The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [115]
The Chairman took a sip of his ice water with lemon as he gazed at the familiar scene below. “When people grow complacent, they become sloppy, and right now we need everyone to serve the Hansa with full devotion and concentration. It is time to shake them up.”
“What are you planning, Basil?” Sarein said guardedly. It was clear the Chairman hadn’t consulted her about this any more than he had consulted Cain. “What is the Archfather going to say?”
“I have no idea.” He seemed actually jovial. “He disagreed with the speech I asked him to give, so he wrote this one himself. Still, I expect the audience will be quite amazed.”
“You don’t leave anything to chance,” Cain said. “You’re giving him just enough rope to hang himself.”
Basil chuckled. “Oh, hanging is much too primitive.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Next agenda item. Is my presentation ceremony on track for the new robots rolling off our assembly lines? Three days from now? I expect everything to be in order.”
Cain had made the arrangements, taking care of every subtle detail. “We’re ready for you, Mr. Chairman.”
“Good. After today, I expect the Hansa to run more smoothly.”
Before Cain could ask questions, the Archfather plodded to the podium dressed in his usual robes. His snowy white beard glistened in the sunshine under a perfectly clear blue sky. The crowds cheered on cue, and newsnet cameras recorded every movement, every word. King Rory was nowhere in sight.
The Chairman hushed them. “Observe.”
The Archfather activated the voice amplifier and spoke abruptly, without preamble, as if afraid the Chairman would shut him down at any moment. “Unison has been hijacked. Our religion. The condemnations I have issued from this podium were not my own. I, your Archfather, was coerced into making them. You have been tricked and misled. This is not what Unison is about.”
The people muttered and gasped. Many reacted with anger, but Cain couldn’t tell if the anger was directed toward the supposed betrayal or toward the Archfather’s unorthodox words. Sarein was obviously astonished; Cain expected the cleanup crew to come rushing in at any moment.
Now that he had built up some momentum, the Archfather’s voice grew louder, more passionate. “I call for you to look into your hearts, into the core of your beliefs, and do what is right. The Hansa is not your religion. The Hansa does not speak for God. Unison does!”
Basil flexed his hand into a fist, then straightened his fingers again. “My, he does go on and on.” He depressed the button on a small hand communicator. “I have heard enough.”
Jane Kulu’s deep voice answered calmly. “Yes, Mr. Chairman.”
The accented voice of Tito Andropolis crackled over the speaker. “After this, no one will doubt God’s intentions.”
Basil sat back, his gray eyes glittering.
With an astounding whistle, as if the air itself were ripping apart, a bolt of energy streaked through the crystal-clear sky. The lightning shot straight down to strike the Archfather in the middle of the podium. The searing flash vaporized the bearded man, leaving no clothes or bones, only a flash of smoke, a crack of superheated air, and the smell of a crematorium. A glassy crater marked his place. The most faithful in the crowd, who had stood closest to the podium, were bowled backward by the shockwave.
Sarein put her hand to her mouth in horror. The crowd screamed, and a ripple of evacuating people spread outward from the podium.
“What have you done?” Cain said in a barely audible voice. “My God, what have you done?”
“Wait,” Basil said with a cool smile. “It’s not over yet.”
While the crowd remained stunned by the lightning flash, King Rory appeared like a vision amidst the dissipating smoke at the edge of the crater. His young