“He only believes. But he does not know!
Yet he will quote himself as scripture.
Others will listen, they will follow.
They will sacrifice themselves for his words.”
- Brother Isaac
Ryan sat in his cell, staring blankly at the wall. There was no means of escape. His cell was fortified, cameras watched his every move. The doorway tantalizingly lay open, only a faint red hue suggested the presence of a magnetic field.
Around his neck was a choker, primed to arrest his breath if he approached the doorway. It was uncomfortable, but Ryan knew better than to fiddle with it.
The collar was a holdover from the mass arrests and interrogations employed by the government during the Hanean War.
Tamper proof steel belts attached to magnetically sensitive actuators meant that no knife could cut through the band before the subject's larynx was crushed. Moving toward a strong magnetic field shortened the bands, giving a sensation of suffocation. The stronger the field, the tighter the bands squeezed, providing a clean warning of where they could, and could not, stand.
Brother Rumi came marching to his cell.
“Follow me,” he said.
The red hue diminished from the doorway, and the guard stood waiting, a magnetic prod in his hand. He did not need to use it, as Ryan came quietly and obediently, holding his head high as he was marched up the corridor past other cells.
They were empty. The last time they were full was toward the end of the war.
Brother Isaac's extremist followers had been housed there, awaiting sanitation. It had been a long and arduous task to find them all, a task that meant the deaths of more than a few fine Vigils.
It was a private war waged within a global one. Its history would never be housed in a public library, never learned in a classroom. It would, however, be remembered by those who were involved and kept in the annals of the Vigils.
While the world was busy destroying itself, a small but powerful force was fighting to arrest its total destruction.
A dark door opened and Ryan was pushed through. Down some stairs and through another door, he was thrust into a small room containing a hooded Master Theodore and a wooden chair.
“Sit down and be attentive,” he commanded.
Ryan did so.
“Acolyte Ryan, your actions were of an extreme nature. The Brotherhood abhors violence as a means to an end. Whether you have convinced yourself of the need to push humanity or whether this was thrust upon you is of no matter when it comes to our decision,” said Master Theodore ominously, “Further, you have put our position at risk to satisfy your own demented ends. In short, you have betrayed the Brotherhood.”
Ryan remained silent.
“You have betrayed your Brethren. You have betrayed our ideals. You have betrayed the Fundamentals. You have murdered in cold blood. You have wantonly destroyed.”
Ryan continued to sit still and listen. His contempt was palpable in the cold room.
“From where your ideals have come, we cannot say. Understand, though, that if you have poisoned the minds of other brothers and sisters, we will find and sanitize them. They will be unburdened. You, however, are another matter. Punishment may be an option for the accidental loss of a life. I cannot think of a punishment great enough, however, for the slaughter of hundreds of lives. In any event, punishment can serve no purpose.”
Ryan sniffed audibly.
“Your acts were not rash. In fact they were rather calculated. You acted not with love for humanity, not for the furthering of mankind, but sheer hatred of your fellow man. Your justifications are not valid, neither logically nor emotionally. They are insane!”
“I protest that they are indeed valid,” said Ryan.
Master Theodore glared at him. He leaned forward and said, “You can protest all you like. You can protest to the families of the lives you took.”
“They will have already recovered from whatever selfish grief they may have had.”
“Still you display your hatred of man. With such a black heart you cannot possibly hope to change the hearts and minds of people. The Brotherhood works slowly and with compassion, not quickly with ire. You have been misguided, and, although I expect you not to answer, I must ask how and by whom.”
Ryan sat in silence. Master Theodore stared at him.
He was just a boy when he first saw him, wide eyed and naïve. Something had changed. His eyes had been replaced with cold orbs, impassive and unseeing. His mouth which had once spoken softly now sounded bitter.
An evil had gotten to this one, and Master Theodore was determined to find and cut it out like a cancer.
“I must encourage you, Ryan, to speak now,” he urged, his voice softening. Ryan sat still, not meeting Master Theodore's gaze.
“Very well. Seeing as how your heart has been corrupted, along with your brain and your soul, the council has decided that the only course of action is to banish you from this Brotherhood for the rest of your life.”
Theodore watched for any sign of reaction from Ryan. He sat like a statue, his breath controlled and he eyes unwavering from a point on the table.
“Furthermore, I have bargained on your behalf for clemency. Your life will be spared. You will be escorted to a sanitation facility in the wastes where you will be processed until such time as your mind has been deemed to be cleansed. A clean mind will allow, but will not guarantee, a clean soul. If you attempt to leave the facility before this time, you will be killed.”
Master Theodore leaned back in his chair. He stated, “This is the judgment of the council, pending any further information. Take him away.”
Ryan was led roughly down the hall and back to his cell. The red light in the doorway illuminated once more as he sat on his bunk. Brother Rumi watched him for a few moments before heading back to his post further down the hall.
His bunk was a bit uncomfortable so he twisted a little and faced the wall. He did not wish to admit it to himself, but he was scared.
The Vigils were powerful, they had eyes everywhere, and they knew so much about so many things. There was nothing to say that they did not already know exactly who had lifted the veil from his eyes, or that they knew what would come next.
By denying any further involvement, he may have aroused suspicion, which would cause them to investigate further, deeper. Truth serums, surely, possibly mind games.
His correspondence with Abraham had been encoded, and these were safe, but still his brain fought wildly as it thought for any communique or message that could be exploited by the Vigils to reveal his name.
He had been thorough. Anything remotely revealing he had erased. There was nothing left but to trust in Father Abraham's words, “They will seek to harm you but do not fear. Your salvation is at hand. I will see to it that you, my son, will not endure their wrath. This I promise.”
When he became an Acolyte, he had uttered 'I promise' to Master Theodore as required by the Brotherhood. He had sincerely meant it at the time.
He had looked into the eye of Master Theodore, who asked him the questions of loyalty to, servitude of and love for his fellow man, and he had said, 'I promise'.
A niggling feeling poked its head up through his stomach. He banished it and his memory of his initiation and instead thought about Father Abraham.
It was a faceless vision, since he had never met him, but naturally his brain put an old, bearded head on top of a cloaked body.
He was both wise and ruthless. He had shown the flaws in the Vigil's thinking. The self-serving lies. The hypocrisies. The backward logic that stunted progress. He had revealed them to Ryan, and all had been proven. The rhetoric of the Vigils was outdated. They were archaic. They were, in fact, holding everyone back. Including Ryan.
He was determined not to die a withered nobody. He would make a difference to the future, not just observe it as it goes by and make banal proverbs to explain it.
They were so sure of themselves, but Master Theodore was wrong about at least one thing. He had not acted with hatred, he had acted with sadness. Society had deteriorated from being the core of civilization to a mere collection of doe eyed individuals all scrambling for themselves. Ryan did not belong in society, not in this world, anyway.
It was a world where amazing brains lay dormant, slaves to machines. A world where hearts beat in a muffled chorus of melancholy, crying for salvation. A world in which souls were as indistinct as grains of sand, worthless and insignificant. Ryan could not live in such a world.
Abraham had helped him realize that. Abraham would help him change it.