the blood escaping her nostrils.
“You all asked who I was…” was the watery voice again, “I say to you that I come as a messenger of the Lord of Acid. I am his Lieutenant… Sebastian Royce.”
As the man raised his hood and his body, it was like an invisible plume left his form and surrounded those around the table. Still without movement, everyone could now feel something chafing against their skin and almost burning away at their flesh. The sting approached their eyes and many became blind without the ability to scream out against it. Deep within this most sacrosanct of chambers of the Infinite Castle, there was no way to press the atmosphere out; the very room cornered the air against those within. However, it was the name that would have stopped Antonio’s heart if it wasn’t already being dampened by the smell of death. Looking at that beautiful face of the young man he once knew, the words spoken were close to the truth—Sebastian had indeed come back and he was now an avatar of pollution.
---
Father Julio’s voice trembled as his lamp similarly displayed his trepidation. The unsteadiness of his light made the approaching blades shine like a silvery spray of water tumbling towards him. His voice was drowned by the crunching movements of dirt and rock against pendulum and scythe. “P…Pa..ter Noster…” he began to sing. “qui es in caelis… sanctificetur Nomen Tuum…”
As the wheels approached him, he could hear a smaller voice behind him but unlike the melodic chant of his Latin, it was the elegant flow of his friend’s Greek behind him singing: “Πάτερ ἡμῶν ὁ ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς ἁγιασθήτω τὸ ὄνομά σου…”
They both continued, each in their respective language but the tone of their surrender to the Father seemed to coalesce in harmony in that deepest of Byzantine labyrinths. Here, East and West put forth their songs like one voice utilizing both lungs…
“Adveniat Regnum Tuum… fiat voluntas Tua sicut in cael, et in terra,” was accompanied by “ἐλθέτω ἡ βασιλεία σου γενηθήτω τὸ θέλημά σου, ὡς ἐν οὐρανῷ καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς”
Both thought deeply about those words and for a moment Andronikos wished he could call out to his friend and tell him an apology for the chastisement he had said earlier. It was obvious now that the young priest understood sacrifice—understood what this part of the Lord’s prayer meant—that it is for His will and not ours that we live, work, and even die and that whatever lot we are given in life we should not complain. Just as the Lord showed all of them, so now Julio will show his Christianity.
“Panem nostrum cotidianum… da nobis hodie; et dimitte nobis debita nostra, Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;” was sung more quietly. Father Julio’s face warmed up as the contraption approached. Already, his voice was lost to the hammering of air against blade and the gnawing aperture of the machine was wafting dust in his direction. Nonetheless, he could still hear his friend enjoined with him: “τὸν ἄρτον ἡμῶν τὸν ἐπιούσιον δὸς ἡμῖν σήμερον καὶ ἄφες ἡμῖν τὰ ὀφειλήματα ἡμῶν, ὡς καὶ ἡμεῖς ἀφίεμεν τοῖς ὀφειλέταις ἡμῶν”
For the final words, the young man said them with eyes closed and arms raised up in anticipation for the imminent blow: “et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a Malo.”
Andronikos could not bear himself to say the last words aloud as his eyes were fixated on the figure in front of him. The machine was already a step away and his mouth would not open. His heart, however, forced his lips and his voice leapt to God saying the last line: “καὶ μὴ εἰσενέγκῃς ἡμᾶς εἰς πειρασμόν, ἀλλὰ ῥῦσαι ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ τοῦ πονηροῦ!”
His voice unexpectedly echoed through the chamber and, like a great rumbling thud, the sound seemed to return to him in a choir. A fulminating roar erupted from the corridor and it sent both the archbishop and the young priest stumbling backward and holding their heads against the ear shattering din. Quickly adjusting himself to his feet, Andronikos looked forward to not only find his companion in tact but the machine somehow halted in front of him.
Rushing to his friend as if the contraption could reactivate at any time, he pulled at Julio’s shoulders with his old arms until the young one, too, was on his feet. “Andronikos, what’s going on?” Julio asked as he steadied himself; his heart was still unable to catch its beat from the anticipated confrontation.
“I’m not sure, my friend,” Andronikos replied with no small hint of joy, “but perhaps the Lord has decided to save us from the time of trial, indeed…” He had a smile on his face.
Father Julio looked back to the machine and confirmed with his own sight the dormant nature of the contraption. His panting breath began to grow normal again and he began to wipe the dirtied tears away from his dusty face. “Thanks be to God!” he nearly shouted out. The noise of his exultation was heralded by a second sound which made both men jump backward from the hanging blades. No, it was not coming from the machine; it was from behind them, now. Turning to see what had made the noise, both were stunned to find a corridor opened up for them.
“How could this be?” the priest asked.
“I’m not sure…” the metropolitan responded honestly, “It all happened when we started speaking loudly… but I’d rather not stay here with that machine over there to find out…”
Father Julio gave a reassuring nod and both made their way to the now open corridor. Whatever ingenuous device the Greeks created to respond to the tone of prayers was something both decided to discuss at a later time.
“Commander, we’ve surrounded the aircraft and we’re receiving a positive feed on the signals Dona Jimenes planted,” the Lieutenant closest to the Commander reported.
The white and dark green camouflaged vehicle jostled and jolted as it curved the next pass on the frozen road allowing for speaking between each man within the vehicle to remain on their intercom system. In actuality, Commander Georgiev was a consultant on voice recognition software and communications for the Bulgarian Branch of the Armada before he was transferred to work as a field officer. Part of the voice processing and command protocols that he now used within his vehicle were of his design.
“Very good;” the commander responded into the microphone, “now that we’ve cornered them, we can—”
Georgiev suddenly screamed out and withdrew his helmet from his head exposing it to the chilling temperature of the vehicle’s exposed top. Already, static was dominating the maximum power of the earpieces. Added to the confusion, the vehicle and global positioning navigation began to stutter in and out of existence.
“What’s going on, Lieutenant!” Georgiev yelled out conventionally to his aide.
“We’re being jammed, sir!”
“Jammed?!” the commander responded incredulously, “The system is supposed to filter that out!”
“I can’t understand it sir, we’ve lost the targets! I’m trying to patch us through to the Moscow command station but even the hardlines are being disrupted!”
Commander Georgiev immediately stood up to face the incoming snow without reservation. With his binoculars, he viewed ahead what he had been afraid of with the communications blackout—there was a plume of red flame erupting ahead of them. His attack force—in its disarray—was being picked off one by one. “Re-route us to Constantinople
---
“Ricardo, I told you, we’re getting requests from fifteen sectors for clarification… the supercomputers just can’t handle this kind of strain!” Lieutenant Leonidas exclaimed into the view screen.
In between the frantic pattering of his keyboard was the noise of his partner Fernando similarly crunching computations and the confused expression of the communications officer he was attempting to explain the situation to on the other end of the video intercom.
“Have you tried changing the logic mode?” Ricardo asked while his dark face looked directly at the camera.
“Of course I tried that, whatever is transmitting from that downed plane’s got algorithmic memory unlike I’ve seen before. If this is Schwarzschild like the memo from the Japanese base command said then we could be in one hell of a mess…”
“I don’t want excuses, Leonidas; Georgiev needs the command protocols back or we can’t—”
“Impossible!” Leonidas yelled back at the monitor, “Fernando and I have been through the entire screening six times; there’s no way to dampen or redirect the field to restore the voice recognition protocols. Whatever they’re using; it’s aimed specifically for this…”
For a moment there was quiet on both sides of the sound system. The sound of keys being tapped filled the gap as both Fernando and Leonidas went through line after line of wave form analysis.
“I’ve got it!” Fernando said out loud as he turned his swivel chair towards his partner’s side of the room. Leonidas immediately tilted his head to look over his shoulder while he continued to enter code.
“We can’t re-establish the uplinks because the system is being locked into processing the alien data,” Fernando began to explain; “We have to shut down the system so that the Commander can issue commands conventionally!”
“It’s better than nothing…” Leonidas admitted. Considering the advent of Newtype technologies that allowed the interface of human and machine was still new, Commander Georgiev would still have a good chance at succeeding if they could restore conventional communications. “But how are you going to reinstate conventional command while the programme is still running?”
“Leave it to me,” Fernando said with a grin turning back to his console. Immediately, an image of Ricardo similarly opened on Fernando’s screen. “Rick, I’m going to need you to re-align the Patriarchate’s com system to transmit back into the feed for me. We’re going to dull the system by superimposing a simplistic sound function into it…”
“Give me a second…” was the response as each man slid line after line of code into their screens. “Done,” Ricardo acknowledged.
“Upload complete on my end; There wasn’t much on the mainframe for simple output but this should do it,” Fernando said before looking at the monitor, “Rick, Roll It!”
---
Miss Obidos leaned heavily against one of her men watching the small viewscreen emulate the conditions outside. The deployed men had formed a make shift perimeter around the fallen craft and were now in a position to allow for an escape route. She picked up the communications headset and slipped the transmission button on.
“Status Report,” she commanded.
“This is Garm Section; all is set,” someone reported. “This is Jormungandr, two vehicles destroyed,” another said. “Tiamat here, a little resistance but—” the machine fuzzed a little against Miss Obidos’s ear.
“Say again Tiamat, what is your status?” she asked into the machine.
“Tiamat here, we’re gett—g comm—cations tro—We’re no strangers to love; You know the rules and so do I.”
Miss Obidos looked at the headset for a second and then to her officer manning the station. “What’s going on?” she asked curtly.
“Our signal’s being disrupted from an outside source, Ma’am. Someone’s nullifying the phase differential with something else…” the man explained as he turned on the loudspeaker.
“Gotta make you understand…” started to come out of the machine, “Never gonna give you up… Never gonna let you down; Never gonna run around and desert you!”
“Where is the disruption coming from?!” Miss Obidos yelled out with a growl.
“It’s coming from the Patriarchate’s office in Constantinople, Ma’am.”
Chapter LIII: Patriarchate (coming soon)