Chapter 3: Contact

Two men climbed out of the small, worn sedan and crossed the parking lot. The tall one, a Native American with shoulder-length black hair looked to the north, where the October wind had shifted. “Change is coming.” He said flatly.

“Yes,” replied the fat shorter one, “And if we can grab that bastard, we’ll see changes right quick.”

The taller sighed. “I mean the weather. Wind is backing to the north, cold weather on the way, maybe rain.” He believed in Earth First’s principles as much as his friend, but he didn’t see every conversational turn as a place to demonstrate his beliefs.

They walked together towards the building that housed both a church and a television studio. The front had stained-glass windows 25 feet high, illustrating well-known Bible stories. The boxy, industrial back of the structure hosted a forest of antennas, both microwave and satellite uplinks. The sign on the narrow strip of lawn proclaimed that this building was the “Temple of the Trinity.”

They had a meeting in ten minutes with the fellow who ran this media operation, a rising TV Preacher from Denton Texas, The Reverend Jedidiah Powers.

“Hello, Obadiah.” I smiled to appear less threatening.

The skinny kid sitting on the park bench glanced up, squinting into the October sun. “I already told those other soldiers; I’m not interested in joining the Confederation.”

I blinked in surprise. “Confederacy,” I corrected him, absentmindedly. I was in civilian clothing. I did not have the standard Marine body modifications. What had tipped this kid off? “How did you know that I was from the Confederacy?”

“Your teeth. You have movie star teeth,” he shook his head, “But you’re not handsome enough to be a movie star. Maybe with those teeth you’re a used car or an insurance salesman, but I’m a kid, I don’t have the money to get the attention of any of those kinds of salesmen.” He looked up again, “We’ve never met, yet you’re using my first name. Your clothes fit like they were tailor-made for you. I was visited by several Confederation soldiers a week ago that tried to recruit me, so--you are from the Confederation.”

“Confederacy,” I again corrected him. “You are confusing it with ‘Star Trek’s’ Federation.”

“Irrelevant. My Dad says that you people want to lead me into sin. Go away.”

“Your Dad is a pretty sharp fellow. I used to know him years ago. But I think that he is ... misinformed.”

The kid stared at me for a minute, as if trying to place my face. “You should take that up with him,” the kid replied looking back down to his tablet. I could see that he was reading the Bible, the Book of Ezra it looked like—the history of the return from exile.

“Just so I can answer my superiors when they demote me for failing at my mission, what did the soldiers who tried to recruit you say?”

“They tried to entice me with all of the women I could have as slaves. I was very tempted. That’s how I knew they were of the Devil.”

“Well, they aren’t slaves, you know. They’re concubines, like in the Old Testament.”

He looked up at me. “Do they have to do what you tell them?” He asked. I considered the question and nodded.

“Then they’re slaves.”

“Do you have to do what you parents tell you?” He nodded. “Are you a slave?”

He grinned. “Sometimes I feel like one when my mom says, ‘Clean your bedroom!’”