Ascension (20 page)

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do." I run my fingers along the glass windowpane. "Events would seem to bear me out. Soren has power. He can force you to do what he wants. The rest of us are helpless and nothing we can do will change it."

We stand in silence for a moment.

"Come here," he says and takes my hand. "I want to show you something." He pulls me behind him and I resist, not wanting to talk, not wanting to think. We enter into the main room and he pulls me over to the office area. Vasily sits at a desk, watching the monitors, playing solitaire on his computer.

"Can you excuse us for a while?" Julien says.

Vasily stands and leaves without a word.

Julien sits at a desk, an old oak dinosaur, the top worn and scratched. He opens a file drawer and searches through a dozen files in a holder.

"Here it is," he says, pulling out a worn folder, thick with contents. He opens it on the desk and on the top is a folded image from a glossy magazine. The edges and folds are worn from repeated use. It must have been folded and unfolded hundreds of times.

Spread out, the image is of a dark sky with what appears to be thousands of tiny blurs of light. I lean closer and see that amidst the points of light are small galaxies resembling images of the Milky Way I've seen before, some on their side, some face on, yellow, white, pink, blue.

"Is that the whole universe?" I say in awe. "There are thousands of galaxies."

He shakes his head and touches the image, his fingers running over it almost with reverence.

"No. This was taken of the emptiest part of the night sky. It's called the Hubble Ultra Deep Field Image. If you held your hand up at arm's length, the area of the night sky they studied for this would cover only the tip of your little finger."

I lean over and examine it more closely. Galaxies of every conceivable size, shape and color are strewn against a black background. In the middle, one large bright star, its light refracted into points.

"I never knew there were so many."

"Each one of those specks? They aren't stars, Eve. They're galaxies with hundreds of millions of stars." He pulls me down so that I sit on his lap, his arms around me and although I want to resist, he prevents me.

"Look at it. That," he says, pointing to the bright star in the center of the image. "That is the only star. The rest are galaxies. The star's close – maybe thousands of light-years away in our own galaxy. The galaxies? Millions of light-years away. There are billions of galaxies. Each one has hundreds of millions of stars. They took that image from that position because they thought it was empty. Look at what they found in the emptiest part of the sky. Imagine that image taken and repeated to cover the entire sky."

He looks down at the image and shakes his head.

"There are too many stars – too many for us to be skeptical of the existence of God. Humans create such beauty and wonder that I can't believe that there's no meaning, no purpose. God may be beyond any of our puny minds but I do believe God exists, Eve. If I didn't, I couldn't imagine existence."

He squeezes me.

I don't want to hear his philosophy. I want to crawl into the bed and pull the covers over my head, block out the real world.

"That's so anthropocentric," I say, repeating some word I've learned in a class at university, never having a reason to even use it before. "What about all the other animals?"

"You can't compare that way, Eve. They're like steps on a ladder to us. The universe is billions of years old and in all that time it's been moving towards us. You've studied science. You should see it clearly – increasing physical complexity starting with hydrogen and helium, all the way to the creation of biological life and then consciousness, and finally an intelligence that can actually see back to the beginning. And now one that's immortal. It's like we are the universe's consciousness and given immortality, what can we do? It's limitless."

"That's a beautiful thought," I say and shake my head, my breath catching in my throat. "I thought you wanted all vampires dead. I can't believe it. It's too self-serving, to see us as the reason for the universe to exist."

"God put us here for a reason," he says. "I don't want all vampires dead. Just those who want Dominion."

"Evolution put you here and it doesn't care about us."

"You Atheists are so brave, able to exist in a Godless universe," he says and squeezes me. "I know there's a God, although my faith has been challenged at times." He's silent for a moment. "I don't believe in the Church any longer, but I know that what it claims about the divine is real."

I look at him, at the white skin, and I remember the story of his making, and how he was taken off the battlefield, turned in the tent where medics tended the wounded, then transformed in the old castle. I take his face in my hands, and imagine him as a child, with dark hair, those huge blue eyes, praying to a god who never answered and yet he still believes, even now, and something breaks inside of me – I can almost feel it crack, rip apart.

I lean down and kiss him, pressing my lips against his, the kiss remaining chaste, the connection between us forming as our lips meet.

"I want you," I say.

"Not tonight."

"Why?"

He shakes his head, his face solemn. "Submission, Eve. Just submit."

"Are you going out?"

He nods. "Yes. I can't tell you about it."

Then he stands and I extract myself from his arms. He lets me go.

I go to my bed, my knees weak, a choky feeling gripping my chest, and creep under the covers, closing my eyes.

I'm too tired to even cry.

I don't care any longer about this vampire war. I don't want vengeance. I don't feel any better with Thompson dead. It won't make what happened disappear.

CHAPTER 18

"Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions."

Anais Nin

The next day dawns grey
, overcast. I sit up in bed and through the open bedroom door, I watch as Vasily and Julien stand outside the office space and speak in hushed voices. I wondered if Julien ever sleeps and where he does, because after that night we fucked, he hasn't joined me in bed. I get up and go to the bathroom. In need of a shower, I step inside and the hot water that falls in a cascade over me from the huge showerhead stings.

When I'm finished, I dry off and search through the box of clothes, selecting a clean pair of jeans and a sweater. Brushing my fine hair is hard, for it tangles so easily, but after a few minutes of effort, it's tangle-free. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I look the same, with the exception of the scabbed cut on my forehead and the now-fading bruise on my cheek, but I'm not the same person inside.

I go to the kitchen and eat with little interest for there's a kind of emptiness inside me that feels like nausea. There's coffee in a coffeepot but I can't face it with my stomach the way it is. I drink some juice instead.

I wander to the piano and sit down, touching a few keys hesitantly, not really sure that I feel like playing. Usually my solace, now every piece I know just makes me feel incredibly sad. Instead of playing, I sit and stare out the window at the grey clouds scudding across the sky.

A noise from the entrance draws my attention away from the windows. A few of Julien's men come inside. He speaks with them, and then they leave. Julien returns to his office, retrieves a canvas bag
. He
stops near the exit and drops his bag, then comes over to me as I sit at the piano. He takes my hand and leads me away, over to a couch in the seating area.

He sits and pulls me down on his lap so that I straddle his hips, and I rest my hands on his shoulders. His arms slip around my waist, pulling me closer. There's nowhere for me to look except in his eyes.

He says nothing for a moment, just looks at me, touches my hair, holds it up to his face and inhales.

"I'm going now," he says, his voice quiet. "There are plans in place. The game's afoot."

"What are you going to do?"

He shakes his head.

"I can't tell you details, but it's big. Look, I don't have much time. Once the clock starts, we have everything mapped out in thirty second intervals, and I have," he said and glances at his watch, "about two minutes and thirty seconds left. But if I succeed and make it back," he says and squeezes me, "there'll be one less threat towards you."

"If you make it back?" I shake my head.

"There's always the chance when a soldier goes into battle that he'll die. I'm not expecting it," he says, and runs his fingers through my hair. "But just in case, I wanted to tell you something."

I shake my head, not sure if I want to hear it, whatever it is.

"I want you to know," he says, taking my hand in his, "that I wanted you from the moment I saw you in the diner." His fingers trace my bottom lip. "I was ready to break all my own rules for you. It hurt to even look at you. So delicate, so lovely, and so in danger from us monsters. You just really don't have any idea." He takes in a breath, holds it, then lets it escape slowly. "At first, it was just lust. There you were, so pretty, so young and fresh. I felt like such a," he says nothing, shakes his head. "Like such a monster compared to you. You're so good. I don't deserve you."

I try to pull away from him, feeling too much emotion rising in me, tears stinging in the corners of my eyes. I've cried too much. Too much. I bite my lip to stop.

"When I heard you play piano that first day you were in the warehouse, you had me." He touches my cheek. "I want to say this to you before I go. I may not ever be able to say it again."

I turn my head away, feeling like I'm at the breaking point.

"Stop."

"No," he says and turns my face back. "I want you to know. Just in case."

"Please," I say and cover my eyes." Don't say that."

"Eve, when I heard you play, I felt so – cheated. No, listen," he says when I struggle to leave. "In another life, I would have deserved you. If we’d met when I was human, I could have won you."

He says nothing for a moment. I can't speak. I can't look at his face, in his eyes.

"But there are just too many stars for me to care about what's right and wrong anymore, what I do deserve and what I don't. I want you. I could have made you happy. And now, time's up." He stands, lifting me up, my arms still around his neck. "Will the queen at least give her knight a pity-kiss goodbye?"

I pull him down to me, my lips meeting his, my tongue searching his out, the touch of it sending a shock of desire through my body. When our lips part, he presses his forehead against mine.

"Remember me, if I don't make it back."

"Don't say that."

He buries his face in my hair.

"You're an angel." And then he's gone.

Later that afternoon, Terri calls me and asks if I want to attend the memorial for Ed. His body was cremated but now the SCU is holding a small memorial for staff and friends at the graveside where his ashes were buried. Of course I want to go, and I get leave from Vasily to go. He'll be escorting me and we dress in our best and bring raincoats and umbrellas, then stand in the rain as the small graveside ceremony takes place. Ed was divorced, with no kids, his life completely dedicated to the SCU so only his colleagues and a few old friends attend.

I go into the SCU that night. I stroll into Terri’s office in time for tea and flop down on the couch to talk with her. Terri and I reminisce about Ed, and she tells me about him and I feel as if I'm learning about an uncle I knew but never really knew. We're watching the television news clips of the peace talks in the
Palestinian
Territories
.
 
After months of random shelling between
Israel
and Palestinian groups, they're meeting to discuss peace.

Terri waters her plants, looking over her glasses at the television screen, mumbling a running commentary - none of it complimentary to the participants. The camera shows a large briefing room filled in the rear with reporters and at the front a large table with a panel of officials.
 
Terri brings me a cup of tea and we watch the question and answer session.

It's quite boring - just an opportunity for the press to ask questions about process - who, what, where and when questions about the negotiations. I have little real faith in the possibility of peace - this is just a new government's attempt to garner favor at home. The camera focuses in on the Israeli official – I can see a number of advisors standing behind him, but none of their faces. The official's asked a question from one of the reporters about support from Zionist groups in the
United States
. The official covers his microphone and leans back and I'm amazed as Soren himself bends down and whispers in the official's ear.

"Holy crap," I say. "There he is."

"Who?" Terri says, her voice alarmed. "Where?"

"Soren. The pale one."

She comes quickly to my side and watches the television.

"Where is he – oh, I see him. Hard to miss."

"He's talking to officials at the briefing table."

"Is he an advisor? But our reports..."

"Our reports said certain ex-members of his group were involved in selling arms to militant factions who were out to end the peace process," I reply.
 

"Maybe they were traitors - going against his wishes. It might explain the deaths in
Montana
. Maybe he's playing both sides against each other. Who can say what his motives are? We don't know enough about him to even guess."

Michel and Julien know all about Soren…

The camera pans back as the two discuss the question. Soren stands back up and leans against the wall, the officers on either side of him leaning in to listen to him. The official replies, saying that the purpose of the meeting was to answer procedural questions, not discuss policy but that the new government enjoys the support of sympathetic people and groups from around the world. That he couldn't mention any names in particular to protect them from potential backlash.

How has Soren worked his way into the upper echelons of the military establishment? He established his own private security company in
Montana
, training recruits and mercenaries. Reports from the CIA suspect that he hires them out to the highest bidder.
 
Now here he is - involved in the most current round of peace talks?

"Who in the hell is this guy?" Terri shakes his head and looks at me. “He's damn visible for an ancient. Almost like he's purposely drawing attention to himself. I don't know. That’s not how Ancients act. They hide from the limelight. If I were more religious, I'd say he was Grigori."

"Grigori?"

She nods. "A fallen angel. They were said to be the most mighty demons on earth - set to rise up when the apocalypse neared, acting as Satan's minions in the final battle against Christ."

"You believe that stuff?" I can't keep the ridicule out of my voice. "I thought you were a scientist."

She shrugs. "I've seen too many cases of men with unnatural power -- power to alter the thinking and beliefs of their followers, seemingly able to manipulate matter and induce psychoses in their disciples. I've begun once again to believe in evil."

"I don't believe in God and I don't subscribe to any religion. Evil is just immorality. Conscious immorality."

"I'm a scientist," she says. "But there are things science just can't explain."

"
Yet
," I say. "Science can't explain it yet, but that doesn't mean we have to run to religion to explain it."

"Some of our advisors are members of the Church, Eve. I have to admit that I'm convinced there is more to this than what the science tells us and religion seems the best explanation."

I sigh, surprised by her admission. Soren didn't look like a demon when I met him. Other than the brief flash of darkness surrounding him that day at his compound, he looks like a competent military officer with very pale skin. I don't believe in angels any more than I believe the moon is made of green cheese. But If I accept the existence of vampires, why not fallen angels? That’s probably just a name we gave to a sub-species of humans with greater powers than other humans have. Like vampires.

"We'll have to contact Vasquez. He'll want us to go there," Terri said. "Eve, it's time you met him."

"Who's Vasquez?"

"Bishop Miguel Vasquez. He's the Eastern Representative for humans on the Council."

"Soren..." I hesitate, not wanting yet to tell
her
about the clay seal fragment. "He entered my dreams while I was in
Montana
."

"How do you mean?"

"I had a dream of him. He told me we're wrong if we think we know who he is. He gave me something. I think it's a clue to his identity."

"Why didn't you tell my this immediately? This is critical. You can't keep information back like this!" She sits down beside me on the sofa and waits for me to tell her the whole story. I go to my backpack and retrieve the small piece of pottery, ashamed that I've kept this from her. I tell her everything.

She takes the pottery in hand and examines it.

"We'll have to find someone to check this out. I’ll courier this over to Vasquez. He’ll have someone familiar with this kind of artifact check it out," she says. "Whatever this seal is, it's part of the case, not your personal property. Soren may have given it to you, he knows who you are so he gave it to us as well."

"I'm worried about Julien," I say to Terri. "I'm afraid he's under Soren's control."

"Julien knows him more than any of us. We have to trust that he knows what he's doing. If he doesn't, we're screwed."

I lean back and closed my eyes. That worries me, too.