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ShadowedEpilogue

Edited:

“And now,” the anchorwoman said, “this from Bern, Switzerland, where interim international chancellor Hoshi Tamika is prepared to address the world. She has been in meetings since early this morning with heads of state from all over the globe.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the world community. In the name of peace, I welcome the religious back to society. In the name of reunion, in the name of reconstruction, I am glad that once more you take part in the workings of the world. I welcome you home.

But I do not welcome your God.

Where was your God, when those he supposedly loved burned in the nuclear fires of World War Three? Where was your God, for the children who begged for mercy and found only radioactive slow death, condemned not to know their own doom until they woke to feel it? Where were you peace loving people of faith, when your clerics, your imams, your rabbis, your priests, exhorted 'all good people' to purge the infidels of every creed, colour, race, or tongue?

On this day, I welcome you home, people of faith. I welcome your miracles. The Los Angeles Desiccation Area has been fully turned over to the Consortium and will give us enough free energy and advanced chemicals to build a tether to space.

It has become foolhardy to suggest that something calling itself a Supreme Being does not exist since The Incident, when as many firstborn males died as we had casualties from World War III. I myself lost a loved one, as did countless of you. And so on this day, I welcome you home, people of faith. This is my peace offer: No citizen of the world community shall be penalized or otherwise discriminated against due to his or her practice of the religion of their choice. The recommitment to the loyalty oath is hereby rescinded. Further, all citizens incarcerated, indicted, suspected, or forced to live underground due to violating the same, are hereby now and henceforth exonerated and awarded full amnesty.

But understand this: Know that there are those among us who will not bow! To no man, no beast, no demon, and no God!

We will no more strike against you, because you are no more to blame for your choice than any throughout the ages who have supported a dictator, rather than face anhillation.

Pray, people of faith. By all means pray. We welcome you home, without reservation. Pray as you can. And tell this to your God: He is wanted. The majority of the people of Earth, the grieving mothers and wives and daughters, the scientists, the workers, seek Him. Don't get me wrong: No one will be forced to acknowledge any form of spirituality. People of this earth remain free to be atheists. I confess I am one no longer."

Chancellor Tamika took a moment to compose herself, the high-resolution cameras and displays making it impossible to hide her tears. The small cadre surrounding Paul’s bed high-fived and hugged each other. “There is a God!” Jae said. Paul shook his head. It was hard to comprehend. “Guess I don’t have to pray down the flood of justice,” Jack Pass said. “Thank God for that,” Paul said. He opened a hand to Brie and Connor, and they shyly approached. “Aren’t we the bad guys anymore, Dad?” Connor said. “Nope,” Paul said. “Not anymore.” He had to smile at Connor’s frown. He’d have made a good little outlaw.

The diminutive figure behind the podium on TV composed herself with visible effort, and stood tall again to conclude her address.

"Pray, tell your God: He is wanted. He is sought. And when He is found, He will be made to answer. For every. Single. Death."

Paul knew he would still face charges for what he had done in violation of his oath of office at the NPO. And something told him the new ruling, glorious as it was, would hardly be the end of the story.

Less than half an hour later, because of the gleeful jabbering of those as his bedside, he could no longer hear the television, but over Jae's shoulder Paul saw footage of demonstrations already breaking out around the world.

The feed had been passed over to regular programming. Some showed underground believers pouring into the streets, singing, dancing, and raising their hands toward heaven. But others showed angry people of all walk of life, rioting, snarling, shaking their fists at the sky. He could only imagine the threats and epithets directed at the newly freed people of faith.

Paul shook hands with and gingerly embraced the friends and family celebrating around his bed, careful not to aggravate his wound. He could hardly fathom the difference the news would make in all their lives, including those of believers around the world, and especially his own.

He found himself suddenly overcome with emotion, but despite tears of joy, Paul had to wonder how long the reprieve would last.

Ranold B. Decenti was familiar with this sort of interrogation room, but he was infinitely more used to being on the other side of the one-way mirror. The men who had brought him there in the old gasoline-powered Hummer had his unit's insignia, and he even recognized them, but they did not speak a word to him. Efficiently, they carried him into the facility as if the corpulent man was a twig. What worried Ranold most is that he did not recognize the facility. It grey and anonymous as any of the NPO detention buildings, but ancient, incandescent light bulbs projecting inverse shadows on the concrete walls, one solitary rotary phone adorning the wall opposite the table he was chained to.

In front of him was an equally ancient tape recorder. The troopers left, slamming the door, and left Ranold alone with his burdens. Ranold took the time to look around, and think of a solution. He was familiar with NPO procedure, enough so to know that there was little to gain in being uncooperative now that this procedure had been turned against him.

Or had it? Minute after minute, and nobody came. How complete had been the reversal of rulership? Were the zealots still assembling an inquisition? Or had the government and the zealots reached a peace, and they simply would leave him there, politically best forgotten, and send a janitor to pick up his skeleton in a year?

The only way to chase such thoughts off was by action. Ranold summoned his rusty spy training, and started fiddling with his cufflinks. Long minutes later, his hands freed and his brow covered in sweat, he stood up and let his handcuffs fall, to show that he meant no hostility. A red LED came on on the tape recorder, and Ranold pressed play. The voice was deep, old, and determined.

“Hello, Commander.

In light of the recent extraterrestrial incursion, this council of nations has convened to approve the activation of the Black Chamber Project. You have been chosen to lead this initiative. To oversee our first, and last, line of defense. Your efforts will have considerable influence on this planet's future. We urge you to keep that in mind as you proceed.

Good luck, Commander.”