The Valhalla Covenant

The day after his conversation with the Vezarin, Reimas called a special meeting.

“There’s no time to lose,” he announced. “It’s time we made a trip around Europe to meet some of the contacts we’ve made through The Rose.”

“Where should we go first?” asked Sean.

“Eire. The Irish were our first overseas contacts from that source. I’ve spoken to them and we’re due there later today.”

He looked around.

“Everyone agreed then?” he asked. “We’ll get some new players on board.”

Aboard Reimas’s flyer not an hour later, Erin had the helm. She climbed at a moderate pace until just above the clouds, leading a squadron of seven. Reports had just come in of field action against the French ‘Petit Fleuve’, which wasn’t a direct affiliate of the Little River but shared its basic philosophy.

“You right to take us in for a bit of action then?” Reimas asked her.

The French, as ever, clung ferociously to their independence and remained blind to the huge advantages of belonging to the Little River proper, so when many of their offices and depots had come under attack that morning, they were ill equipped to deal with it.

The damage was largely done by the time the GI flyers were in the air, but they were able to respond effectively to another situation: a huge rally in Lyon surrounded by tanks and machine gun placements.

“Do you think we’ll get this out of the way before our meeting with the Irish?”

“Priorities eh?”

“Something like that. Not that I don’t like the French, but morning tea in the park is a bit more pleasant than a bloodbath.”

“Then we’ll prevent it,” said Reimas, pointing down and a little to the starboard. “There they are. It’s true that we don’t know who’s in those tanks or why they’re doing what they’re doing, but it seems they are killing innocent people, right now.”

“Good that we can stop it, but I can’t help thinking it’d be a horrible way to die inside one of those things.”

Reimas had the weapons console and ordered the six other flyers following them to begin their attack.

“Take the machine gun placements first,” he told the other crews. “Then target the tracks and the barrels of the tanks with the mini missiles. We’ll leave the tank crews to the crowd.

Erin nodded with grim satisfaction. There were no guarantees for the safety of the tank crews. Only that they wouldn’t burn in fiery coffins.

She swooped low over the first of eight main machine gun placements distributed in a wide arc, and hovered. Reimas took out five gunners, one after the other with single bullets. Erin saw the damage and moved onto the last placement before any of the other flyers had finished.

Tank barrels seeking targets lifted all over the place, and although they couldn’t see anything, shot off many rounds in the vicinity of the flyers, above their fallen comrades. One shell blew a hole clean through the tail of one of the old version flyers but it was a lightweight panel and the shell failed to explode.

The response was immediate. Barrels on eighteen tanks were blown clean off by missile fire in less than a minute. Before they could even move, the tracks were smashed as well.

Those tanks were going nowhere now and the crowd knew it. From a cowering mass of humanity, perhaps a hundred thousand in number, hemmed in and lethally attacked from all sides, they turned and let out a great roar. Throwing their arms in the air, they made a mad rush for the tanks.

Many saluted the sky and blew kisses upwards to those who’d rescued them before they ran in with the rest for the kill.

After a few moments, Erin minimized her screen and turned towards Reimas.

“What now?”

“We needn’t watch this. It’s a matter for these people whether they take revenge or not, but there may be something we can do for some of the people at those offices.”

He spoke into the comm.

“Flyer two, head to Nice and see what you can do for anybody that might be left in those ‘Petit Fleuve’ locations. Flyer three go to Bordeaux, flyer four to Nantes, flyer five to Toulouse, flyer six to Rouen and flyer seven make for Strasbourg. We’ll cover Paris in flyer one.”

The distance between Lyon and Paris was around four hundred kilometres, which even the old spec flyers could do in less than a minute, but do such speeds they’d have to leave the atmosphere so they were limited to around a fifth of that speed and arrived there in not much more than five minutes.

Heat sensors took them straight to the main theatres of action. The first was an inner city building that had taken huge damage and had no life signs, but the second location was more positive. A house had been hit hard and was on fire, but people were fighting the flames.

Reimas asked Erin to move over to the Seine and as she positioned the flyer, he opened the auto valves of the huge onboard water tank. Taking the controls, he lowered the hull into the water and watched the tank gauges quickly rise to full.

On his signal, Erin manoeuvred back to the burning house and Reimas, over the PA, warned all those on the ground to move away. Over the building as soon as they were clear, he dropped the contents of the tank — around the capacity of an average family swimming pool.

Erin moved then to the next and last hot point but found only smoking rubble.

People stood around, some weeping, and Reimas spoke to them on the PA.

“Could there be any survivors?” he asked, and to them it came as if out of thin air.

He saw the shock and then the realization on their faces, then a man called out:

“We don’t know. There is an underground room, but we can’t move all that.”

“I’ll order in a team. It’ll be here in minutes and we’ll have that clear within the hour,” Reimas reassured him.

Once a specialist team was on the way with machinery, Reimas called in flyer five to accompany them and asked Erin to make her way back across the English Channel towards Dublin.

She turned to him and shook her head in wonder.

“I’ve tried hard, really hard, but there’s something I don’t quite understand,” she said, evidently affected by very strong feelings.

“What?” he asked, with one eye on the screen and controls, and the other on her face.

“How did you get us to this point? What do you do so differently to everyone else that it took you along this crazy path? And don’t say it’s just circumstance, or something silly like that, because I know there’s more to it than that. It’s almost like every day’s a dream. There’s at least a few moments in every day when I have to stop and slap my face to check that it’s all real.”

Reimas knew that something profound was troubling her, and he could see that a simple rationalization would not serve.

“To some extent it’s to do with reasoning,” he said, “but it’s really more about how it’s employed. Passion is at the heart of the matter. No one does anything solely because it makes good sense.”

“I’m amazed to hear you say that.”

“Guess you might be, but I’m not saying there’s no place for reason. It’s simply that it must always be well integrated with passionate intent. To do otherwise, or to listen to reason alone, would be a sin — the act of a loser.”

“And that’s why you succeed where others have failed?”

“Sasha could tell you. She knows it at least as fully as I do and certainly for longer. The thing is, my reasoning is very disciplined also, and it has to be. You must know that.”

“Reasoning should be something we’re born with, though. Man is the rational animal, isn’t he?”

“No. He only has the capacity for reasoning. Like language itself, it’s a piece of software. The hardware is there to run it but it has to be programmed in first and, given that, you then have to choose to run it.”

Erin looked vindicated.

“So it really is something complicated like a computer program — beyond the average person?”

“Heavens no. Simple as one, two, three. I’d say that’s where people get it wrong — they think it’s too hard, so why bother? In reality, the essence of the reasoning process is child’s play.”

“Really?”

’Yes. You look at something, form a question about it, find two or three possible answers, choose between them then test the one you’ve chosen to see if it meets the reality test — you know, like checking off the likely consequences.”

“That sounds pretty simple,” she said. “I’m sure I do that all the time.”

“I guarantee you, you don’t do it all the time. Nobody does, and very few even do it most of the time. Most people look at something and jump directly to a conclusion. Even if they do ask themselves something about it, how many alternative answers do they usually come up with?”

“Mostly it would only be one, I think,” she admitted.

“Well, if you haven’t chosen between at least two alternatives and tested the merits of the one you choose, you haven’t actually made a conscious decision. If you want to turn that around, however basic the process is, the trickiest part is simply to remember to do it.”

“How do you do that?”

“Make it second nature. If you don’t, for one thing, your imagination won’t come up with many interesting hypotheses. You wouldn’t be getting a good picture of the range of potentials, nor could you be choosing the best, except perhaps occasionally by dumb luck.”

“What sort of questions should I ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Take clothing, for example. It’s a poor example in one way because it’s more a sort of yes or no process as to whether something goes with something else but it’s really the same thing. You have to spell it out. You have to make verbally clear observations about your requirements.”

“You mean like the lagoon-blue skirt is a cool colour, so it’s going to clash with the bright red top?” Erin laughed.

Reimas laughed too. He knew her thoughts went much deeper than fashion but she seemed to have got the idea through the analogy anyway.

“Yes, it is pretty much a case of what goes best here, what does this do, why does it have this effect, and so forth, but you have to remain aware of the purpose. I mean, what if you wanted to really stand out because you were going to a party where you wanted people to see you and remember you, you know maybe because you wanted to establish an alibi. Then the clashing bright red top might be just the ticket.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So once you’ve settled on the criterion that frames the question, you have to find the best answer. That should be the easiest part but, at times, we’ve all asked questions that we’re unable to resolve, especially if, in the process, we come up against paradoxes. Not many people persist in getting past them.”

“Pushing the paradox.”

Reimas nodded.

“They put a spanner in the works for most people, but I don’t really understand why. I see them simply as a change in the direction of a line of thought, like a sort of cross thread in the fabric of consciousness.”

“Back to clothing, are we?”

“Not really. It’s a question of mental momentum coming up against conceptual diverters. Motion is always an obvious function but anything that seems like a barrier might seem frustrating and pointless to a half conscious mind. Yet without these ‘wake-up’ barriers, we would simply keep moving in the same direction when the best outcome required us to stop and consider a new one.”

“So, in a way, it’s the confines of paradox that give rise to all those creative blueprints.”

“Yes, well, the structure of the reality makes certain possibilities available, but unless we recognize and acknowledge the limitations of that reality, we’ll get nowhere.”

“So, in essence, you’re simply creating more and better mental blueprints for action than anyone else?”

“More and better than many, at least.”

Erin brought them down through a dense cloud layer and slowed the flyer to a modest pace as they approached the heart of Dublin. Reimas asked her to land in an out of the way corner of a large public park, where they would wait for Sean to join them.

Zoe was keen to come also, but Reimas had it in mind to test her individual responsibility and tasked her to stay and watch the flyers.

From there, the three emissaries were able to walk directly onto a street not far from the prearranged meeting place in a matter of minutes.

As they approached the appointed place, Reimas caught sight of a small group talking by a fountain. A young man and woman spoke earnestly with another older man. Reimas held back a little as they approached, asking Sean to present himself as the leader, for the time being, so he would remain more free to observe.

Reputedly, these people were tough, straightforward and very experienced activists. Laurence’s hacking of government files revealed that they were on worldwide watch-lists, and from their letters to The Rose, it was clear that they’d long been interested in the sorts of matters the Institute had pursued.

Aware that they’d been enticed by hints of strength, unity and plentiful resources, Reimas was unworried about their motives. In current conditions, anyone would find it difficult to acquire stores, equipment or even fuel, no matter how resourceful they were.

Northern Ireland and Eire had been reunited and the religious question had been resolved to the point of an uneasy truce, but Bolshie saboteurs had been as much at work on the isle as anywhere else.

The major stock crash of 2047 had left the needy poorer than ever. Fuel and energy shortages plagued most nations, Eire included, and cheaply manufactured items were being imported from the east in ever-greater quantities.

Slaves in the industrial east suffered greatly of course, but that wasn’t the only issue. The lower middle classes in numerous western countries suffered as well. It wasn’t that they were exactly starving or even over-worked — the point was that they were under-worked, depressed and unable to see any possibility of change. Electricity was costly and the weather had become increasingly extreme. Also, many suffered from a variety of strange diseases that no one had any explanation for, let alone cures.

Reimas made the most of his opportunity to observe and covertly subjected these potential new associates to the various electronic tests he had available. In the event none of them scoped as any more out of the ordinary than expected, at least from the given parameters, so when it came to the point where the younger fellow, whose name was Pat, asked Sean what sort of assistance they could offer, Reimas winked at Erin and held back.

Jock, the older of the three, was the only one who noticed the wink but, when Sean paused, he immediately turned towards Reimas and looked a question.

“We can offer you more than you’ve ever dreamed of,” said Reimas, taking over. “We wouldn’t presume to assist you with forming your philosophical standpoint, although it seems to me we stand for pretty much the same thing.”

“That may well be,” Jock replied noncommittally.

“Our coalition sees it as important to promote a spiritually progressive and health sustaining world environment,” said Reimas. “We want people to be happy, healthy, well-educated and fulfilled.”

“Very commendable.” The older Irishman’s voice sounded bored and ironical at the same time.

“We do not support social pressures that encourage people to believe their only resources are material and technological,” Reimas continued, unfazed, “or that their ultimate goals should necessarily be tied up with those things.”

“Well that all seems fair enough but they’re high-minded goals and you can’t force people to be like that.”

“Well said,” Reimas admitted. “Given what I’ve said about our philosophy, you might think it out of character, but our first priority is to provide material aid — buildings, vehicles, communications systems, power generation and even a new form of electronic defensive shielding. A good philosophy is crucial but we’re not so naive as to think that progress can be made without material sufficiency.”

“Ha! So you’re not impoverished idealists, after all,” Pat concluded with evident relief.

The woman glared at her compatriot, plainly exasperated by his lack of reserve.

“You have financial backing?” she asked the visitors in a more restrained tone. Her name was Cathy, Reimas reminded himself.

“We can’t reveal much about that at this stage,” said Sean, “but the aid will come quicker than you could imagine once we’ve sorted a few things out.”

“Suffice it to say,” said Erin, “that the resources are considerable but they will be contingent on the gathering of numbers to the cause.”

“So, we invite the guests and you throw the party?” Jock scoffed in a heavier accent than he had employed so far. “Where’s the hitch? What do you want in return?”

Reimas was aware of the old Irish trick of speaking in such a heavy accent and with such marked fluctuations in volume and modulation that it was to most people almost incomprehensible, and thereby totally confusing. He remained unconcerned but Sean, also clearly aware of the ploy, was visibly annoyed.

“We have our own self sufficient group,” Reimas responded. “We don’t really need anything more just to get by. It’s not a question of power and gain, so much as of trying to change things for the better, and we don’t want this engine for change to remain unduplicated for too long.”

“We don’t want all our eggs of positive change in one basket,” Erin clarified.

Jock stood back and pursed his lips beneath the deep red beard.

“So,” he said speculatively, his face lit with a smile but his eyes still cool with suspicion, “we don’t need to do anything much at all to benefit from your very considerable assistance?”

Reimas knew they were now getting to the nitty-gritty.

“It’s a matter of degree,” he began.

“Well, then, if it isn’t always.”

“Of course, but even so it’s not how much you have to do but how much we can do for you. There’s quite a lot we can provide at no cost of action other than the simple gathering of your people but if, in the long run, you sought greater privileges some further commitment would be required.”

“If we can’t interest existing groups, we’ll start local, largely independent organizations that we can help to expand quickly,” Erin said, throwing in an element of uncertainty.

“That can be a risky exercise,” said Jock with a plainly wary expression on his craggy face.

“There are few rewards without risks,” Reimas replied.

The three Irish folk exchanged dubious looks.

“So how soon could we expect material assistance?” asked Cathy.

“I understand your doubts,” said Reimas calmly. “I can only say that it typically comes as soon as we have evidence that a genuine group struggling for individual rights and freedoms is in regular communication with us.”

“That’s if you really have anything to give,” Jock retorted sceptically.

Reimas received his hostile glare calmly.

“You may doubt us,” he said, “but you must have been aware of what’s been going on in Australia.”

“Of course, it’s world wide news, but what’s that got to do with you?”

“Everything. It’s our doing.”

“What! Really?” said Jock. “You’re tellin’ me it’s you an’ yo bunch o’ happy intellectuals been shakin’ things up over there?”

The three turned to each other in turn with faces wide-eyed in disbelief before bursting into loud roars of laughter. Both Jock and Pat rolled from side to side, laughing, and Jock slapped Pat on his shoulder, rousing him to further guffaws. Even the reserved Cathy, joined in, chuckling loudly.

“And, on top o’ that, what would you want with two bit players like ourselves if you’ve got that sort of power, me lads?” Jock asked, still panting from his exertions and shaken by the occasional new urge to laugh.

Reimas raised one eyebrow a little, and Sean bit his lip, but Erin was flabbergasted.

“Why would you think of yourselves that way?” she asked, ignoring their barbs entirely. “We don’t wish to deal with government people, anyway. It’s vital to have allies who know the true meaning of freedom. That, you may be sure, does not include bureaucrats. Even so, there are certain organizational requirements for success and we also need people to be organized and communicating with others the way you are.”

“I still dawn’t know … I … aghhrr …”

Erin began to look exasperated.

“You may have heard of the Little River.”

Jock’s eyes widened and his mouth closed.

“What of it?” he said.

“We work with them — solve their problems.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Pat.

Reimas, unaware how much its reputation had grown already in many places, was impressed, but lost no time in making the most of their change of attitude. His next approach, however, was unusual. Focusing himself, he projected a single thought into their minds.

They heard, each at the same time, ‘It’s a long, long way from Tipperary’ in Reimas’s voice, but it was in their minds and they could see that he’d not opened his mouth.

Following his meeting with the Vezarin, he had gradually become aware of an acute development of his telepathic strength. It seemed to him to be too invasive to use on a regular basis, but there were occasions when it was useful and, right now, he wished to establish that he could enter their minds in a tangible way. The three Irish nationals watched each other turn quite pale as they heard his clear thought speech in their heads.

“It’s a trick,” said Jock, trembling. You’ve some sort of voice recorder going.”

“You know it was in your mind, as this is now,” said Reimas, within.

The initial shock was followed, however, by a further feeling of deep calm and beautiful serenity that spread rapidly throughout. It slowly dissipated, then, like floodwaters receding back to the river from whence they came.

“You heard me say, ‘It’s a long, long way from Tipperary’, didn’t you?” Reimas said.

“Yes, ‘from Tipperary’ and ... ”

Reimas cut him off.

“The ‘and’ you speak of was intended to demonstrate the difference between your reasoning mind and that which is really you, watching it all, witnessing everything that changes around you.”

Erin was bemused by what had happened but she improvised rapidly based on what she’d seen and what she already knew of Reimas.

“We understand your suspicions,” she said, “but the fact is if we can enter your minds so easily now, at the drop of a hat, what could we not do without your permission, including all that we invite you to do now with your full cooperation?”

Reimas gave her a smile of appreciation, and Jock wrinkled his brow.

“Well, I can see that we might have to go into this a little more. It wouldn’t do to be hasty,” he said, thinking, as he was, that it felt like he had just partaken of some very good Irish whisky indeed.

“We’ll check back with you in three days,” Reimas told them, driving home his position with the apparent unconcern demonstrated by an abrupt parting. “Get your people together. That’s our biggest issue now. All I can tell you at this stage is that we’re up against something old and powerful, and something that doesn’t give a damn about humanity.”

“Aye, of that we’d had suspicions ourselves.”

“Indeed? Well, we can leave you now with a device that might help put some of those suspicions to the test.”

Reimas handed over a portable brain wave scanner in the shape of a somewhat larger than normal smart phone.

“With this, you’ll be able to detect subtle evidence of strongly anti-social feelings and behaviour. If you find anyone suspicious, don’t let them know you’re onto them, but try to get a photo, at least.”

The Irish group were left in an almost speechless state with the scanner and the advice to gather members as fast and discreetly as they could. With a clear sense of accomplishment, the ‘missionary’ group returned to the Castle Campbell citadel.

Successive meetings progressed along similar lines. Few language problems hampered them since, in general, those of influence who initiated or responded to contact over the Internet were competent English speakers.

Seven meetings were scheduled for the day following the meeting with the Irish group, and eight a day for the following nine days, making up to eighty contacts in around eleven days. In each of the countries they visited, they’d make contact with a single group, and would leave these new contacts to gather others at their discretion.

***

At the end of what turned out to be a marathon effort, on the twenty-first of July, the final country visited was Russia. The contacts lived in Moscow.

The city prompted a lot of curiosity in the group. Only Jos and Erin had been there, together as it happened, several years earlier.

Erin took a lead role in this encounter because of a personal interest in Russia. She suggested a particular restaurant as the meeting place for their contacts.

‘Ivan’s Last Dash’ was nearly always crowded and lively in the evening — the sort of place that would give them fair cover and hopefully a good night’s entertainment.

It was a clear cool evening when they arrived; Hope was on Sean’s arm and Erin accompanied Reimas who would be introduced as Blaze. Given that the midsummer sun had been hidden all day and an unseasonable chill was in the air, warm coats were a necessity.

An attendant greeted them effusively in the foyer before escorting them to a large table at the back of the main lounge. Erin had hoped they’d be able to sit by the window but after the first five minutes of frequent gunfire on the streets, she was glad that other arrangements had been made.

Gregori, a tall, bear-like man with a full, dark beard, introduced them to his three companions: Vesya, Anatole and Davina. It seemed in some respects like a duplicate double date, but it soon became obvious that none of the faces here were mere window dressing.

A round of vodkas oiled the wheels of introduction but, beyond that, they wasted little time. The sound of two high-revving cars outside on the street gave way to sirens just as Anatole appeared to be cutting to the chase. Once the noise had dissipated and was replaced by the subdued roar of conversation, laughter and music, he made to speak again.

“You people make big claims. Ours is a complex society with a great many factors at work. Commitments are not made easily because once they are made they are frequently made for life. It is all or nothing, here, since disloyalty can so easily mean death.”

Sean responded.

“We may not feel quite the same urgency in ensuring loyalty,” he said, “but we have learned more subtle lessons. The consequences of disloyalty are less frequently so drastic but the subtle prompts are sometimes the strongest. Not one of us would consciously give up what we have because we have seen what the absence of community means.”

“I couldn’t have put it better,” Reimas agreed. “There can be few things less alluring than opulent loneliness. When money can buy all but the most important things in life, and when so many in our society have tasted bitter isolation, the incentives for loyalty could hardly be greater.”

“And there are others,” Erin put in.

“Yes?” Gregori inquired, apparently keen to have the female perspective.

“Strict adherence to well-established principles frequently leads to prosperity and positive outcomes,” she said. “When an operation is going smoothly, and all are in harmony with the objectives, what reason can there be for disloyalty?”

“Leadership, my dear,” said the dark haired and green-eyed Vesya — clearly, given her bearing, a young woman of iron will.

“You mean challenges to it?”

“Of course. It’s difficult for any strong man to submit to the leadership of another, no matter how well things are going.”

Erin nodded.

“That’s where inspiration and ideals come into play. That’s the only thing capable of unifying all different types … of worth, at least. If a man has the clearest possible view of the big picture, and has good answers in every situation, there must be no challenge to his leadership.”

“Those sorts of answers — you can only know that about a man from experience,” said Anatole.

“Which is why we’ll be giving you that,” Sean reassured them. “Our leader has given us all the answers we need. Of course, it’ll be up to you to judge that for yourselves — all in good time.”

Reimas glanced up at that after taking some readings with the scanner, not too late to notice the intense unanimity with which the Russian folk regarded him. It puzzled him for a moment but then he realized that although no one had yet revealed the name of the Little River leader, there must have been some subtle cues indicating that he was present. Given the acuteness of the Russians’ awareness, it would be better not to try to pursue the deception.

“As the leader of the Little River,” he began, “I regard it as crucial to meet our initial contacts in each country. No social structure is better than a house of cards without firm relationships. If I tell you something now and I go back on it later, I’m fair game. You know that and I know that so from the outset you’re in possession of the most substantial possible reason to justify an initial commitment to good will.”

Anatole leaned forwards.

“Alright, so we know who you are, and what you are, but what you stand for is really no clearer.”

Reimas held his eyes.

“We will change how things work in this world,” he affirmed. “We’ll give people a chance to live healthy, fulfilling lives. It cannot be clearer that the current order is a probably an alien force at work in many countries around the world, that actively operates against the interests of humanity.”

Disconcertingly, the four Russians shrugged in unison before the beautiful Vesya spoke on their behalf.

“My dear Blaze, forgive us, but you and your people must lead such sheltered lives. Humans are worse than any aliens could be. How long have you had these suspicions?”

“My dear Vesya,” Reimas responded in like manner. “I think you misunderstand me. Forgive me for my tendency to understate. We all have our thoughts on the state of the world but there is more at work here than you might imagine. Your reactions speak volumes to me concerning the tragedy of the human condition. We all know there’s grief in abundance out there but most have given up on doing anything about it. Let’s face it, not many have what it takes.”

“And do you?” Davina asked, her blue-grey eyes twinkling.

A sparsely clad waitress approached their table, smiling broadly. It crossed Reimas’s mind that she was lucky it wasn’t all that cold today.

“Do you dress like that all year round?” he asked her.

“Een weenter ze bikini eez furr,” she answered cheekily.

Orders were taken and Reimas waited until she had left before commenting.

“When girls have to undress to work for a pittance as waitresses and no one pays any attention to shooting in the street outside, your world has become unacceptably disordered.”

Gregori laughed loudly.

“This is the normal human condition. If you want peace and chastity, go pray in a church.”

The man was a product of his circumstances. His emotions had atrophied, though perhaps not irreparably. It was difficult, but in the end Reimas found he was able to break through to him with the same sort of telepathic projections he’d used elsewhere.

Gregori paused in mid-speech and the changes of colour on his face were like a many hued sunset. Hard as it had been to break through to him, the contrasts that he perceived in his own emotions were all the greater when it happened. Reimas turned his attention to each of the others in succession.

“Truly, my friend, I hear you now,” Gregori said quietly.

“What have we become?” Davina whispered, a deep sadness evident now in her spectacular eyes.

“This is a mystery,” Anatole announced, more inspired than sad, “better than any religion in a church. Yuri will like it. All the Church does is take your money and steal your children.”

“I beg your pardon?” Erin asked.

“Ah, your protected world again. Many children have gone missing in the last few years. Nobody really knows exactly what happens but some suspect the Church, especially in the southern regions. It has become a poor joke to refer to it as ‘The Orphanage’.”

“How many have gone missing?”

“Thousands. People do not even bother reporting their children if they go missing now. The police do nothing. All you can do is keep your family close, but even that’s difficult when people work such long hours. Many children must fend for themselves and, alas, many are taken.”

“Why do you think it’s the Church?”

“There are those who must do what they do to pay for the safety of their own families but they do not like it, and eventually word filters out,” Anatole said with grim ferocity.

“Sounds like you’ve got some work to do,” said Sean. “Do you have some sort of network yet? Other contacts?”

“We do,” answered Vesya after a moment’s pause. “More than three hundred.”

Reimas looked at her squarely.

“And what was the purpose of your group up to this point? Three hundred people rarely come together for nothing.”

“You might be surprised. Loose alliances are the only way to survive here now. We need each other. Sickness support. Childminding. Work contacts. It all started on the net. We don’t have any hidden agenda.”

“Good to hear,” said Reimas, not entirely believing her, “but before we give you maximum backing, we’ll have to speak to a full gathering of your members.”

“For this, you’ll have to meet Yuri.”

“Set it up, please. We’re doing this all around the world. Once we’re sure you have a coherent and loyal group, you’ll be surprised what we can arrange. Meanwhile ... ”

Reimas went on to tell them of the scanner and its purpose. At first, they were dubious, but once the unit was demonstrated on some people sitting nearby, they were impressed — stunned even.

The detailed and accurate information it yielded gave credence at least to the technical know-how of the GI people. That, in turn, lent greater weight to the strange and not entirely fanciful possibility of an alien presence.

“Rough times in Australia?” Anatole asked.

“Yes,” Reimas replied.

“The Little River eh?”

“Yes, and the Little River gets bigger.”

“So it does,” said Gregori, pulling at his thick black beard.

Reimas met his eyes.

“Absolutely. The same thing has to happen here and we can make that possible. First, I’d ask you to check out all your people and try to find out what’s going on with some of those priests. I hadn’t thought to check out the clergy but it wouldn’t hurt.”

By the time their evening in Moscow drew to a close, the GI people had managed to set things in motion in seventy-five Global Unity states, including their own. Around nine thousand new members had joined the coalition and taken the oath to uphold the River’s primary philosophy — that of individual responsibility for consciously considered actions.