Shawn awoke in Liberty’s arms, as he had for the last several mornings. It was the only thing keeping him from screaming and running into the woods to hide and never come out again.
Liberty stirred, then kissed his shoulder.
“What did I do to deserve . . .” he began, struggling to find the right word.
“. . . this?”
“Let me think,” she replied, snuggling close. “You’re cute . . . you like triple chocolate ice cream . . . you need me, and no one ever has before. It feels wonderful . . . and . . . um . . . when I offered, you accepted, in your own shy little way. Oh, did I mention that you’re cute?”
He smiled self-consciously. “I’ve never thought of myself as cute before. It wasn’t really a value in my family.”
Liberty chuckled. “Would you rather be cute, and have me love you, or politically powerful, and have your hired goons chase your enemies around
. . .”
Shawn
sighed.
“Oh, and you’re nothing like your father, or I wouldn’t be within a mile of you, much less in your bed.”
“Actually, this is your bed.”
“Is it?” she said, glancing around. “You’re right.”
“My father would call this a sin.”
“Can you see how that fits into his political agenda? If you can control
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people’s basic needs, you’ve got them by the . . . you know.”
Shawn blushed. After a long silence, he replied, “I see your point.”
“So . . .” Liberty began, stretching. “What do you wanna do today? As I remember, we don’t have any classes or work shifts . . .”
“That because I’m supposed to fly a thousand miles, with thirty other members, and confront my father at his televised rally.”
“I’ll be at your side, Ashley and Ilika will be close, Lyceum’s muscle men will be all around you, and you’ll have a microphone your father can’t turn off.
But you have to do the talking. Can you do it?”
Shawn took a deep breath. “I have no idea. I’m just gonna go . . . and try.”
Shawn numbed himself for a long day of traveling by helicopter, airliner, and bus. Once they arrived at the small conference center Lyceum had rented, a short walk from the indoor stadium where Reverend Mitchell would be speaking two days later, everyone had work to do — everyone except Shawn and Liberty.
He understood the need for others to take care of all the logistics and technical arrangements. He knew he wouldn’t be able to contribute a coherent thought even if he tried. But he craved some distraction from his anxious brooding and worrying.
Liberty anticipated his need, so right after dinner she stuffed him into a taxi and they were soon sipping soft drinks and tapping their feet to the music at a teen dance club.
As soon as Shawn and Liberty were gone, Ashley, Ilika, and Sarah gathered when Sister Rachael announced a meeting of the primary support team.
Someone slid a plate of cookies onto the table.
“We’re going to try to do this without anyone getting hurt,” Rachael began, snagging a cookie. “Um . . . Chelsea, and you three, will be right with Shawn for support, but remember that none of you can fill his shoes if he freezes. He will have the best chance of finding his words if he must.
“Around you will be the security people . . .” she continued, gesturing toward a group of twelve large men, at another table, studying diagrams of the stadium. “I will be a little ways away, as I will not be paying attention to
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Shawn, but rather to everyone else. My psych team will be sprinkled throughout the stadium . . .”
After all the meetings were over, and Ilika had helped with dinner clean-up, he slipped out into the warm night. A small park nearby provided him with darkness and cover. He slid his mission bracelet from above his elbow.
“Hello,
Manessa.”
“Hello,
Ilika.”
“Any
news?”
“I am still in the hanger of Pad Three. The crew is still trying to find the object of the mission. Arantiloria has been in and out. Mati is the only one on the bridge right now.”
“Hi,
Mati.”
“Ilika! I was just doing some piloting simulations so I don’t forget how.”
“As soon as Boro gains a little more confidence, you two will alternate often.”
“Good. By the way, Aran says your mission bracelet will be inactive day after tomorrow. What does that mean?”
Ilika was silent for a moment. “It means I’m in the wrong place.”
“Want us to come get you? It would just take a minute.”
“Um . . . no. That would look suspicious. I’ll finish what I started, and maybe I can help somehow, even though it’s not the mission. Besides, knowing I’m in the wrong place doesn’t mean I have any idea where the right place is.”
Mati laughed with understanding.
Shawn and Liberty stood together, arms around each other, wind blowing their hair back. A huge bullet left a gun barrel and moved slowly toward them. With no time to think, Ilika leapt into the path of the bullet, but an arm, faster than sight, grabbed him and pulled him back. A purple-haired girl grinned at him.
“You okay, Ilika?”
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Ilika struggled with his sheets for a moment, then relaxed and blinked. In the dim light of early morning, Ashley’s face looked down at him.
“I was stretching,” she explained, “and heard you tossing and turning and saying no to someone.”
“Heavy dream. The kind that isn’t fun, but contains important stuff anyway.”
“I get that kind before every gymnastics meet.”
Ilika rose and busied himself helping with breakfast for the entire group.
Warm sweet rolls and beverages were soon calling others out of their beds.
The technical team was clearly excited, as this was their day to get everything set up, including Shawn’s special microphone.
Liberty had a day of fun planned for Shawn, as they knew his father would be speaking in other cities until that evening. They ate together at a small table, chatting and laughing as they looked at tourist brochures.
For everyone else, the day passed slowly. Whenever there was no meal to help prepare, or meeting to attend, Ilika pondered the mystery of why it was proving so difficult to figure out the details of their mission.
Despite everything Liberty could do for Shawn, all evening and all night long, he staggered into the common room the next morning like he was going to his own funeral.
“How did you sleep?” Sister Rachael asked while carrying a bowl of fruit.
“This is all my fault! How can everybody be so nice to me?”
“Brother Shawn, you are NOT your father, never were, and never will be.
God gave us all free will. Your fellow Lyceum members know it. Even your father’s religion knows it, although it is conveniently forgotten sometimes.
Are you smart enough to keep your guilty feeling from interfering with the work we must do today, work that is necessary to save Lyceum from huge political and legal problems?”
Liberty caught up with Shawn and slipped a protective arm around him, then looked into his face with all the tenderness she could muster.
Shawn breathed deeply and tried to relax. “You’re right. I guess . . . if my father wasn’t attacking Lyceum . . . some other religious . . . um . . . fanatic . . .
would be. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to being treated so . . . so much like an
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adult.”
Rachael smiled. “You should have seen what Sarah went through when she became a member at seven, and then found out she had all the rights and most of the responsibilities of any other member!”
Lyceum’s youngest member looked up from buttering sweet rolls.
Sister Rachael walked toward a table where the technical team was eating, leaving Shawn and Liberty to get their breakfast.
An hour later, Shawn was given a thin device to put in his shirt pocket, and soon the entire team filed out of the building and began the short walk to the stadium.
At several points along the way, they split into smaller and smaller groups, each taking a slightly different route. By the time they arrived, they were in groups of no more than five, groups which seemed, to any observer, to not know each other.
The stadium held about ten thousand people, and it was expected to be filled to capacity by the event. As Shawn entered, he could see the television cameras in the media alcoves, and the platform where his father would speak, elegantly decorated with draperies and flowers.
The seats very near the speaker’s platform were already filled, and Shawn was glad, feeling the need for as much distance from his father as possible.
He felt Liberty tug his hand, and realized he had no idea where to go. They followed the security team, dressed in very casual clothes to disguise their purpose, up a stairway. He glimpsed Sarah ahead of them, and Ashley and Ilika behind. The group moved into an area of empty seats at about the same level as the speaker’s platform. Shawn struggled with himself for a moment, his legs almost moving to seats at a lower level against his will.
A soft but strong hand pulled him along a row, Liberty took a seat, and he took the next. Ashley got the next seat, then Ilika. The large men in the row in front all looked familiar.
Another twenty minutes passed as everyone found seats. A choir began to sing, and the Lyceum technical team leader, seated just behind Shawn, used a small hand-held device to adjust a piece of equipment hidden amongst the other fixtures on the ceiling. Sarah, next to him, watched his progress while
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she listened, with her ears and her mind, to the many emotions in the huge room.
Sister Rachael looked around with keen eyes. She saw several policemen, but knew they would stay near the doors unless violence erupted. The private security people, however, were everywhere, but luckily showed no awareness of Shawn’s presence. Sarah silently informed her that the equipment was ready.
The Reverend Tommy Mitchell walked out onto his platform and began to speak.
“My fellow citizens, let us pray.”
Pride welled up inside Shawn. His father, a famous and respected religious leader, was masterfully leading the opening prayer, just as Shawn had heard him do so many times before. Ten thousand people had their heads bowed, and unknown millions more watched from their homes. The prayer avoided any words that would offend anyone and cause the reverend to lose votes. Shawn was deeply impressed.
During the next twenty minutes, Reverend Mitchell spoke eloquently on topics that were always popular. Shawn was transfixed, and completely forgot why he was there. He was even beginning to feel like he was back in his father’s good graces. What, he tried to remember, were the names of those seminaries his father wanted him to consider?
But Sister Rachael, and most other Lyceum members, observed a carefully planned progression of topics, starting with the nature of Good, moving on to the nature of Evil, shifting to specific categories of Evil, and even now beginning to focus on specific Evils. He had only one more step to make, the small leap to talking about evil places, and it would begin. They listened intently.
He made the last transition slowly, carefully, and hardly anyone in the stadium was aware that he wasn’t still talking about wonderful things. When he finally did take that last step, he did it in a most subtle and clever manner, starting with an evil place that everyone could agree on.
“Fellow citizens, we live in a free society. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
But occasionally places of such obvious evil spring up, no one can deny that
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they must not be tolerated. The factories where chemical and biological weapons are still being created, those are evil places!”
Murmurs of agreement ran through the stadium.
“The abortion clinics around the world where babies are killed every minute of every day!”
The agreement of voices was not universal, but the majority made itself heard.
“And, my fellow citizens, a place called Lyceum where adults and even children do the Devil’s work by building shrines and chapels to false gods, by worshipping science instead of God, and supporting its immoral activities!”
Shawn saw red. His heart pounded as he sat glaring at his father. He had expected to take this moment calmly, but now he bristled. His father was talking about Liberty and Ashley, Brother Jacob and Sister Rachael. Shawn jumped to his feet.
Someone nearby pressed two buttons, and suddenly Shawn was lit up in a shaft of warm light. He could hear himself breathing, and knew his microphone had been activated. He spoke, slowly and seriously, and ten thousand people and a dozen television cameras turned to look at him.
“You are speaking ill of my home, father. I’d like to answer those charges.”
The Reverend Tommy Mitchell turned his head slowly and looked at Shawn with an icy stare. The entire stadium was silent, waiting for the reverend to respond, but all he did was make some hand signals to an assistant behind him.
The assistant spoke into his headset, and a technician in the control room worked fervently at a control panel behind a glass window. Several lights went off and on, but the spotlight remained on Shawn. The technician spread his arms and shrugged.
The reverend made more hand signals, this time in front of him where everyone could see, and security guards began to converge on Shawn’s position from several directions. The Lyceum security team waited until they were almost upon him, then suddenly stood and locked arms. The reverend’s men were forced to either stop short or start a fight. Without further instructions, they chose to stop.
“Let him talk!” someone yelled from across the arena.
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“He’s your son!” someone else said.
“We want to hear him!” a third voice said.
Shawn’s heart pounded. He recognized at least two of the voices who had just spoken, but he was breathing too fast to smile or laugh. Words started coming to his mind.
“I was moved by your prayer, and the first part of your talk, Father. It was excellent. Why did you have to stoop to fabricating lies about a respected international service organization that does nothing but good in the world?”
The reverend’s men stepped back a little, as they had received no further instructions, and the Lyceum security team took a lower profile so Shawn could be seen.
“Talk to us, Reverend!” someone yelled.
“Yeah!” several other voices echoed.
“Then why didn’t you stay in that evil place?” the reverend finally burst out, “where even the children enact pagan rituals!”
Shawn could feel every hair on his body standing on end, every muscle tightening. But words kept coming, so he spoke them, loudly and clearly.
“Yes, father, it so happens that I’m friends with the youngest two members of Lyceum. Sarah’s so-called pagan ritual is called BALLET DANCING!
Ashley does GYMNASTICS!”
Ashley blushed as a rumble of laughter ran through the audience.
Shawn caught the mood of the audience and ran with it. “But Sarah doesn’t do ballet dancing all the time. Often she can he found in the gardens feeding the GOLDFISH!”
Sarah grinned. The entire stadium was now talking and laughing.
The reverend’s amplified voice cut through and silenced everyone. “You will never be welcome in our church again! You are not worthy to call yourself a man of God!”
Shawn’s face suddenly became burning hot, and he knew what he had to say.
“On the other hand, you, father, will always be welcome at Lyceum. And ALL of you out there are welcome. I invite you to come and see for yourselves.
Walk in our gardens, worship in our chapels and shrines, stay in our lodge, play in our gym or pool. Look for the Devil anywhere you want. Yes, you will
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find people with different skin colors. You will find people who speak different languages. You will even find people who have different names for God. But you will not find the Devil unless you bring him with you!”
The entire audience was roaring now, and the Reverend Tommy Mitchell would tolerate no more. He made a sweeping motion and then a chopping sign to the technician, who turned and went all the way to the very back of the control room, found the largest lever, and with two hands, pulled it.
Within a second the huge stadium was pitch dark. Two seconds after that, people began screaming.
In the dim glow of emergency lights, Ilika could see the security team trying to resist the stampede of people from the seats above, but without complete success. He saw Liberty fiercely guarding Shawn, and he glimpsed Ashley bravely face a group of screaming, bolting teenagers.
A moment later, a large man crashed into Ilika, he felt himself falling, and saw no more.
Manessa immediately knew when Ilika lost consciousness. In a viewing lounge near the recreation center, where the crew had been watching the rally, five mission bracelets screamed. Less than a minute later, Kibi was the first one into the ship, with the rest right on her heels.
“Manessa, emergency departure!” Kibi commanded.
“I’m sorry, Kibi, but I cannot do that.”
“Says
who? ” Kibi questioned, breathing fast.
“Arantiloria.”
“Arantiloria, get your purple-haired carcass in here!” Kibi nearly screamed.
When the training specialist appeared a second later, she couldn’t decide whether to frown or smile.
“Ilika’s hurt!” Kibi gasped between breaths.
“I know that, Kibi. How, exactly, do you intend to help him? He’s inside a building filled with people, and police and rescue workers are arriving. Many people are hurt much worse, and three have already died. How will a deep-space response ship aid the situation?”
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Kibi, red-faced, glared at her training supervisor and tried to catch her breath, but couldn’t find any words to speak.
“I see what you’re saying,” Sata said in the silence that lingered. “If we went, we’d just cause more fear and confusion.”
Boro
nodded.
Mati frowned. “But what if Ilika needs medical care these people can’t provide?”
“I will watch over him, I promise,” Arantiloria said in a soothing voice,
“and if he needs the care only a star station can give, Manessa will be notified immediately.”
Kibi struggled to regain her breath and composure.
“To be the best commander you can be,” the training specialist continued,
“you need to do something right now, don’t you, Kibi?”
Kibi breathed several more times before speaking. “Yeah. Boro, you’re in command. I just wanna curl up and cry.”
Boro accepted with a nod.
Mati put her arms around Kibi. “You can cry all you need to, and one of us will be with you every minute.”